I clutched my right side as the wound I received from the other night reopened. Wincing in pain, I limped off to the kitchen in search of the first aid kit. I needed to clean the wound and redress it with gauze.
How I got the wound? I came home from school yesterday and my uncle was just beyond wasted. He's even more abusive and dangerous when he's drunk. He frightens me.
It's a rather deep knife wound. My uncle took one of the kitchen knifes and had stabbed me in my side. It was a painful experience and the wound still hurts. I have to be careful not to lie on it or put too much pressure on it.
As I was looking through all of the cabinets in search of the first aid kit, I heard the sound of footsteps walking up behind me. I ignored it and pulled out the kit from the cabinet when I found it. I opened it and took the antiseptics and gauze wraps out from it.
"Claire," said the voice of my aunt.
"Yes, Aunt June?" I murmured, lifting my shirt and began cleaning the bloody wound, cringing as the cotton pads brushed over the gash. I would need to replace my shirt later. The blood had seeped through the previous dressing and stained my shirt.
"What are you doing?" she asked, slowly, staring me me down as I turned to look at her.
"Cleaning my wound and redressing it," I replied, finishing up.
"What did your uncle and I tell you about leaving your room after ten in the evening?" she maliciously growled, placing her hands on her hips.
I bit my lip, afraid of her reaction. "I needed to redress my wound. It was an emergency," I replied.
That earned me a hard slap to my face, a stinging sensation burning on my cheek.
"I don't care. Get back to your room. Now," she ordered. Her eyes were narrowed in a fierce glare.
"I need to put the kit away in the cabinet."
Once again, I had earned yet another hard slap to my face.
"I'll take care of it. Now go."
"Fine." I turned around and headed up the stairs as fast as I could possibly manage. I entered my room and plopped down onto my bed, wincing as I landed on my right side. Sighing, I stood up again and walked to my dresser and picked out a new shirt to change into.
"Claire," the voice said as I slipped the clean shirt over my head.
"What?" I whispered.
"Kill her."
"No!" I said, nearly shouting. "I'll get into some serious trouble!"
"She'll continue to abuse you. So will that wretched uncle of yours. Kill him too," it said.
"I know, but I won't do it. Just shut up. Let me get to bed. Please?" I pleaded.
"I'll be back another time. Goodnight, Claire. Don't forget about my suggestions. You'll go through with them eventually," it muttered.
I groaned and went to lay down in my bed, cuddling under the duvet covers, being careful not to lie on my wound.
Tomorrow was only Tuesday. I would have to endure the hell of the school once more. I would leave my uncle and aunt if I could but I wouldn't have anywhere to go.
I live with my aunt and uncle because my parents were murdered a few years back when I was eleven. I had an older brother who was two years older than I was. He was sent to live with our grandparents from my dad's side. He was extremely fortunate.
My uncle and aunt that I had been sent to live with thought of me as nothing but a burden to them. Sometimes, I did believe that I was a burden as well.
