The Girl with the Scars

Chapter 2

The trip home is quiet. Too quiet. I know I'm going to get a tongue-lashing when we arrive home. Mother and Father don't like having our personal business out in front of staff. If that weren't the case, they would have no shame tearing me a new one in front of Bryan, or any of the horde of staff that my parents insist on having.

I hope Bryan takes the long way. If he does, I'll have to get straight to preparing myself for this date with Logan. And take my medication.

It won't help if you take your medication. I'm not leaving that easily. And I can't miss out on you making a fool of yourself in front of him again. The voice chimes in. Great... she's back. She went quiet after I accepted the offer, probably because she was stunned that I actually said yes. I was stunned too. I can't believe I did that. A shiver runs down my spine. The image of his eyes drift into my mind's eye. Hazel, with flecks of brown, gold and green. It reminds me of the forest. Earthy, warm and... safe.

I'm brought back to reality by the car doors opening and closing. We're home. I cringe. Why couldn't there have been traffic?

I slowly get out the car and drag myself towards the house behind my parents. I know not to be too slow; they don't like it.

Ooohh! You're in trouble! The voice squeals excitedly. I can feel the tears, but I hold them back as best as I can.

"Your room." Father commands once we are over the threshold. You're in worse trouble than I thought. The voice sneers. I can hear the smirk behind her words.

I move as quickly as my shaking legs can carry me, up the stairs, down the second corridor, past three rooms and to the last door on the right. My room is plain. The house staff must have gotten a message from Father that the room must be emptied of all my prized possessions. My books. I sigh as I take in the sight of my empty shelves. I'm going to have to reorganise them when I get them back again.

My room is otherwise untouched. The movies that belong in the other shelf are still there, my CD and record collection haven't been moved. Maybe he's not as mad as I thought? You're kidding, right? Did you forget the last time he left something in your room? The voice muses evilly, like the memory is one of her prized possessions. Father ripped up one of my favourite novels, The Great Gatsby, in front of my eyes before he–

The door opens abruptly, slamming into the door stop, which was actually placed there so Father wouldn't damage the wall anymore. Father is in the doorway, fuming, and Mother is just behind him and to the right so I can see her cruel grey eyes narrow at me. The corridor door must be locked because I haven't seen Father this angry in months, and he only locks the door when he gets this mad.

My eyes instinctively widen with fear as I know what is to come. I slowly back up to the wall, making sure I don't turn my back to the raging beast of a man. He looks kinda mad. The voice giggles at my misfortune. The tears I've been holding in all day finally tumble down my cheeks, unable to be restrained anymore.

"Come here." He commands, his voice calm, scaring me even more. The only reason I obey is because I know that if I don't, it will only be worse.

My shaky legs carry me back to where I stood when the door opened. I lock my eyes on the toes of my high heels. I send a prayer that it won't hurt to bad because of my date.

"What did you do wrong? Count them out loud." He says through gritted teeth. This is going to hurt really bad.

"I wasn't paying attention in the meeting." I hold my thumb out, signifying one mistake made. "I embarrassed you." My index finger joins my thumb. A lump starts to form in my throat. "I hurt Mother's– I mean Mom's hand." I hold up the middle finger as well. "I called Mom, 'Mother'." There goes the ring finger. I stay silent. That's it.