Breathe

Chapter 1

"Felicity, you need to talk to someone... anyone... Me, that's what I'm here for." Mrs. King-Freedman, Felicity's favorite teacher, said to her. She had kept Felicity back after the bell had rung for the end of the day to talk to her. She knew something was up with Felicity. She could tell. Felicity had become quiet and rarely answered out in class anymore. She's pushed her friends away and didn't really speak to anyone. Mrs. King-Freedman was worried about her. Academically you wouldn't know anything was wrong with Felicity - her grades were always good and her homework was always in on time - on paper Felicity was perfectly fine, but emotionally and physically, Felicity was hurting.

Mrs. King-Freedman was Felicity's physics teacher. She had long blonde hair, green eyes and the brightest smile you'd ever seen. She always wore her white lab coat with the school logo and her name on it. Felicity found it strange that Mrs. King-Freedman was actually happy in her job. She was always smiling. Felicity liked her because, unlike her other teachers, she cared about her students and was happy in her job.

Mrs. King-Freedman was still relatively young but had a lot of life experience. She knew what hard times were like, she'd had plenty of them. She had been raped while at her work place a few years ago, she'd had a difficult time birthing her triplets and Alice was actually four months early - the doctors had had to deliver Alice to save all of their lives and Mrs. King-Freedmen had to spend the rest of her pregnancy upside down - and she'd lost her father to cancer. Mrs. King-Freedman has a very strong southern accent, she was born in Alabama and moved to LA to pursue a career in medicine at the age of eighteen, she had told all her classes this on her first day at the school to introduce herself.

Mrs. King-Freedman was relatively new to the school. She'd only been teaching for about two years. She used to be a general surgeon before she switched to teaching. She had a husband, Cooper Freedmen  who was a pediatrician, and four kids, one boy and three girls - Mason, Alice, Caroline, and Hannah. Mason was her step-son and was about fourteen years old. The three girls were triplets who were about six years old. The pictures of her family sat on her desk.

Felicity couldn't lie. She was kind of jealous of Mrs King-Freedman and her family. She wished her family was like that - big with two parents. She wished she had siblings. But it wasn't. It was just her and her father - her mother had died of cancer a few years ago. Felicity could lie and tell Mrs. King-Freedman that she was missing her mother but she found it hard to lie to her favorite teacher.

So instead. Felicity stayed quiet. She stared at her feet. How could she tell someone - anyone - that her father, the person who was supposed to be protecting her, loving and caring for her, was actually abusing her.

"You can talk to me." Mrs. King-Freedman said. "I'm worried about you."

Felicity pulled the sleeves of her black blazer down over her hands but didn't say a word.

Sighing, the teacher moves slightly closer. "Talk to me."

Felicity swallowed, glancing up at the teacher in front of her. Her eyes were watery with tears and she opened her mouth slightly as if she was going to say something. Nothing came out.

The door to the classroom was opened by another teacher. "Mrs. King-Freedman, we have a meeting to go to."

Felicity got up quickly from the seat she was sitting in, grabbed her bag and made her way out of the room before Mrs. King-Freedman could question her further.

Running a hand through her hair, the teacher sighs and shakes her head. "Okay, let's go."

***********

Felicity didn't rush home. She trudged her way along the street, kicking stones as she went. The air was cold, it was nearing winter, and Felicity shivered. She pulled her bag on her back, pushed her glasses up her nose and wrapped her arms around herself. She didn't really want to go home. Going home meant she'd have to see her father who was probably as drunk as a person could be without passing out. Going home, meant she'd have to endure his drunken rage. Going home meant she'd have to go another night without food because her father had spent all their money on alcohol.