Violets pov.
the feeling of pain is something that i'm used to.
even since a young age ive learned to handle many kinds of pain, at all times.
at this point of my life, its a sensation.
a sensation im feeling right now as blood drips down my left cheek. i look down at my light blue t-shirt and seea dark stain already there. no doubt, it will be hard to get out.
i look up at my screaming mother. her hair is messy, her face bright red with anger. i can smell the strong scent in her breath and know, before she'd got here she'd had way too many drinks.
all of her knife sharp words are blurred into my ears at her beautiful blue eyes; holding many emotion- i can trace hatred, disgust, - but also pain, confusion.
my mother and i have never had an easy life, or relationship. my father left us when i was seven. my mother loved him- she really did but when he left for some fake blonde who was atleast half his age the impact of the pain he caused hit her hard.
my father made it clear that he never loved me. he was just using my mother and i relise that now that im older. He's call me names, hit me and and in general was never there for me. in small ways; homework, tucking me in. it still hurt.
After my father left, my mom shut down. she would leave for days at a time to go partying and hook up with random guys.
During the time she was actually home she started taking her anger out on me. First, she would yell at me for what i was doing wrong. it doesnt seem bad but i had never been yelled at by my mom.
By the time i was 10 she started physically hurting me. slaps across the face, pulling on my hair. i started wearing makeup in middle school, trying to cover my scars.
now, i'm a senior in high school. instead of wearing makeup i usually just avoid my mom and stay upstairs in my room. as you can tell, that strategy didn't work out tonight since i have a cut in my left cheek and from the way its bleeding, its probably at least an inch long.
"just go!" i hear my mom yell and i feel a sting in my cheek when the tears reach my open wound.
i wrap my arms around my shaking body and run up the stairs to my room. i shut and lock the door behind me then throw my self onto the bed.
then i cry. i cry and cry until i feel my eyes dont have anymore tears.
after what seems like hours of crying, i hear the front door slam shut and i know my mom wont be back until at least tomorrow night, late.
i work at a small diner called Bakers Avenue and tonight i have a night shift since its Friday.
i sigh and push myself off the bed and make myself to my small bathroom. on my way, i see the clock says 5:13 and shift starts at 6. i usually walk to work its only 10 minutes, walking.
when i look in the mirror i look like a total mess. my black hair is all over the place and my normally pale skin looks paper white. i traced my finger over my cut which is really about half an inch long (like yo dick) and defiantly didnt look as bad as it felt. in fact, it looks more like a bruise than a cut.
i sighed in relif then ran warm water in my sink. i first wet my face and scrub it with my peach face scrub leaving it smooth as ever.
i brush my long hair and carefully french braid each side. i look down at my outfit; black leggings and a now blood-stained baby blue shirt. i strip down into my undergarments before exiting the bathroom and throwing my old cloths into a hamper before grabbing some lightwashed skinny jeans and a white v-neck. once i enter the bathroom again i pull the skinny jeans over my legs and throw the shirt over my head.
i once again trace the now light purple bruise with the tips of my long finger nails and then pull out my small makeup bag.
i pull out my concealer and at first look, wonder if its even going to match my pale skin tone but i know i need to make it work for my job. i dotted it about four times on the wound before blending it with my beauty blender. i next patted powder on the wound, and my whole face so it wouldn't look weird. finally i put on a little mascara so i wouldnt look like a ghost.
i let out a long breath as i look into the mirror, staring at my own blue eyes; they were dark blue on the outside but faded into an icy color, creating an ombré effect. i love my eyes, i always have. Even when i was little i used to stare in the mirror at them. My eyes are quite large also. i think i always loved my eyes when i was little because i had never seen anyone with black hair and blue eyes. when i was younger a lot of people would compliment me on my looks. my large blue eyes, long black hair, pale skin and plump red lips has always been a magnet to make friends. i used to have a lot of friends...
i sigh at the memory and avert my eyes from my own reflection to the open door that led to my room. i glanced at the clock and decided it was time to go when it read 5:45.
i walked out of the bathroom, shutting the light off on my way out. i grab my small purse and sling the long strap over my shoulder.
i exit my bedroom and quietly shut the door on my way out. once i exit i check my purse for my phone and instantly relax when i see my mint green phone case.
i quietly walk down the stairs and and sit down on the bottom to put on my black converse. Once thats done, i exit our house and turn around to see if the doors locked. Once i lock it -since my mother didnt earlier- i start my walk to the diner.
i work at the diner everyday after school and i pick up as many hours as i can on the weekends. it usually pays most of the bills but thats still a constant struggle. keeping food on the table is hard too, but i get one free meal a day at the diner and my mom hasn't eaten with me in years. the tips are good too, it usually just depends on the people.
i can see the colorful diner just down the road and i smile when i see its full of people. although small, bakers avenue is very well known in our town; we have the best food.
i walk around to the back door and once i enter, my senses are filled with the amazing smell of food. i smile at the cooks which they return. i walk to where my apron is on the wall and i lift it over my then tie it around the back of my waist.
"hey honey" my manager, Callie says and i smile when i hear her sweet voice.
"hey" i respond and spin on my heel to meet her lovely smile.
"can you get table 9? they just got here." and motions towards the door.
"of coarse." i respond and make my way over to the door, straightening my apron before exiting the backroom and scanning the tables.
my jaw drops when i see table 9.
-/-
a/n
HOW DO YOU LIKE IT? ❤️
im so fuçking excited ;)
-andrea
