Girl in Pain | {old version}

Chapter 7

❝No one notices your tears,

no one notices your sadness,

no one notices your pain,

but they all notice your mistakes❞

-Unknown

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"Blake, Blake come on! You know I hate being photographed! I'm ugly", I told my brother while hiding behind my hair and my tiny hands.

"You're not sis." he smiles at me, cupping my cheeks, "You never were, and you never will. You're so beautiful and kind and look at that smile. I take photos of you because I want you to see what I see every day of my life: a strong and wonderful girl."

"Promise me one thing B."

"Anything for you Sea."

"Promise me we'll always stick together no matter what."

"No matter what."

A shaky breath left my lips as I recalled that memory. Every time I took a glimpse of that photo, that dialogue with my twin replayed on my mind, still vivid and clear, full of love and young airiness. Nothing had changed besides the figures and the voices themselves because more time flew by, more difficult it seemed for me to remember his tone of voice, his facial expressions and features and instead of that young, reckless and happy girl, I started to see a sad, consumed, broken teen. You could see it in her eyes: once a vivid hazel colour, now dull and darker.

I closed my diary placing the picture back on its page while the orange-red dawn painted the lighter coloured sky, welcoming the sun as if it was the king. The feeble heat radiating from my rock was able to help me dry off that bit to put on my silky white nightgown. As I glanced back to the sea, I could see the sunrise's reflex in the water signalizing it was getting late for me and I had to run in order to get back on time. I sprinted towards the promenade path only focusing on my breath and hoping I wouldn't be late.

You could already hear the voices and the chaos of the awaken foster home from the oak tree I was graciously climbing down. The smell of the breakfast consisting of overcooked beans, scrambled eggs, burnt pancakes hit my nostrils making me shiver. As I approached the building's wall, I could sense the dishes' and cooking noises that brought into the busy kitchen a kind of funny music. It reminded me of all those Disney cartoons I used to watch with my family, especially with Blake, as we grew up such as Sleeping Beauty & The sword in the stone.

I imagined flying dishes suspended mid-air in a row, waiting their turn to be filled with food or others that splashed into the sink full of water to be cleaned by the now alive animated mustard yellow sponges. The clinging sound of some shattered dishes that collided one with another while the cook and her crew, formed by two other learners and, in turns, by one the oldest foster boys and girls, looking around more confused as ever running up and down the room trying to figure out how to stop it all.

Suddenly a roaring voice could be heard through the open windows on the other side of the structure, making me freeze in my spot while a cold shiver ran down my spine.
I was late.

"Where is she?! Where is that freak?" screamed the principal, blood rushing through her veins ready to pop out, making her head flush red like a tomato. During those many years, hardly ever had she been seen like that but those rare times she had been caught in that state of rage, well nothing good was to come. "Where is she hiding hmm? Are you protecting her?! TALK!"
People started to murmur, some stayed silent with fear written all over their faces, others looked at their shoes and if they were the most interesting thing to study.
I, on the other hand, was still petrified on my spot. My legs were shaking, my heavy breaths were short as if I had run a kilometre and all colours had drained off my face.

My mind started to wander, thinking of all the possible things that could happen next. What I feared the most wasn't the detention I would have to endure as soon as they found me nor how it would have affected me, physically and psychologically, but the fact that they could find out about my nightlife, my saviour; that they had the power to take it away from me, banish me from escaping ever again. But I would fight, I wouldn't let everything go, no, not again. I would fight for what I care, for my freedom, for all I have left of them.
No one would have taken it away from me. Not this time, not ever again.
In that moment, I could see the light, the light at the end of the darkness was becoming stronger, it was becoming real.

Sighing and composing myself together, I started walking to the main entrance. There was no escape now. The old doors screeched under my touch as I opened them, letting the feeble Sun's rays lighten the old quinacridone magenta hall and diverting all eyes on my exposed figure.
The principal's eyes were looking me with hatred, becoming darker and small as cracks as a grin was displaying on her lips.
After storming with heavy steps towards me and yanking my arm, she started walking in the direction of her room.

So many times, I've been escorted to that room, so many times I've been punished for something I didn't do or was imperfect at her eyes. So many, that I've lost count but not the memories. I could describe every single angle of that room, its bleached apricot walls full of cobweb and dents, the rough birch furniture.
As soon as she opened the wooden door, I was thrown on the floor. I could feel the cold tiles scraping my skin, the common burning sensation tingling on the flesh.

I knew what was coming next. It was always the same procedure. Throw me on the floor, call me names, yanking me by my hair to pull me up, let me face the wall and then the punishment would begin.
This time was no different from the others.
"You're worth less than a pig. I could at least eat it. What did you do this time? Got in someone's bed? Or maybe you killed someone else?", at her words I cringed. Many times I've heard her call me names but every time she suggested that I was a murderer, I couldn't but cringe and feel a sting in my heart.
Soon she came for my hair but this time I got up alone. She made me face the wall as the pain started to spread through my back. Each stroke was heavier, faster as if the principal was concentrating all her anger on that rawhide.

No sounds were made, just the strings flickering through the air. The pain I was feeling was soon replaced by dullness. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, hitting the floor, putting an end to their race.
I felt vulnerable in these moments even if I didn't give the monster the whole satisfaction she always craves. Screams, tears, submission. She wanted discipline.

Time flew by and soon my torture ended. Without a glance back, I walked towards my room putting my gown back on.
Tiredness engulfed me as soon as I hit the pillow. My heart rate was getting back to normal when suddenly the door was opened. I didn't dare to look who it was, feeling too consumed to even open my eyelids.
Soon the mattress sank next to me and a soft hand cupped my cheek spreading a bit of warmth through my body. His thumbs were wiping my tears and fuzzy words were spoken.
"I'm so sorry..." was the last thing I could hear before a dark shadow fell upon me.

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A/N

This chapter is a bit different from the others as you could see. I decided to show you what she has and had to endure for many years.
It was quite difficult to write and I think the last scene was pretty rough. It is in fact children abuse, no matter what age and it's sad to know that it's real. It's part of our society but please, if you are going through something similar, talk to someone. Don't be afraid.

What do you think of her memory? And who is the one soothing her?

Leave a comment and a ☆ if you liked it!

[this is a first draft - you can find the newer version on my Inkitt profile: Inkitt.com/SOSimons or by clicking on the external link]

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