Unloved

Chapter One

"Diana! Get your bratty brother and get in here, now!" My adoptive mother yells. I walk into the kitchen with my six-year-old brother clinging to my leg.

"Yes, Shannon ?" I ask, looking at my adoptive mother. She is completely drunk off her ass. This is not unusual-- she often gets drunk. She says it's her only way of getting away from my brother and I, but she's just an alcoholic who needs a reason to drink.

"Didn't I tell you to call me mother?" She slurs, sneering at me.

"You're not my mother," I snap at her. She glares at me with anger in her eyes as she walks over to me and slaps me, hard. It leaves a red hand mark on my face. I just stand there and smile at her provocatively, which makes her more pissy than she had been ten seconds ago. She snatches my brother, still clinging to my leg, and throws him against the wall, and proceeds to kick me to the ground. "You ungrateful little brat! How dare you treat me like that! Slip up again, and I'll start hurting your brother!" She yells as she kicks me one last time before leaving the kitchen.

I cough up blood as I try to hold back tears of pain, knowing that my brother is sitting there watching me. I have to stay strong... for him.

"A-are you okay, Isaiah?" I ask. I saw him hit his head when she threw him. He nods, silently reassuring me that he's alright. He hasn't spoken since he witnessed our parents deaths. I can't blame him-- to experience something so tramatizing at his age, I wouldn't want to talk eathier.

I smile at him, glad that he's alright. I don't really care what happens to me-- as long as Isaiah is alright, it doesn't matter. He smiles back, then stands up, heading for the freezer and coming back with an ice pack. He already knows that I may have a concussion, and I've gotten so many since that woman adopted us that he knows just how to take care of me.

I feel bad because he doesn't get to do normal things that kids his age get to do, unless I sneak him out. That usually ends with me getting a bad beating from Shannon after we returned home.

We head back up to our rooms. Isaiah walks me to my room and makes sure that I'm okay before racing to his room as quickly as possible.

I sit at my little desk, looking out the window at the forest below. I have a wonderful view of the forest that Isaiah and I would play in before our parents passed away. Now, we are forbidden to leave the house unless it's to go school.

After a couple hours of staring out the window, I hear a tentative knock on my door. I walk over and crack it open just a bit, and see it's Isaiah. He looks scared, so I let him in. "What's wrong?" I ask, worried he might have had a bad dream. It's 2:00 in the morning-- I don't really sleep much, anymore.

Isaiah hugs me tightly, tears sliding down his face. "Another bad dream?" I ask, rubbing his back gently. He nods in response as I pick him up and hold him in my arms. He buries his face into my shoulder, crying. He cried for a little while longer before he fell asleep in my arms.

I set him on my bed and cover him up. He often hadls bad dreams and every once in a while, he'll get a really bad one. Tonight was one of those nights. I wish I knew what he was dreaming of so I could help him.