Tiny Moments

1: Whiplash and Shopping Nights

Abby's POV

After my daily morning beating, which includes a few whips, cuts, and bat hits. I hurry upstairs to my "room." I say "room" because it's technically a closet. They always show the social worker a beautiful bedroom with a big queen bed and a tiny table with lot's of coloring books and crayons, but I know that's always a lie. In my lonely closet all I own is a necklace. The foster system didn't really have a lot to give me so all I have is the necklace my birth-mother gave me before she gave me away. 

My current foster family is a real delight. The whole family pretends I'm invisible and that I'm not beaten every day. Lot's of love here. There is two parents and two kids. The kid's are nine and eleven. Stella, who's eleven almost twelve seems like a nice girl and Toby who's nine seems to think it's normal that I'm beaten since I'm unwanted and unloved. 

The mom works as a laywer, which is hilarious because if I ever get out of here, the Father will surely need a good laywer. I hate my life. Everyday in between beatings and sleep time, I'm alone. All alone. I think and think about everything, how I got here, how I ended up being a tiny broken punching bag. I'll never know what's it like to have a normal life with kind parents, not since that mean couple gave me back after two years. Who the heck gives a two year old back to social services, saying they don't think we're a good match. 

When I get a bath once every two weeks or so, there's a mirror in the bathroom that haunts me; it shows the scares of my past. 

"Abigail!" Mr. Anderson, my foster dad, shouts. 

"What!" I scream without thinking. 

"Oh, you're yelling at me now! I'm coming up there, you know better," He screams as I hear his heavy footsteps up the stairs and the lash of the whips he pulls out.

"No, no, no, I'm sorry Mr. Anderson, I'm sorry," I say as he opens the door to my 7x3x8 ft. closet.

"Well, you might be after this. My name isn't Mr.Anderson, what is it you brat?" he says lashing my back as I cover my head sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Master, I'm sorry master," I say as salty tears fall in my mouth.

"That's right, I'm the master, you disrespectful child," he spits at me as I quickly kneel before him, trying to be strong. He quickly hits my head with the butt of the whip. There I stop thinking, I stop paying attention and just accept my punishment. 

Eventually the house begins to fill with laughter and he hurrys to put away his toys of pain before joining his children in the kitchen. I curl into a ball trying to cry quietly to avoid more beatings. 

About two hours later, my only meal for the day is delievered. A tiny piece of stale bread about the size of my palm and a dixie cup of water. I slowly eat and drink savorying the flavory goodness. It's my daily life, it's my past and furture. I have no way of changing it since I'm only four.

••••

The next day begins with a brutal deep cut down my right leg. I screamed in pain and trying to pull away but he just kept holding me down. Now here I lay with an old shirt tied around my leg to hopefully stop the bleeding. 

"Abigail? Baby? Come here, it's time to change your stupid diaper this week," Mr. Anderson says in his sweetest voice. I'm still not potty trained because of the fact that the families who had me around the time never took the initive to teach me and help me. They always thought some other family would do so. 

Here I get one diaper a week because they are expensive. I walk down stairs slowly and cautiously. I'm nervous that he'll put me in the bath tub again. Last week, he made me sit in the bath with my soiled diaper and let it fill up with water, making it incredibly heavy to walk around with. Turns out I got lucky because once I made it down, he just changed it normally and let me go back to my room. The only good thing about this is that I can go whenever and wherever.

That night I crawl weakly into the sleeping bag and curl in a ball sucking on my dirty thumb. I silently cry and wishing to be somewhere else.

Anna's POV

I'm currently in Baton Rouge, Louisiana to film Pitch Perfect. LSU was the school, I orignally wanted to attend when I was younger but I pursed acting instead. Now I can "attend" it as a Barden Bella. 

We have about one or two months left of shooting and inbettween those months is two weeks of final preformaces for the who movie. We're kinda shooting out of order so it's hard to remember where we are in the movie. But I love being on stage, it's like returning to my hometown, it's were I began my career. 

Tonight the girls and I are going out for dinner tonight then shopping, even though we already have enough stuff. I think a few of the boys are coming but most of them are pretty busy sleeping. They have a really early call time for the frat house. 

I step into three-inch heels before pulling on my sweater and grabbing my purse. I check to make sure I had money, phone and aparment key before locking the door and meeting the others in the lobby. 

A/n

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