Wolf

Beging

 
    The smell. That smell of her sweet perfume that made me feel like I was at home when I was with her. That sweet loving and understanding smile showed that she actually cared. Her love the one thing I cared about other than my father and her.

It was all gone. I was six when it had happened. We were at the beach the still warm and salty breeze blowing with the waves rolling calmly towards the shore. My father and mother at the beach on a sandbar. My father chasing me around in the water that was just at our ankles. Sand flying in the air behind us. My mother was making her famous peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a layer of chips in the middle, made with love. We were staying at the beach house that my father had rented we all were having fun till the fateful moment that it all went down.

My mother the person my father treasured more than just me had gotten severely ill. She had gotten so ill that she had to be hospitalized. When we were there at the hospital the scent of mourning death was a strong smell, other than the sent of sterile bleach ingrained in every corner of the building. She lasted only a week. Then she was gone, we had to plan the funeral that came too soon.

    My father the man that was caring and was always around when I was sad to cheer me up was gone. It had been a week after the funeral but he was still mourning because he couldn't handle it. So he started with drinking to wash away the pain that he had felt but it wasn't enough after two years. After the alcohol wasn't enough he added smoking to it. That also wasn't enough for him after another two years. So he added verbal abuse, then it escalated to physical abuse. With all of this starting to happen at home and my school work piling up I started to abuse myself. I started doing something that I wish I never did at the age of 10. I started to self-harm, my blade was my only friend.

    High School the worst two years of my life with all of the abuse happening at home. Everyone at school hating me along with the teacher but a select few liked me. They all didn't understand the pain I was going through so they had added to my pain by giving me more names to write in my arm and cry over that night like I always did, with my blade at my side. Mrs. Carter's the only one that cared when I had told her and she was the only one to believe me. She was the only art teacher at my school so I have had her my first two years and my third year; this year.

My birthday is on July 10, 2000. It is the year 2018 and I am still seventeen till the end of the school year. My father doesn't want me to leave next year but I will be no matter what he wants.

    The summer was finally coming to an end too soon. I didn't want to go back but I also wanted to leave this hell hole. I never wanted to go back once I had the chance to leave. 

I was on my way to school. A five-foot small girl walking the halls. I am short and I have long black hair and bright blue eyes that no one ever sees. No one ever sees my eyes because of how my hair drapes over my face. I think though that it sort of keeps me safe. My hair is slightly my safety blanket because no one truly sees or knows what I look like. My hair is also an important part of me because my mother was the one that told me when I was little that your hair holds all of your strength.

I made it to the school building and walk in knowing that I would get the same stare that I always got. I had gotten my schedule already so I walked to my homeroom to get ready for the day. My messenger bag on my shoulder and books in my arms.  With the books, there was a small piece of paper that was my schedule.

When I had gotten to homeroom I stayed quiet because; I have a disorder that is called selective mutism so when I am scared, anxious, or in highly crowded/ populated areas with a lot of people around me, I go mute. When I do go mute it is like a hand is squeezing my throat so I feel the constriction and I can't get anything out.