Broken Wings (SAMPLE)

Chapter One

Shivering from the cold night air, I walked through the streets of Scarborough. I was on my way home from Rose's house. She had just broken up with her boyfriend of 3 years because he cheated on her. I couldn't imagine the pain she must be going through, it's bound to be hard on her and I felt awful knowing I couldn't help. I didn't believe relationships would work out because I had been betrayed by everyone I know, so I was at a complete loss on how to help her. I tried to take her mind off it, but every little thing seemed to remind her of him, but I guess it's to be expected. I tried to tell her that he didn't deserve her and that she could have anyone, because let's face it, she could. She had a supermodel figure, curves in all the right places, bright blue eyes that always seemed to shine constantly and wavy, mid length blonde hair. She was the epitome of beauty. Apparently, this wasn't what she wanted to hear, but I did see a smile on her face.

Turning the last corner, I was relieved when I saw my home at the end of the street because I would soon be out of the cold weather. That soon changed when I thought about what would be waiting for me there. I sighed, an overwhelming sadness threatening to take over. I truly wished that I could afford to move out, to get away from my alcoholic father. 

He never treated me the same after mum left. Gone were the days where he would take us down to the beach so we could have an ice-cream when the weather was hot. After she left, he hit an all time low. Drinking every night, taking his anger out on me. It had been four years since she left and he hadn't gotten better; if anything, he had gotten worse. I think he expected her to come back one day and as more time went by, the more he realised that wasn't going to happen. As a result of that, he took it out on me. Obviously because why not? I was a living, breathing reminder of the life he once had. 

What I had suffered throughout the years left a profound affect on me. I believed the harsh words that he threw at me in a blaze of anger. I believed that I was the reason my mother wasn't happy. I believed I was the reason for everything going wrong and why shouldn't I believe it? My own father seemed to think it was true so there must be some truth to it, right? I wasn't sure anymore. I wasn't sure of anything these days. I had been betrayed so much by the people who I loved most and because of that, I closed myself off. I found it harder to trust people, to open up to them. I didn't go out with the group of friends I once had, I started lying about my bruises so no one would ever find out what went on behind closed doors. I became isolated. The only person I would see is my best friend, who I needed to keep me sane. 

I didn't mind not having a lot of friends anymore. At first, it bothered me but then, as time went by, I realised it was the better option. I distanced myself from them before they could do it first because they would. Eventually, they would have stopped bothering with me. So being alone was the better option; it meant I wouldn't be hurt by anybody else. Being alone meant that I wouldn't have to suffer the heartache when someone else leaves because in the end, they all leave. That's just what people do. 

No one knows about the abuse. Not even Rose and she's my best friend. I knew if anyone found out then the consequences wouldn't be good. He had told me often enough. He would scream in my face that he had nothing else to live for so if anyone else knew, he would have no problem in making sure they wouldn't go and tell the police. I felt like telling him that he did have something to live for, that he had a daughter he was supposed to love and protect no matter what but I knew it would only make things worse. In his eyes, I was no longer his daughter. I was his punching bag. 

Reaching my house, I hesitated outside the front door, fearing what would take place once I was indoors. I had to take a few deep breaths before I could gather the strength to open the front door, walking into my so called home. 

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!" I heard him yell the second I had shut the door behind me. I froze in fear, still stood by the door as my eyes landed on my father, who was already drunk. Clutching a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in another, he glared harshly at me, so hard I actually flinched. The fact he was drunk already made me nervous; I didn't know what to expect.