You found me

1

I hear the screeching sound of my alarm clock piercing the veil of fog, waking me, bringing me down from the high of a great dream. Slowly opening my big brown eyes with a sigh, I reach over to turn it off. I hate mornings, they absolutely suck. Deciding to just stay in bed for a few more minutes, I look up at the ceiling wishing the dream didn't have to end; Wishing my dream was my reality. I sigh at the pointless wishing and fight back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. No time to cry, I have to get up. Taking a deep breath I brace myself for the cold of the room. After throwing my covers off I slowly sit up.
"Shit." I whisper clutching my side. Slowly, I stand up and lift my shirt. I see the bruise my oh-so-loving husband has given me taking form on my ribs leaving a nasty shade of purple, blue and black. "God, I hate him so much, I swear as soon as I can leave I'm out of here." I vow to myself. I quickly bite my lip, instantly regretting the words as I brace for impact. After a long agonizing beat, I realize I'm alone. He's not in bed, his side is untouched. I remember where he slept last night, in his own room.
I tip-toe over the cold wood floor to the old beat up dresser. I pull out an old beat up bra and a pair of panties that have most definitely seen better days, then head to the bathroom for a quick shower.
After a few minutes of lathering, rinsing and repeating; I get out and dry off, gently. I try my best not to put too much pressure on my bruised side as I wrap the towel around me. I put on my undergarments and brush my teeth. I finish and I go back to the bedroom as quietly as I can not wanting to wake Lamont, my drunk, sadistic husband. Success! After closing and locking the door, I search the closet for some clothes. I don't have much to choose from so I decide on a pair of old black skinny jeans and a blue long sleeve shirt. I make sure the sleeves are long enough to hide the bruises on my wrist and arms from last week's tango with the brute. Even though it's the middle of August and hotter than hell right now; I have to hide the bruises.

I put on concealer and foundation to hide what remains of my black eye from two weeks ago, and the evident lack of decent sleep. After all the layers of makeup have been applied, I make a great attempt to comb through and style my long jet black curly hair. It decides not to cooperate on the styling part so I just pull it into a ponytail. I examine my ebony skin to make sure all the bruises are covered, "all good" I nod to myself in satisfaction.
I look at the clock on my phone. 8:30Am. "Better get going." I whisper to myself. Grabbing my book bag off the floor I put my work uniform into it along with a binder and some pens. I unlock the door and head down the hall. Looking around the corner I see Lamont asleep on his bed in his room. I suck in a breath then as silently as I can, I tiptoe past him. Once I get past I make a break for the front door. I make it outside without waking Lamont or his fury. After locking the door, I let out a deep breath then walk down the porch stairs. I look at my phone again and see that I have 20 minutes to get to my next hell, or school as most called it.
Now I know you all are wondering. "Why are you married?" Or "where's the baby?" Or something equally offensive. But the answer is I was sold. My mother died when I was 11, I lost her to cancer. Custody was awarded to my Junkie father although at the time he was sober. Dad didn't start coke until I was 13. My little sister and I were in and out of foster care between my dad getting sober and falling off the wagon. He started piling up debt and with those debts came life threats. When I was 16 I was given to Lamont "French" Francois as payment. My father's only request to Lamont was to let me finish High school.

"It will keep the cops from looking for her." my father said.

The first few months living with French weren't too bad. I was treated like a human at least. He didn't try to have sex with me or try to even kiss me. Everything was fine until one night French came home drunk and high off of god knows what. I lost my virginity that night, I'll spare you the grimy details. But that night, French put his brand on me, literally. He burned a large F on my left shoulder.