Nobody Prays for the Heartless [On hold!]

Prologue

Love. A four letter word. At this point saying it had about as much meaning as reading it on a piece of paper. Blank. Just another word you said in your head to follow along with the story.

It wasn't always like this though. I remember lighter days from when I was a child, but even some of those memories were dark and frightening to reply inside my head. 

Even on my brightest days I can always hear faint voices in my head talking about how much of a whore I am. 

You'll get pregnant. You're going to end up dropping out. You're on birth control because you can't control when to open and close your legs.

Sadly enough, most of these came from my own direct bloodlines. The constant reply of the words and images left such a bitter taste in my mouth. I gripped the roots of my hair and tried to choke back the tears that seemed to force their way out of my tear ducts. I clutched the hair in my hands tighter as if it would pull the heartache out. 

I felt my fist ricochet off the wall. I'm pretty sure I knocked it out of alignment. I didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter much anymore these days.

Is that a bad thing? Is it so horrible that I'm 16 and feel like I have nothing to live for? I believed in God, but you can only rely on him so much. It's almost like wishing on a star. Plus, if he was as busy as everyone claims he is then I shouldn't bother him with my own problems. I never went to anyone about my problems. Why would I? I couldn't think of many that cared to listen and the ones that did would never understand. I didn't want to vent; I wanted answers. The way I saw it was this: If my mother didn't wanna listen to what turned my heart into a hole; then no one else should worry about it either. 

Most of my problems never came from school. They weren't solved at school; not in the slightest tense. Somehow though, they always got worse at home. 

They say home is where the heart is and for me that was my best friend's house. Considering she lived with her mom in a different county, I always escaped off to her dad's house when I couldn't bear the burdens of my family much longer. These people did treat and love me like family. 

Now don't get me wrong. I love my biological family too; they just never seemed to treat me the way you're suppose to treat family. Or maybe I was just the outcast. Whatever the reason may be, I wouldn't have wished this feeling on my worst enemy. I remember where it began. 

**I was nine and my little sister had recently been born. My father had always been on the psychotic side, but that day; something in the liquor you smelt off his breath made him snap. I had shaken most of the memory out of my head, but I could still see it faintly. We lived in some run down trailor park because the factory my mother had been employed at shut down and my father wouldn't man up and take the responsibility of supporting us. I can't remember what he was so mad about, but I remember mother grabbing my infant sister and taking off out the door and making sure I followed shortly behind. I remember sitting in the neighbors house and peering out the window to see my dad keying our van and smashing the interior with a baseball bat. He tried to get to us, but he was terrified of the neighbors shot gun that was tense in hand. 

I watched the cops take him away once again. It was a sight that I should've been immune to, but it twisted a dagger further into my heart each time I saw it. 

After that day I remember seeing my mom get worse and worse. That's when my grandparents stepped in and God bless them for that. 

5 years later and I'm the maid of my house. I'm constantly cooking, cleaning, babysitting, or a combination of all 3. 

My home felt like chains. Chains that would trap me if I didn't break away from them soon. I had put up with far too much bullcrap for far too long. Something had to be done and I'd be damned if it didn't.