Blind Faith - A Story About Falling In Love And Finding Freedom

Blind Faith - A Story About Falling In Love And Finding Freedom 1

Blind Faith - A Story About Falling In Love And Finding Freedom

Chapter 1

Amy's POV

The shrill beeping of the alarm pull me unwillingly from my deep sleep and back into the real world. My eyes flickered open once and filled with a dull grey light, whilst my hand groped blindly for the clock, reaching around desperately until it finally slammed down on the necessary button. The beeping stopped. I lay still, trying to slow my racing heart.

As I lay there, I gradually became aware of my body and groaned. Previously it had been warm and comfortable, but I now I noticed the aches and pains that had decided reassert themselves. I forced myself to reluctantly swing my legs around and stand up to check the damage. I pulled my pyjamas off, looked in the mirror and groaned again, louder.

A short (5'4) seventeen-year-old girl gazed back at me. She was extremely skinny, with a boyish figure which made her look younger. Her dull brown hair was a mess, cropped fairly short in a style that again did nothing to make her look older, despite its layers. Her eyes were a warm brown and quite large, but they were full of pain and had purple shadows underneath that contrasted strongly with her pale, delicate-looking skin. She looked tired, her lips fell naturally into a sullen, unhappy frown and there were a few premature lines forming around her eyes. They were not laughter lines. All in all, she looked a sight, but that wasn't why I'd groaned.

On the soft white skin of her stomach, a large red mark formed a vivid contrast over a layer of other older bruises which were beginning to heal, forming a collection in colours that ranged from purple and blue to yellow and green. Her arms, too, were marked, although less severely - there were purple fingerprint marks just below the elbow on both of them. As I stared at the battered stranger in the mirror, her eyes tightened, remembering the previous night.

*Flashback*

"You bitch!"

The harsh yell was my only greeting as I re-entered the apartment at ten o'clock, exhausted by a hard day's work. I dropped my bags instantly and ran to the kitchen, where the noise appeared to be originating from.

"You are mine! You do not answer back, you do not laugh at me, you do not talk about me behind my back - you obey me, understand? You. Will. Respect. Me."

Each word of his final sentence was punctuated by a sharp crack: the sound of the hand of my mother's boyfriend, john, slapping her across the face. She was pushed back against the counter by him, terror and confusion in her unfocussed eyes. They weren't alone; a few men, all with cigarettes in their mouths, bottles in their hands and beer bellies were sitting at my kitchen table, which was littered with yet more bottles. None of the cowards were doing a thing to stop John, although most at least had the dignity to look uncomfortable with the situation.

I evaluated the situation fast, with an expertise born of much practise, and decided that, yet again, I had to distract him to protect her. In fact, I had to get him to turn on me instead. It doesn't take much.

"John," I said coolly. It was enough. He dropped my mother and span around, ready to get his favourite punch bag.

"You watch your attitude, girl" he slurred aggressively, "and don't call me that. I told you, I want you to call me Daddy from now on, cause that's who I am you ungrateful little slut!"

I've heard similar insults many times before and they barely affect me. The idea that that...thing could be my father hurt me more, but again, it was hardly new. However, although I usually avoided antagonising him, he's in a particularly bad state tonight and he might just lose interest in me and return to beating up my mother. I sighed internally, wincing at the thought of what is to come but knowing that I'll do it anyway.