Hostage- taken by the gang leader

22- Mom

Brooklyn's POV

"You will never be my daughter," He spoke lowly, boring his devious eyes into me as if he could see through all the facades I had put up. As if he could see that little insecure part of me that was slowly crumbling at the weight of his words.

My father, the guy that I had once been told bedtime stories by long, long time ago seemed to light up with a burning hatred whenever it came to me. He would constantly look down upon me, treat me like I was worth less than the dirt on his shoes.

What had I done to deserve this?

Tears rolled down my cheeks, the rivulets making his lips pull into a malice, twisted smile as he sneered at me like my pain was causing him joy. Like my suffering, suffering that I tried to hide every day from him, was what he thrived upon.

Was I not worth any love?

First, my mother had left, without so much as a note and now him. It was like everyone was leaving my life, distancing from me like I had unknowingly committed a crime. 

Even in my haunting dreams, the heartbreak my brother caused registered within me and I let out a gut-wrenching sob.

My thoughts were only solidified as my father raised a hand and slapped me across the cheek, sending me sprawling to the floor with my body racking with sobs.

I raised my hand to my cheek only to pull away sharply at the sting, the skin a blistering red. It would for sure leave yet another bruise that I would have to conceal the very next day. 

It just told me again and again that I was destined to remain alone...

I woke up with a start, hands gripping the bed sheets just to make sure I was really here. Here and not at my old house, where the good memories I had made was suffocated by the over piling bad ones.

I raised my trembling hand to my cheek, wiping away the tears that had leaked while I was trapped in my dreams. 

That was the only time I allowed myself to cry when I was alone and my face was masked with darkness- where no one could see my weaknesses.

I had learnt my lesson the time I had cried in front of Asher, it made him think I was weak and I was tired of being seen as such. I was tired of being seen as the girl whose life was in shambles as she did nothing more than drown herself in self-pity.

I forced myself out of bed and to the shower, getting dressed after a quick wash. I put on a casual butterfly sleeve black top as well as a pair of denim shorts, seeing how I had no plans to go out for the whole of today.

I had a burning urge to go over to my old house and yell my ass off at them for their reckless act but I knew, deep down, that it wouldn't matter to them. In fact, going over there now that they were technically against my gang could initiate something really bad if it hadn't begun already.

So instead, I sat down in front of the tv with a plate of scrambled eggs, aimlessly flickering through the channels as I racked my brains for something to do.

 Izzy came down and sat beside me, squeezing my hand lightly in silent reassurance. She knew that yesterday had been a lot for me to take in but I felt like I was managing it well. 

Granted, I was pushing it to the back of my head as much as I could but the human brain had this annoying thing was the more you tried to avoid a topic, the more it resurfaced.

It was a miracle that I was still sitting here, attentive and not disoriented as I would have been just a few years ago.

 I remember the worst thing that had happened to me resulted in me staring out of the window for months on end as I lost all sense of purpose in life.