Why Me?

Why Must I Endure This?

Chapter 2

Once I reached the top of the steps, I squinted because I was down stairs for almost one day and a half. It was blinding. In a way, it felt lovely: the warmth of the light, how I can move. Not like down in the basement which is the opposite, cold, dark, and can't move because of the chains around my wrists and ankles.

When my sight adjusted to the light, I could see the same hallway, same tables, same creamy green walls, but different flowers in the vases that were on the counters. I live in a beautiful, expensive, and life sized house. But I don't live in a perfect room you can say. I live in the attic, but I don't mind. I like it, the window is small, and it gets cold up there during the winter. But I like the view even though the window is small. I like bundling up in the winter when it's cold up in the attic. But sometimes in a way, it's quite scary and lonely. I moved into the attic when I was only five years old, that's when I came under the care of the Hunt family.

If you were wondering if I was Ms. Hunt's daughter, well you're mistaken. Ms. Hunt is my step-mom, which is easy to tell after all she hates me. I never was seen or talked to my step-father before, but I think he'll treat me the same way that Ms. Hunt does. I have a step-brother too; his name is Jacob. He also hates my guts for no reason at all. Well as you can see everyone hates me. What can I say? All they see me as is the maid girl that was taken in only because Ms. Hunt was bored. Also, she wanted to vent her anger on to someone, and I was the perfect person, a girl who had nowhere else to go except the orphanage. I use to live with my real mom and dad, but something's happened, and as a result, I cannot live with them anymore. There's never a day that goes by that I don't miss them, or wonder what happens to them.

I started walking up the steps, one step to another, feeling an intense sharp cut screaming at the top of its lungs. The soreness was unbearable; I could hardly walk or even stand. However, I pushed on, walking up the three story house stairs than the latter to reach the attic, which is the hardest part with my hands and legs in this shape. But I drove myself to climb, and climb, and climb. Soon I get to the top pull myself up and crawled to my bed and climbed in. I looked at my table that was next to my bed had three more piles of bills, mail, company taxes, and so on. But I didn't care. I just laid there for maybe 30 minutes until I realized that it was 7:30 pm, "I better start on one of the piles" I muttered to myself. I crawled out of bed and inched myself towards the desk full of papers. I grabbed hold of the chair then lifted myself on to the seat. I stared into space at the pages, wishing all the work can do it its self. So when I came back to the real world I reached for my pen, my pen is old, and it would be very inconvenient for me if it broke because then I would have to buy a new one and that would cost me more money that I do not have. I need to save up for food; yes I buy my meals it's not like Mrs. Hunt will feed me that would be an amazing!

When I started to work on the papers my hand felt as if it was going to fall apart. Although I kept writing, page after page until it was finished. All the paper work was finally done; I looked at my pen which had blood all over it. I reached for a tissue; yes I had to buy this too and then rubbed the blood off the pen. As soon as all the blood was off, I stood up and staggered towards my bed. Then crouched down to the side of my bed. I reached under my bed and pulled out a first-aid kit; well you know the drill, well my drill. I banged up my wounds. They were not that bad looking after I cleaned them, but they hurt a lot, and when I mean a lot I mean it. I looked at my "door" to see if the head maid or any maid was watching me. You already know that I get Ms. Hunts full "attention." Well, that's because it's like walking your dog in the park, you must keep a close eye on it, or it will bolt. Yes, the head maid can tell me what to do, crazy right? Yes, I know it's crazy, my life is crazy, well not crazy more like stupid or miserable life. I guess I have to live with it, after all, it's not like I can run away. I have nowhere to go. I slide the first-aid kit under my bed then crept into bed; later darkness engulfed me with an itching feeling that tomorrow was going to be the most unfortunate day of my life.