Key to Perfection

Alone

I awoke to find myself in a hospital bed. Not the most pleasant thing to wake up to after your dad almost killed you.

The flood of flashbacks from last night are so strong, that they threaten to take the fragile hold I have on myself. I assess my surroundings, the plain tan walls, and the white sheets. A machine is hooked up to my arm and insistently beeps.

Why am I not dead?

There are no words to describe the feeling that arises in my chest when someone knocks at the door. It isn't a pleasant knock that a neighbour would use to say good morning. My dad must still be here.

I try to call for help, only to discover something around my neck and my voice was gone. My heart hammers in my chest and my breathing hitches in my throat. I lace my fingers through my thick hair and wait for him to burst through the door.

But the person who comes in is only a tall slender woman with blonde hair and gray-blue eyes. I recognized her now as Matilda, the woman that helped me when my dad first got hurt.

"Good Morning Clara," She said.

Knowing I couldn't voice a response I nodded and tried to smile, but everything I had been holding in suddenly burst out. Tears streamed my face as I silently poured everything inside my head. I remembered a saying that I learned after my mother's death. When I was struggling to keep living. Sometimes, memories fill my head and then slip out of my eyes.

The pain I felt was enough to make gurgling sounds from my raw throat.

Matilda slipped onto my bed and gave me a hug, not the ones that are meant to make you feel worse because the person wants to show you they feel your pain. This one felt like she was lending me strength, emotionally wiping my tears. "No matter how many times life pulls you down. No matter how many times you have to get back up, reach for the stars. The sun will rise again for another day, a fresh slate to make things better," She said, pushing a notepad towards my still shaking hand.

I forced myself to calm down and steeled myself. What happened to my neck?

She looked carefully at the messy writing. "When your dad was choking you, he bruised the area. You should be able to talk a little but you won't be fully healed for awhile."

What happened to my dad?

"They sent him to a better facility to keep under tighter restrictions. He won't be coming out again. We have found a family member, although you have never met the woman. Your grandmother from your mother's side. She will watch you for a month, if you feel unsafe or uncared for there we will find a family to adopt you."

I know how the adoption system works, people don't take teenagers like me.

"I will. I have a 12-year-old daughter and a 10-year-old son. There is also a year-old baby girl that we adopted. I think you would fit in. I also think that you and I have a mutual understanding of our past and situations."

Thank you.  I felt the urge to get up and see the damage my dad had caused. The person who I loved so much. I got up and struggled over to the bathroom, feeling tired, sore and unstable. Looking into the mirror, my familiar green-blue eyes and medium length brown hair was a relief to find untouched and normal. The next thing I saw was the piece of gauze that covered a patch of my throat and some sort of bandage to hold it on and support my neck.

I slowly took it off and saw open wounds formed by fingernails up and down the area. I trusted him, and I was betrayed. By him, the world, even my mother. I was angry and upset, but no tears or rage came. I was so drained I didn't have the strength to cry or feel anything at all.

Which was fine by me because I didn't know if I could pick up any more broken shards of myself.

Sorry for the long wait guys. Writer's block sucks and I haven't had the inspiration to write anything for a while. If anyone would like to help me edit my chapters, please come and talk to me. I know there are probably hundreds of mistakes and it would help to have a second set of eyes. Thank you for those still reading! <3