My Will To Live

CHAPTER12- Hell

Dear Taylor,

I don't know what to do. Ever since- well, it doesn't matter when. Everyday, my life's been a living hell. I don't know what to do, and quite obviously I must be delirious as well, thinking you would read this letter. I haven't even put an address yet, I don't even know where to send it to.

I think the saying that desperate times calls for desperate measures is true, isn't it?

Well, lucky me, because I'm so super desperate. It's been a week, Taylor. It's been a week full of beatings and insults and being called a waste of space and I just... I just can't take it any longer! I am so sick, so so so sick of being treated like dirt. And feeling like it. And I can feel all this pressure on my shoulders, and I can't take it anymore! I want to break, and I wish I could. But no, I have to suck it up and pretend nothing is wrong or face dire consequences. I'm so sick of this.

I wish you were here. In person. I think you'd make me feel better.

Love love love,

Margie.

I place the letter in the box I keep under my bed(A/N: please tell me you noticed that Tim McGraw reference!). Like many of the other letters I have so called sent to Taylor, this one is once again not in an envelope, nor is it sealed. It's written on a piece of notebook paper torn out of any random school notebook I could find.

I hated it. I hated every single day of my life, my very existence. I couldn't stand it, either. I couldn't stand being beaten, forced every night to look at my new wounds. I haven't even gone to school this past week. The school called, but my parents told them I was sick with some sort of contagious bug and had to be kept in for quite some time. There was apparently homework for me online, but I couldn't even do that when I was being beaten every day.

Sometimes, they even starved me. I even had to look in the garbage for food once.

Yeah, did I mention I hate my life?

I'm pretty much ready to confine myself to my room when I hear my so called mom shout my name. I could feel my heart clench, with annoyance or fear, I was not sure. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was that she wanted, I stopped to hide the only precious thing-besides the box of letters under my bed-to me, my small, little iPod from my ninth birthday. It was my last gift, like the last day that my life was good. Maybe I shouldn't have stopped, because stopping apparently just took a little too long...

"GET DOWN HERE NOW!" My "mother's" shrieks ripped through the house. Oh crap. She's had an argument with my dad. I'm for it now.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU STAY UP THERE LONGER HUH? WHY DIDN'T YOU? YOU STUPID PIECE OF CRAP! NO ONE LIKES YOU, YOU KNOW THAT?" She yells at me. I can feel the tears well up in my eyes, and I make the mistake of letting one fall out.

"ALRIGHT CRY, WHY NOT? BE A CRY BABY! WHY NOT CRY TO TAYLOR HUH? APPARENTLY YOU LOVE HER MORE! DON'T YOU?" She continues yelling.

The next thing I see, makes me very, very shocked.

Mother leans against the wall and starts to cry. She actually starts to cry. And all I can do is stand by the side as she slides down the side of the wall, as the sobs work their way through her body. And she doesn't look like the Mother I'm used to. She isn't scary, or intimidating, or angry. No, she actually looks vulnerable, she looks helpless, almost... Like she's powerless.

What?

The only thing I can do is stare. I've ways thought of Mother as a strong woman, even before the abuse. She was never one to let her emotions through, never.

"Everyone else is getting on with their life and what am I doing here? Sitting on the floor. Looking like shit. Not even moving my ass away from this floor. Oh my God. I'm such a failure." Her sudden pained voice breaks the silence, and I'm shocked that she's actually felt this insecure. She's never been like that. Ever.

"No wonder everyone else is disappointed in me." She continues on.

"Because I don't do shit! Because I was that idiot slut in high school who just had to screw that stupid idiot boy in high school!"-she then catches a glimpse of me, and to be perfectly honest I have made no effort to conceal the shock on my face-" and what do I end up with? An idiot daughter who can't do stuff! A waste of space!"

Oh. No change there then.

At that moment my father has to choose to enter the house. When he sees the tear tracks on my mother's cheeks, he immediately assumes I've done something wrong, and before I know what happens, he slaps me hard across the cheek.

"What you doing girl? You make your mom angry huh?" He can't even bother to call me by name anymore.

"Girls like you get punished!" He yells.

And then he's hitting me. Everywhere. And I can't move at all, he's just punching me every where, and every part of me hurts. He kicks me in the stomach, the ribs, and when I gasp in pain, he shows a self satisfied smirk, as if giving me pain somehow pleasured him. And he just keeps at it. I'm almost sure I'll be beaten senseless, but he stops when it's time for dinner. I know I will have no meal tonight. I shouldn't even bother to ask. Dragging my aching body to the bathroom, I strip and take a bath. The water is painful as it splashes over new wounds, and when I touch my skin it feels painful and tender.

I don't even bother crying. I'm numb. I may feel pain on my skin, but it's like I can't feel emotions anymore. They don't affect me anymore. And me? I've sort of given up and am resigning myself to this life. When I get into bed, hoping to sleep off the pain and the hunger, a part of me wishes, really wishes, that I won't wake up in the morning. Or I will, and all this will be a horrible, terrifying nightmare that isn't real.

I don't want it to be real. I don't want it to.

Before I drift off, I pull out the iPod that I hid when my mom called me down. I put the earbuds in and hit Mean. What kind of fan am I, seriously? I don't even have merchandise or posters of Taylor. All I have is an iPod that's got a few songs of hers, and I know she's released a new album called Red which I haven't even been able to get a hold of. If you walked into my room, you'd hardly notice that I was a Swiftie. I really wished I could be a better Taylor Swift fan, get tickets to a show, anything to show my support.

Why would she care, anyway? It's not like I'm going to make a difference, honestly.

"Margie? Look, I'm sorry for what... Happened earlier." My mother appears at the door, sets down a plate of food, and quickly walks out, as if she's afraid someone will scold her for leaving food and an apology for me.

I'm baffled. She's never apologized, so why now? Has she felt guilty? In fact, my mother doesn't look like herself anymore, but more like a tired, helpless woman who might really need a hug. Then I remember the food, and I immediately attack it. It's not enough for me, but by now I hardly care and the food disappears in a matter of seconds.

I decide the best would be to tread cautiously around my mother for now, and see what happens. I can't trust her completely, obviously.

Little did I know that while today may have been hell, tomorrow would be way way worse...

Short chapter, I know. But something cool is going to happen in Chapter 13 that will both be sad and happy! I'll probably update on Friday, as I'm super busy on Sunday! Also... HOW COOL IS SHAKE IT OFF! I LOVE IT AND I KEEP PLAYING IT AND IT NEVER GETS OLD! I FEEL LIKE MARGIE SHOULD SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE IT OFF HAHA :)

Megan xxx