Memoirs Of a survivor

38. Decisions

I was thinking about the hope I had now, and how all I was waiting for was an acceptance letter. From the places I had applied to. The closest of which was an 8 hour drive away, I could feel the hope swelling in my stomach. But as usual, as soon as I got happy, someone would have to come and knock the stuffing out of my new found hope, and the person that day would be my father. It's like he sensed my happiness, like he enjoyed depriving me of any joy that I may find. As I sat on my bed, I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stair well
"what the fuck is this" he was waving something around in his hands I looked at the piece of paper, but couldn't read it, because he was still waving it around, so I turned my attention back to his angry face and what he was ranting about
"...no fucking way I will be buying you a dress, and unless you are taking Freddy you will not be taking a date," realising that the letter was about prom, I shrugged off the shiver that ran up my spine, and stopped my father before he could talk anymore,
"I'm not going, to prom, I wouldn't have a date anyway" he sneered
"of course you don't have a date you ugly whore, no one would want you" with that he turned and left the room "stupid bitch" the insults he was muttering carried down the hall way, as I sat in my room, trying to comfort myself. In all honesty I had forgotten about prom, but I had no intention of going, I wouldn't have gone even if someone had asked me, it just seemed like a hassle to me.

As I carried on thinking I went to the bathroom. My mind wondered to the insults that my father had been shouting earlier, the word 'ugly' rattled around the caverns of my mind. The word had never bothered me before, but now, as I stood alone in the bathroom, I wondered was he right, was I really so repulsive. Just like every other night I stripped off my clothes, and turned to the shower, but the mirror caught my eye before I could get there, so I turned fully towards it, and cast a long hard look over my body. I had seen myself naked before, but I had never looked, more than at the latest bruise, or cut I had. As I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes wondered over my frame.

I am tall and fairly slim, my muscles are well defined, but that was because of fighting, I had long legs, which were slim, but muscular. My stomach was toned, the muscles in it stood out, and if I wore a tight t shirt, you could see them through it. My skin was pale, however it was covered in scars, marks and bruises, put there both by my father, and the other fighters who used weapons and I let them get me. As I stood looking at my battered body I felt the emotions come flooding back into me, leaving g me shaking and barely able to stand, I was a mess.

I pulled myself together, when I realized that no one was coming g to help, I was all alone. At some point I had sunk down to the floor and I was sat in a shivering mess. I decided against having a shower, and just pulled on my dressing gown, climbing into bed, and thinking of all the ways I could cover up the map made of scars that covers my body, as I formed a plan a small smile crept its way onto my face and I felt my spirits lift.