Ch.4
I was in the living room at my old home, the five-year-old me playing with Cupid. I smiled and threw Cupid in the air, giggling as I caught her. I heard the door slam and I immediately flinched, the ghastly of alcohol burning my nostril. I looked up and saw my father, wavering around, with an angry look on his face. I got up and began running, but my father grabbed hold of my pigtails and yanked me back. I shrieked in pain and began to cry when he pinned me down to the ground and began hitting me. My face was getting swollen and I screamed at the top of my lungs, silently praying that someone heard me.
“Shut up, you little slut!” My father growled, slapping me.
I whimpered in pain. My father glared at me and clasped his hands onto my neck. I coughed and tried squirming out of his grip, but it only made things worse. My eyes were burning due to the hot tears crawling out of my eyes; I thought I was going to die. Then I heard a loud bang, and the police came. They pried him off me and dragged him away, handcuffed. I ran to the nearest officer and hugged him, crying uncontrollably.
“It’s going to be okay, little miss,” he said soothingly. “Everything is going to be alright. See? We’re taking the bad guy away.”
I sniffed and nodded. Later that night, I was dropped off at the orphanage.
---
“Piece of shit.”
I opened my eyes and saw my father and my mother, shaking their heads and looking at me with disdain. “What were we thinking, giving birth to that?” My tears brimmed with tears, but I held them back. “It’s no wonder why people left you,” Mom said. I gulped and ran, the tears now slipping down my face. One by one, the boys appeared with looks of disgust, glaring at me.
“Ugly”
“Emo”
“Worthless”
“Unwanted.”
I fell to the ground and sobbed heavily. They came closer to me, their insults hitting me like knifes. Lacy walked towards me and smirked. “You’re a freak, and you’ve always been one. Always have, and always will,” she sneered. I whimpered and looked up, meeting my father’s evil glare. He grabbed me by my shirt and chuckled.
“Say your prayers, little bitch,” he barked.
I closed my eyes and absorb the pain as he punched me.
I woke up with a start, panting heavily. My hair was all over the place, and I was covered in sweat. I could feel my heart pounding hard in my chest. “It was just a dream,” I sighed. I checked the phone on my time and moaned. It was 6:55. I groaned and got out of bed, then went to take a bath. I took off my pajamas and took a nice, hot shower. I washed my rat nest of a hair with lavender shampoo and conditioner. After my shower I got dressed in a Blood on the Dance Floor shirt, demin shorts, and my black converse. I looked at the mirror and contemplated on whether I should put my hair up in a ponytail or to just let it down.
“Eh, what the hell?” I said finally, tying my hair into its low pigtails, safely secured by black ribbons.
Satisfied with my choice. I walked out with my phone in hand and silently walked down the hall. Pete’s snoring was clearly heard even from where I was standing. No doubt they were pooped out from the party last night. I walk in the kitchen and tapped the counter. My stomach growled and I was getting hungry by the second. I knew it would be a while before the boys would wake up. My stomach growled and I knew I couldn’t wait anymore. I took a box of pancake mix out of the pantry, the carton of eggs from the refrigerator, and a frying pan from under the cabinet. While at the orphanage, since I had to fend for myself, I learned how to cook. So it wasn’t really hard to make the food. I skillfully flipped the pancakes without the aid of a spatula, and smiled. When my pancakes were done, I put three pancakes on four plates, topping it with syrup. I moved on to my scrambled eggs and began humming, bouncing on one foot to the other. I put the eggs next to the pancakes and set them on the table.
