Unwanted.

Chapter 2- The Moment I Dread...

The moment I dread the most would be now. Since I never got my morning beating, she will give it to me twice as bad.

I walked into the house as quietly as I could. She was still in the garden. What was she doing? I crept as close as I dared to the back door. She was leaning over a hole with a metal shovel in her right hand. Her left hand was hidden out of sight. She didn't turn once, so I crept back into the house but she sensed me there, "Where do you think your going? Aren't you going to ask your darling mother what she is doing in the garden?" Her voice was as bitter as a lemon.

"N-no. I was jus-just about to go and d-do my homewo-work." I turned to go back. That animal wacked me behind my knees with the shovel. I landed on the floor with an ooph.

"OH, that hurt? Well that isn't even the beginning. You might not know this, but I can raise hell upon your head. Exactly how your father did to me." Her footfalls got louder and louder. The sound of the shovel scraping the marble tiles of the kitchen made my insides turn. The sound got closer and closer. All I could do was lay there in pain. Every time I try to get up a fresh stab of pain threatens my legs to give way, and I come crashing down again. The shovel stopped beside my spine. I knew what was gonna come next. Why my spine exactly? I never know what happens in that lady's twisted, sick mind. I braced myself for the hit but nothing happened. I relaxed bu-

Pain cut my thought short. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. Pain shoot through every muscle in my back. I tried to figure out what damage was done to my spine , but that crack-head stabbed the shovel head into my back. Again I opened my mouth to yell but this time a little sound came out. The sound came out like a cat's softest groan. At that she laughed. But she never stopped digging it in my skin. " Do you know what I was digging? I was digging a grave. For when I decide I've had my fun, and it was time for the real revenge." That bitter laugh again. Every word she said was more bitter then ever. I tried to lift my head, but only to push pushed back down on the marble floor. Pain scattered through my skull, her bony witch-like fingers dug into my skull. She took a handful of my hair and yanked me up. She pulled me up so I was face to face with the heartless creature. "You wont win, so stop trying to fight. The harder you fight, the harder I play. A quick life lesson 'eyy. . . The more you ignore someone.. The more pissed off they get. So when I call you in the morning you come out. Yes?" With every sentence she stabbed the shovel deeper and deeper into my skin. All I could do was arch my spine and make that odd cat sound. She slowly lifted the shovel and walked back into the garden. Her laughter filling the house. I lay there for about 5 minutes, trying to figure out what happened and what happens next. I slid over to the staircase and pulled myself up from the rail. Even with support from the rail it took more than 3 minutes to get up. Great. How will I get up in the morning? How will I do PE on Wednesday? How will I shower without it stinging like a bitch? How deep was it? Was it bleeding a lot? How can I clean it if I can't turn? A thousand questions flickered through my mind at that moment. But the pain in my leg cut me short again. I pulled up the leg of my trousers to see a huge red 3centimetre thick line across the back of my knees. Now, how am I gonna go up the stairs? Looks like I'm bunking downstairs today. I really don't want to, but its the only thing I can do. But I wasn't giving up. I tried going up the stairs. It didn't work. I sat on the second step and tried to pull myself up with my 'upper body strength' . It worked but the question was: How will I get up when I'm at the top?Well, I would have to figure that out when I'm there. I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

I got to the top of the stairs and thought of how I could get up. Could I try and stand using my arms? No, my arms are actually pretty short. Could I use my legs to push directing up. No, I would have to arch my spine in order to do that. I crawled to my bed. Luckily, it was close to the stairs. I put both hands on my bed frame and pulled myself up. After the 3rd try, I think God felt sorry for me, and I got up and it on my bed.

I got up again, in need of in a shower. I could walk now, but I walked as slow as a penguin. I got my towel, hair towel , under wear and my robe. I walked over to the shower room , opened the shower to hot water. Once the hot water sprouted out, I turned on the cold water on a third of the way. Once the water was warm, I stepped in.

As the water trickled done my back and shoulders, my birth mark started to feel weird. Not like a itch. Not like a swelling sensation. It was like it was throbbing. But a mix of the two. I looked over at it. It seemed to be going red. Not from the hot water, it wasn't hot enough to turn my skin red. Weird, right? But oh well, it couldn't be bad could it. Maybe if my blood pressure was high, it would turn my skin a different tone. The rest fair skin was normal, except some of my bruises. I turned my head to look at my back, to see the external damage. My skin had been engraved with a line from the shovel head. Blood oozed from one of the edges of the graze. But it didn't hurt as much now. Even when I washed my body with shower gel, it didn't sting. Nice. So I showered like I usually did. I washed my hair like I usually did.

When I was done, about 10 minutes later, I sat on my bed and attempted to get changed. When I went to put my PJs on, my eye caught the bruises from 2 days ago and the thick line from the shovel. My bruise seemed to start to fade. Wow, that's really good. My bruises just looked like shadowed spots on my leg. The red line just looked the sun or water burnt my leg. This was really good. I could start to wear a skirt in this hot September weather. From that moment my mood lightened. But only a little. Maybe, just maybe, if I didn't have a monster downstairs I would be completely fine. Maybe even happy. I can't remember the last time I was fully on happy. I don't think I ever did. Maybe when I was a child and Father had stuck around for a year so something. Maybe when I was a thoughtless baby. Maybe before Father left. Maybe never. I couldn't remember and my mood darkened again. That's what always happens. I get in a good mood, then I start to think about stuff. Always the same stuff. Always the same person. Always the same questions. I don't know when I will get over the fact that my own father abandoned me. Worst yet, abandoned me with a monster. I wondered, maybe if he stuck around, would things be different? If he never walked out? Or would he join her with the beatings. The old questions fluttered around my head. They kept going around and around. I knew they wouldn't truly go away until I got the answers. These questions. They are just like mission impossible. How was I gonna get answers if that cow wouldn't talk about him unless it's how he ruined her, and I cant talk to him. These questions. Did he ever think of me? Of us? Where was he? Did he look like me a lot? Has he got another family? Why did he leave? Why make a family to just avoid it? What was going on in his mind? Was he as twisted as her? These questions. They haunt my nightmares. Escaped my dreams. Invaded my life. Until I got the chance to answer them, they would have to wait.

Although it was only 7:38,I decided to go bed. I never got homework. If I was bored I would either: Think of characters for a story, make up a plot, think of a fairy-tale and wish it came true or I would simply get my notebook and draw some more. The walls of my room were covered with my drawings. I took a good look around. Standing in the centre of my room rotating. All my drawings had one thing in common. Violence. Some of my drawings had house tools with blood tripping off. My blood. They were simply house tools like; A toilet brush for when she held my foot down and scrubbed it until my layer of skin was off and bleeding, bleach from when she pour bleach and vinegar on my ankle flesh to burn it, a broom for when she beat me with the end 'til I was unconscious , a wooden hanger for when she beat me a few days ago and last but not least, a photo frame that used to have my dad in it used to scar the flesh on my inner arm and thighs. The scars are still there, long lines that were the breaking point of my skin. I looked away from the drawings and looked at the wall opposite. These drawings were signs of peace, destroyed, like the drawing I drew today. I didn't notice how I displayed them. I displayed them in a broken heart shape. I took the picture I drew today and pinned it up on the far wall. I stepped back to look at the pictures I drew recently. When all the pictures are together the blood parts form a giant drop of blood. I didn't arrange it to be like that. The scary thing about this is, it formed a perfect raindrop shape but it's red from blood. I felt a tear escape over my bottom eye lid as memories fled back. I slowly lowered myself onto my bed to try avoiding the pain from my wound. It didn't hurt as much as it did downstairs, but I felt the same weird swelling sensation as I did in the shower. I lay on my back until I thought it would be bad to put my weight on my back, so I shifted to my stomach instead. It seemed that as soon as I put my head to the pillow, I zoned out.