The lost and the hurt (on hiatus until further notice)

Chapter 1

Scarlett's P.O.V.

             My name is Scarlett, I am 16 years old and go to Lakewood High. I spend most of my day at school, having to deal with bullies teasing me for my small mistakes. The teachers don't give a shit about bullying since they never do a damn thing about it. I'm always the one who gets in trouble for what they do. The one who bullies me the most is Christain Brandle. He's also my neighbor. He's bullied me ever since I was in 6th grade.

             I live with my mother and 5-year-old brother. I have an older brother, Marcus, but he's in Chicago for college. My mother is always working and doesn't care about us. She abuses us whenever she is home. She changed a lot since our dad died in a house fire when I was 10 years old. She started the abuse a year after he died. She thinks it's our fault. I mean, I was 10, and Charlie was barely even born, but she doesn't care.

             She still gets us clothes, food, and pays for us to go to school. If she didn't, child services would get suspicious. She always makes us fend for ourselves, leaving without telling us how long she'd be gone. Sometimes she would be gone for a few days.

             I'm walking home from school, also known as hell. But luckily it's Friday. I was walking alone since I haven't been able to make any friends. As I walk up the steps to my house, I heard my mother's loud, angry voice, probably yelling at Charlie for some reason. I open the door to see my mother and Charlie standing in the kitchen, milk dripping off the counter from a cup. She's yelling at him for spilling milk, the stupidest thing to yell for. The side of Charlie's face is red, most likely from my mother. My mother hears me open the door and glares at me with her cold eyes like I was something on the ground. Charlie is looking at his feet, tears sliding down his face. I glare back at my mother.

             "I thought you had to work." I spat at her with a cold, harsh tone. My mother looked even angrier than she was a second ago. She marched over to me and backhanded me, hard. I held my cheek, which now stung with pain.

             "I thought I told you to mind your own business!" She grasped my throat, but not hard enough to not breathe. My hands immediately grabbed her wrist, but not being able to do much. She dug her long, sharp nails digging into my skin, so I tried doing the same to her wrist. That made her even angrier than she was already.

             She then threw me to the ground, me landing with a loud thud. I brought my hand to my neck and looked at Charlie, who was looking at me with tears in his eyes. I then look at the woman I call mother. She had her back to me. I fought back the tears and stared at her the way she looked at me, with hatred. She started to walk towards Charlie. Then I said something I knew I shouldn't have said, immediately regretting it.

             "How do you think dad would feel if he saw you treating us this way." I heard a gasp from Charlie, my mother stopping dead in her track. What happened next was in a blur. My mom was on top of me with a large kitchen knife. She put the knife to my elbow and dragged it down to my wrist. I started screaming in pain. She covered my mouth, then did the same thing with my other arm. I started squirming around, kicking my legs trying to get her off of me. She then brought her fist to my right eye with a quick swing. Then she left the house.

             I was in so much pain. My head was pounding. My arms, neck, and cheek hurt. I closed my eyes. Then I hear something right next to me. I open my eyes again just enough to see Charlie leaning over me with tears streaming down his face. Then I felt something sticky, remembering what just happened. I try to get up, but I fall back down, scaring Charlie.

             "Are you okay?!" His voice sounded shaky.

             "Maybe. Go get the bandages from the bathroom please." He hurries down the hallway into the bathroom. It was 2 years after we moved here that she started blaming us. Charlie came running out of the bathroom with a wad of bandages, a dark plastic bottle, and 2 white towels. He put the towels under each of my arms and open the bottle. Then I realize what he's doing. "No, Charlie, what are you doing?!" I tried stopping him, but I can't lift my arms without them hurting.