New Girl (Slowly Updating)

Starting Hell

Edited

Starting Hell

Beep. Beep. Beep. I jerk unsteadily out of my sleep and hit the button on the top of the pink Hello Kitty box. My eyes slowly blink open as I adjust to the light streaming through my open window. I rolled onto my side, dark hair sticking to my forehead, as I pushed the irritating strands away from my face. My sides ached miserably and I took in shallow breaths as my body fully woke up.

The lights blinked 6:00 AM so I knew it was time to get up.

I barely see my parents anymore– if they can be considered parents. And I'm kind of glad it’s that way. They hate me and I hate them, but I always have that hope deep– and I mean really deep inside– that they'll go back to the parents they were before all the beatings started. Or at least my mom would. I’d lost hope on my dad changing from the first beating, but I still hoped my mom would change.

My mom was usually out making money by whoring herself and actively avoiding me whenever I was getting a beating while my dad stayed home drinking and finding some reason to hit me. I always wondered what would’ve happened had I not stayed at Caitlyn’s that day. Would I still have gotten that beating? Would he have found something else to beat me for? I contemplated these things every day as I try to think about why I was so different.

I rolled off the bed and walked down the hallway silently to go to the bathroom and took care of my business before I did my daily body inspection. This was one of the worst things I did daily. Looking at my image in the mirror, slowly chipping away at my self-image. Making me feel as if I had nothing to live for. And most people would say I didn’t have anything to live for, but for now at least, I knew that there were people in much worse situations than I was and if they could have the strength to wake up each day, then so could I.

Moving my curly hair away from my face I surveyed the scars that covered my skin. Brown skin covered in hideous scars and scabs from previous injuries along with anger red welts from more recent beatings. I could still see the faint yet raised vertical scratches on my side where my mother had come home, oversexed and angry, with a smashed beer bottle and scraped it down my side. And once the damage was done, she simply walked away as if she hadn’t left several gaping wounds along my side.

I remember wanting  to scream, but I haven't used my voice in so long that I wasn’t even sure my vocal chords worked anymore. I took a shower then, lightly rubbing the cloth along the more tender parts of my body. I stepped out and wiped off with a soft towel,  I grabbed the first aid kit that I kept hidden in the bathroom cabinet and cleaned out the still red wounds. After rubbing  some antiseptic on it, I rubbed on a salve that helped to keep the cuts from infection.

One of the larger cuts was still bleeding, even though it has slowed down. I would have to bandage it so it wouldn’t stain trough my clothes. Once again reaching into the first aid kit, I pulled out the gauze and little clip things. I’d never learned what they were called. I grabbed them and left the steaming bathroom to set the gauze and clips on my bed before putting my slept in clothes along the sides of my mattress on the floor.

Walking to the closet inside the wall, I slid the door open and looked at my limited choices. I didn't have many clothes to choose from so I picked out a black, long-sleeve turtleneck and some jeans that were a few sizes too big for me. As I dropped the towel I squirted some lotion into my hands and began to spread it across myself. When I finished, I slid on my clothes slowly and grimaced at the way they sagged on my body.

I had really lost a lot of weight. I could never eat an entire plate of food because I was never given one. I always had to “save food for my superiors” as they called themselves and keep my weight down. I’ve cried myself to sleep so many times because the pain in my stomach sometimes becomes too much.