The Escape

The Struggle

My mind begins to clear and again and the voices disappear. I turn to the old grandfather clock that stands next to my mother's favorite spot to read. It is six thirty in the morning, almost time for school. I slowly gain my strength back and stand up. Once I can walk again I make my way to my room down in the basement.

I used to sleep upstairs, but when my father started beating me I realized it would be better for me to move. I would come down here to get away from my raging father and for a place to have peace of mind.

It is dark and dusty; I search for the cord to turn on the light. Once I have found it I pull the string and turn to face the mirror.

It is at that moment that I wish I had never found that cord.

I begin to cry as I see what my father has done to me. My shoulders have a green-yellowish palour to them. My back is covered in dry blood and drenched in sweat causing my shirt to cling to me like a second skin. My hair normally a wavy dark blonde is now brown and matted against my head. My eyes are bloodshot, my lips swollen with a slight tint of blue in them. My shirt is torn and stained with the color of death.

I open the drawer where I keep all my clothes and let out a heavy sigh. I only have a few unstained and untorn shirts left. What am I going to do when I wake up one morning and I have none? What would people say if I went to school wearing a blood-stained and slashed t-shirt? Maybe I'll just convince them that its some kind of fashion statement.

I chuckle at that last thought.

It would probably work though. I'm a really good liar. I have been lying for six years practically half my life yet no ones ever said or done anything. My whole life is a lie that covers up the terrible truth, so why would any othe time be different?

I look back at the mirror and my faces flushes with anger.

I didn't know where it came from, but I surely didn't try to hold it back. I liked the feeling it gave me. I began ripping my beds sheets into to strips that I could wrap around my back. I fixed my hair the best that I could and put on new clothes. I grabbed my back pack and went towards the stairs.

As I was making my way up to leave out the door I heard footsteps and the sound of breaking glass. It was coming from down the hall. I tensed at a realization.

My father was up and he was majorly hungover.

Scared of what might happen next I make a dash to the door hoping to evade the maddness and hatred that is my father.

I make it out safely and just in time for the bus. I make my way up the snl black stairs and to my seat. I can hear giggles and sneers from other students as I walk by.

All the students are rowdy and loud; except for two of them. Jere and Lynn look up at me with smiling faces. I force myself to smile back wondering if they can see the searing pain I'm trying to hide that comes from that simple movement. I have to pretend to be happy for them or else they will start asking questions and I can't have that.

Questions always lead to unwanted answers.

Nobody knows what goes on in that beat up old shack every night. I'm all alone. The students of Wellis high believe me to be a bum that will never graduate. I kinda have the same fear that I might not make it through high school, do maybe they're right. I may never graduate.

"She has no actual parents." they will sneer. "She lives all alone in that little shack because no one loves her." they'll whisper when they think I can't hear, but I do hear. I hear every word they say, every little glance and snide comment I acknowledge.

I pray that I couldn't hear their cruel remarks but I still do.

When Lynn and Jere ask for the real story I just say that I'm living with my grandparents while my dad is in jail and my mum is out travelling. Ive been telling than that same story since we became friends four years ago, but thankfully they never ask for more.