Bruised

Prologue

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS YOUNG LADY". Without warning, I am picked up by the collar of my school uniform and thrown against the brick wall of the underground cellar in my house. Well technically my "bedroom" but also known as the place where my parents beat the shit out of me. I can't see straight, I am trying so hard to not pass out and scream in pain because I know all that is going to do is make them hit harder. They think it is pleasure to hear me scream. They want to satisfaction of them being more powerful than me. But I won't give it to them. No matter how bruised I am I will not lose my humanity and dignity. I feel a warm liquid drip down my face. My shaking hands reach up to touch it and I see red. I sigh. Of course. I will have to clean myself up afterward. It is always like this. If my brother is in trouble with the police or my parents are high and drunk or mad they always abuse me. It is nothing new. I am used to it. I feel another punch. I do not flinch. I let my father hit me. I dare to glance at his face and I regret it the moment I see his face. His whole face is red and I know he is not satisfied. I wonder what he is going to do next but before I even thought of anything I felt his toned arms around my neck and his hands tightening. And all I know is I am going to die right now. So I scream. That is all I really remember about what my real parents are like. I don't remember what they looked like, I barely remember their voices but I still remember how they made me feel. Everyone says that time is the best healer, but I feel like no matter if I had all the time in the world I would still not be able to heal after years of torment from the people I care about most. My past still clings to me, skeleton hands holding me back, even as I push forward into the daylight. I stare at my reflection staring right back at me. With broken eyes like shattered glass, I've have not been myself lately. The truth is I have not been myself for what feels like a long time, so long that I have begun to wonder whether I ever really knew. I stare. Unblinking, into the mirror. I close my eyes, steeling myself against the unwelcome strain in my chest. My parents are gone. They were monsters! They deserved worst, and still- this pain. The fire of true hatred, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much or hate so much if I didn't care. And it is this, my unrequited affection for my parents, that has always been my greatest weakness. So here I lie here, marinating in a sorrow I can never speak of, while regret consumes my heart. I am an orphan. I am an unwanted orphan.