Bad Things Happen To Good People

Chapter 3: Be Strong

hey peeps, here is another chapter, sorry about mistakes, hope you like it :D

picture of nicole to the side >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

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Blinding light streamed through the windows, harsh on my eyes and face. The stench of old stale beer still hung in the air like a morning frost, it reminded me that I had to get up before my father got home. That was, if he hadn’t already drunk himself to death, or got beaten up by some dealers. I prayed to god that he was in some ally somewhere, passed out. I stirred again, flinching when the sun hit my cuts.

 Dragging my abused body from the floor where I lay in a pile of my own blood to one of the kitchen chairs was a humongous effort. For a moment the world span as I tried not to vomit on my sneakers. It took a few seconds to straighten out again, I held my head still as it did so, experienced with this.

When the room was back in focus I mentally made a tick chart of my injuries:

Two fractured ribs, one black eye, multiple bruises and cuts, one sprained wrist, and of course the words.

As if I didn’t need another reminder.

Ever so slowly I crept out of the room on high alert, up the stairs and inched past my dad’s room. I didn’t hear any snoring so I guess that he was out ‘having fun’. My body relaxed on instinct my lungs heaving a sign. Ouch. That stung. Note to self, no heavier breathing.... or moving.

I grabbed my first aid box from inside my bathroom cabinet where I kept hidden behind girly things and opened up the box to reveal the multiple bandages and sterile pads. I set to work cleaning my cuts with a flannel and warm water wincing and biting my lip, trying not to call out. The cuts on my face were minor, the bruising around my eye sore and inflamed.  I sighed, yet another reason for people to tease me.

Gently I opened a sterile wipe, stripped out of bloody clothes and patted down my whole body being careful on especially tender parts. When I reached my arm I couldn’t help but stop are stare at the words that were now embedded in my arm. The tiled room drifted away, my gaze focused on the words that were red and sore. I have no idea how long I was staring for, but I soon shook my head to clear my vision and continued wiping my cuts. I bandage my wrist and ribs as best I could.  It wouldn’t really make a difference anyway, once my dad was back from his ‘trip’ the process would just be repeated over and over again. But it was the best thing I could do without going to a hospital. I shuddered at the thought; the smell of blood reached my nose as i was lost in the maze of memories.  

Knowing that my father wasn’t here I walked slowly back into my room and fell on my bed, conscious that it was already 8 o’clock. I sighed heavily, the bandages pinching at my shredded skin. I didn’t want to go to school but I had to keep my attendance up. For a few more moments i savoured the last silence I would have for the day, stared up at my purple ceiling that was covered in glow in the dark stars.

My room was my haven, the place where my father couldn’t reach me. He said it reminded him too much of when him and mum painted it for me. I had added a few personal touches since them. The dark purple walls were covered in delicate silver flowers that I had added glow in the dark glitter to, miniature fairies danced across my wall playing and laughing. The fireflies lit up the whole mural, providing life to the whole room. In one corner a painting off the full moon shined bright and proud next to a fairy that looked just like me when I was young. White worn furniture filled the space, along with a dark purple mat in the middle of my room. Looking around you would see no personal pictures or photos, only the drawings that were tacked messily to my far wall. That was my wall. It had every picture I had every drawn on it, there was photos, oil pastel, acrylic, water colour, every type of picture you could image. Even a sketch of my mother, and one of me dancing until I had given it up two years ago. But you never really forget how. That’s a whole other story.