Abused In Purple

Chapter 1

I closed my watery eyes waiting for the jocks to go away and go back to whatever they were doing before, probably picking on another poor kid. Oh how did I wish to be any where but here. A lion cage would have been better. Okay who am I kidding that would be just as bad if not worse. hmmmm.... oh wait back to reality MacKenzie!!

"You shouldn't even be breathing because your waisting the air WE coulde be breathing!!" He sneered down at me. Before the they left they all kicked me in the side as if I was just another piece of trash on the street that they were to lazy to pick up.

They left me there to fend for my self in the 10th grade hallway. My arms were wrapped tightly around my stomach. I felt that if I was to let go of my stomach that all of my bruised and abused organs would spill out. The football jocks come and find me at lunch every day and beat me up. I should be used to the pain by now since this all started in 9th grade. Before 9th grade I was just teased and picked on but then they started to beat me up. There isn't a day that goes by that i'm not covered in bruises; arms, legs, back, stomach and face.

Slowley I picked my self of the white, litered tile floor. My head felt like a top that was spinning out of control. I leaned against the lockers for a moment to catch my breath. Down the hall I could just barely make out the little sick figure resembling a woman. Well I hoped and prayed that it was the right figure.

Groaning openly I pulled open the door. Yep It's the girls bathroom, no mistake about it. The whole cheerleading squad was in front of the mirror fixing their make-up. Hannah the head cheerleaeder turned around and glared at me. She had mascara all over her prettty face. Not saying that in a lezbo way. All the cheerleaders are pretty. Hannah's latest jock boy friend must have broken up with her. I don't pitty her one once.

I felt hot tears run down my face and sting the open cuts. I knew I wasn't pretty but why do they despise me so much. Anger and sadness was bubling up inside of me because of the awful things they have done to me. Why did they choose me of all people to do this to. Not that I would wish this to happen to any other poor girl or boy.

How are the blonde bitches gaining anything by doing this to me? Please pardon my french but they have earned the name. Right now I wanted a mother to go home to who would hold me tight and tell me every thing was going to be alright. But I knew that would never happen. We all want a lot of things but guess what? We don't always get our wants and in my case that was oviously never going to happen. I have more of a chance of meeting ADELE.

"I have more of a reason to be crying then you!" Hannah sneered at me. She looked me up and down with a discusted look on her face as she and her possey filtered out of the puke pink bathroom. It made me feel like I was trapped in a pepto bismo bottle. One word....Nasty.

I walked over to the mirror to see the new bruises and cuts. My vision was blurry from the tears but I could still make out the bruises. I had a cluster af black and purple splotches across my left cheek. Along the center of my forhead I had a recently scabbed over cut. Two days ago the head jock picked me up and threw me against the locker and when I slid down the dial cut me open some how. That doesn't make much sense but it doesn't matter it happened. My ugly black shoulder length hair was knotted up and full of dirt. It wouldn't matter even if I didn't have bruises and cuts and choppy hair, I would still be ugly. I feel so lonley all the time. I feel as if know one wants me. My parents hate me, every one at the school hates me. The pain is unbearable some days. My chest is getting tighter and it's getting harder to breath the more i think about my school life and my parents.

My parents left me when I was 8. They were never home much before that either. I see them about once a month and that's always just to drop off money so I can feed my self and wash my clothes. I do not love my parents. I have no good thoughts about them. I have no want for them. Most of the time it's my mother who shows up to give me money and she doesn't tell me she loves me or misses me. I don't even remember my fathers face clearly because it's been so long.