Chapter One
Krista’s P.O.V
Hi. I’m Krista Tyler-Yews. I’m 8 years old and I live in Manchester England. I live with my Mum, my step-father, my step-sister and my step-brother. My father died when I was 2. My mother got remarried when I was 3 and the first 2 years were great. Then when I turned 6, my step-family must have been bitten by the meanie bug. They started making me clean and cook for them when my mother wasn’t around.
Whenever I didn’t do the tasks they set me fast enough, my step-dad Jarod would spank me. When I turned 7 he would throw my stuff away.
We have a pretty good sizes home in the country side. It has 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a dining room, 2 kitchens, a large basement and a fair sized living room.
My step brother is 15. His name is Mark Yews. He is a out of the closet gay whatever that means. I’m eight remember? He wants to have his own fashion line when he grows up.
My sister Malia (pronounced mah-lia) Yews is bossy to the max. She’s 16 She always makes me do the dumbest chores. Like, dusting off her bed, polishing her mirrors every day and vacuuming the driveway and garage.
My mother, Karmila Tyler-Yews has no idea that her husband and step-kids make me do a bunch of chores and are mean to me. She just thinks that I’m a very helpful child. If I ever told her what was really happening she probably wouldn’t believe me. She adores our family. Plus Jarod would beat me. He’s threatened to do that if I ever told anyone.
I just want to say that I am a Directioner, Marooner, Tribute and a Katycat. I also idolize Ed Sheeren. I don’t go to school anymore because I got bullied and I have to many chores so whenever my mother can she home schools me. So back to the present.
I am currently vacuuming my parent’s room. I heard the door slam open and I spun around. There stood Jarod. He looked a little woozy and he had a bottle of special adult juice that mommy told me never to touch.
“There you are bitch.” He spat out. I still don’t know what that work means but I know it’s not a nice word. I turned off the vacuum as he walked toward me. I didn’t even try to run. It’s not a good idea.
He grabbed a fist full of my hair and made me stand up straight as he punched me in the stomach. Three times. Hard. I whimpered in pain. He stopped and threw me across the room into their dresser. I lay in a ball silently crying. There was a cut on my arm where it caught on a pocket knife sticking out from one of the drawers.
“Get out slut.” He growled. I stood up and grabbed the vacuum and ran out. I put the vacuum away and ran to my room. I lay on my bed crying.
I got up 30 minutes later and cleaned the wound on my arm. Then I went back into my room and sat in the window seat thinking about my real father. He had a severe heart attack and died when I was very little. I don’t remember much but I do have one very good memory of him.
*Flashback*
“Daddy!!!!!” I squealed as I ran into his leg hugging it and not letting go.
“Hey baby girl!” He put down his suit case. I just got back from a business trip in Florida for his work. He was a principal.
“Daddy, uppie!” I cried as he picked me up and spun my around. I giggled. My mum came in and gave dad a kiss. I smiled as he put me down and hugged my mother. I stood up and toddled around to his suitcase and tried to open it. He knelt down next to me and stopped my tiny fumbling fingers.
“What are you looking for Krista?” He asked. “My pwesent. You said you would me a pwesent. I want my pwesent.” I demanded.
“I know I said that but I don’t like that demanding tone. Change it and maybe I’ll give it to you.” He said looking me in the eye. I looked at my feet.
