Chasing Pavements

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𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊

I awoke to the sun's rays peeking through the small slit in the wall. I stretched my arms, only to wince as I remembered what had happened the day before. The door creaked open, and fear crept over me at the prospect of my mother returning. Was she dissatisfied with yesterday's performance?

"Sweetheart, are you all right?"

The sound of Cloira's trembling voice washed over me like cold water. The door swung open to reveal my most trusted caregiver, holding a small drum of water and a white towel. As she sobbed, she placed the drum beside me. I reached out my hand to stroke her tear-stained cheeks. I drew her to me, lulled her.

"I'm fine, Cloira."Despite the fact that I was covered in fresh wounds and a few large blue-ish bruises, I assure her. "I'm going to be fine."

She made a tenuous motion with her head. "No, we should call for help. You can't keep living this way. Vena, my heart can only take so much. This is enough. Enough already." On her aproned lap, her hands were balled into a fist.

I didn't agree with her. I knew calling the domestic violence hotline would be futile. You can get away with a lot of things. So long as you had the money and power to do so. My mother's possession of both was pure of my own bad luck. If she found out I had exposed her cruel behaviour, I'd be dead. Not only would I be bathing in my own blood, but Cloira would also be harmed. I put up with it because the consequences of my actions would affect more than just me. There were times when I was beaten to the point where I accepted my faith. But I will never relinquish the easy path. They'd never let me. Cloira pressed the wet cloth against my wounds. I stood there, numb to the pain, watching as she cared for me. As she has done since the beatings began when I was a young girl.

Surprisingly, my brain had not been damaged, and despite the number of hits to the head, I continued to excel in academics. And the subtle, but harsh, slap on the back of the head from some of the servants. I knew I had to put my foot down and show them where they truly belong. That I am Dimitrious' heir. That they shouldn't be treating me like some lowly human. Declare my dominance and claim my title. But I couldn't do it. My mother barely treated me like a human being; why should the servants treat me like the heir I was?

Cloira helped me to my room after she patched me up. Among the other helpers, Cloira was the only one I could rely on. She was my best friend, or more accurately, the only friend I'd ever had. I showered and changed my clothes. I did nothing to cover up the bruises and scars that covered my body. What was there to conceal? I dressed in my usual shorts and tank top. My hair tips end below my buttocks. As I brushed my hair in the vanity mirror, I thought to myself, "I should cut it soon."

Cloira popped her head out of my closet the moment she heard the door open. Her brow furrowed as she looked at me. "Can you tell me where you're going?"

"Library," I say.

"Please be cautious, okay? Stay away from your mother." Her eyes were filled with concern. She knew the library was the only place where most could be alone. My father and Damocles would occasionally visit if they had meetings and needed to unwind.

My father was a hard-working person. had never struck me in any way. Even if he could see the torture that my mother would inflict on me, he didn't say a thing. He had never spoken to me. He was also uninterested in me. A man with few words, who is cold and heartless. The man, like my mother, never showed me any love or affection. Yes, he gave me money. But I was never a fan of the dollar bills he piled on my table. All I needed was the comfort of a caring father.

But we can't have it all, can we?

Damocles, my cousin, was the only member of my family who ever showed me love and affection. He had saved me on several occasions without even realizing it. I had relatively recently attempted to commit suicide. The knife and pills had been placed on my vanity table. He barged into my room and slapped the pills from my hand before I could even lift them to my lips. They were scattered on the floor, along with my desire to end my life. I didn't want to repay him with a funeral because he had shown me kindness and care. He and Cloira are the only reasons I'm still alive, even if I'm only hanging on by a thread. I didn't want them to be downcast. They have earned the right to be happy. But isn't it the same thing if I'm still mistreated?

I make my way up the spiral staircase in the massive library. I spent the majority of my time here. I can't attend college to practice law. My mother would not let me. Insisting that a high school diploma would suffice and that I did not require a job. I couldn't help but be swayed when she said it so lovingly. I still chastise myself for being so pliable. She hardly showed me the bare minimum, and I gave up my hopes and dreams to please her. I was hoping that if I didn't go, she'd finally recognize me as her daughter. Foolishness. Her cruelty and manipulation were never-ending. I'd like to think I'd have figured it out by now. But it's clear to see that I haven't.

I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach the thick green hardcover book. I inhaled the dust, which caused me to cough violently. I pat my chest a little to help it go away. The book's leather cover was imprinted with large, dull gold letters. My brow furrowed as I read the unfamiliar title. I swear I read the majority of the books in the library. But I suppose because this one was so high up...

I make my way down the steel ladder, clutching the heavy book to my chest.

It read, Dimitrious Family. Oh my goodness. This has to be the family history book! These books were full of secrets and dark histories. With trepidation, I turned the first page. I wasn't sure if I wanted to read this book. My hand moved on its own and flipped another page until I was only skimming the words. Any reservations I had were quickly dispelled.

The book included the Dimitrious family tree, histories of past family heads, legacies of a few family members, and even their entire life stories. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as Damocles would have me believe. It appeared to be a typical history book, but instead of the history of the country, it was the history of my family. I've spent my time immersed in the book, silently appreciating the testimonies left by my forefathers. I read and ran through the words until I reached the end of the book. An illustration of the family tree, as well as photographs of us, were pasted. I looked and looked for the current generation.

But there was one thing that perplexed me.

My mother and father were there, but I wasn't registered. In addition to a few documents taped behind the page.