The muscles in my arms protested as I scrubbed the floor, desperately trying to get the blood stain out of the white living room carpet before I got myself into anymore trouble for being so useless. With a disappointed sigh I moved my rag and upon seeing that most of the stain remained I went to get some other cleaners to try, but since I'm such a klutz I accidently kicked the corner of the coffee table. My mother's favorite glass vase tipped over, spilling it's contents of roses and water unto the already messy carpet. I waited for the inevitable yelling because there was no way mom hadn't heard the loud klink of the vase colliding with the glass table top. Sure enough, I didn't wait long.
"Alex!" My mom screamed as she descended the stairs in her very revealing green night gown, thick black hair disheveled and wearing no make up. Mentally I groaned, knowing my punishment would be much worse for waking her up. To her, beauty rest is the most important thing to keep a woman her age looking young and beautiful, though in my most honest opinion I believed her to be average looking, not that that was a bad thing, it just meant she looked like what she truly was; a mom. However, after listening to my father critique her appearance for years she slipped into the same mind set. I hung my head, not daring to look her in the eyes as she usually slapped me if I did. "What the hell did you do?"
"I'm so sorry!" I apologized quickly as she stormed down the stairs to stand in front of me so that all I saw were her perfectly green polished toenails. "I was just trying to clean-" She brought her hand back and slapped me hard enough to knock me down. Her well manicured nails left shallow scratches, the kind that cause a dull burn but didn't draw any blood. I squealed as I landed in the mess I'd just made and looked up at my mother with terrified eyes. She had picked up the vase and raised it over her head, clearly intending to hit me with it. My feeble attempt to protect myself by covering my head with my arms resulted in an extremely painful wound on my right forearm. I sobbed as I lay in the large pile of glass and mom stepped on me, grinding me into the shards that embedded themelves in my skin, tearing my right side. My blood left more stains in the carpet that I'd have to clean up later. I hope I can get that done soon, or it will be ever harder to get out and I'll be punished more.
"You'd better get this mess cleaned up soon bitch." I closed my eyes and sniffed, not waning to hear but if I covered my ears it would only be worse for me later. "Maybe I should tell your father when he gets back, I'm sure he'd love a reason to beat the shit outta you."
"No, please!" I cried out in fear, trying to sit up a little, but she kept her foot firm, pinning me to the floor. "I'll clean it, I promise!"
"Just like you cleaned the blood from last night? I don't think so." The new injuries and some of my older ones throbbed painfully as she dragged me toward the basement by my hair. I kicked and squirmed hard to escape but mom held on with an iron grip. She threw me down the stairs and I whimpered when I landed at the bottom, unable to pick myself up. Mother scoffed in disgust from the top before slamming the basement door shut.
It'd been so long since I'd had some food, at least a week, and I hadn't slept good either, so all in all, I was too weak to do much more than drag myself to my shitty bathroom for some gauze, which I hd been forced to steal from a small drugstore on my way home from school, to wrap around my injuries. I carefully pulled out all the glass I could reach and wiped the blood away before doing my best to bandage myself, wincing as I did. I leaned against the wall, hissing as my wounds were irritated, and slowly slid to the cold tile floor into a pathetic, sniveling ball.
Tears fell down my face and I just couldn't stop them. Why did I get treated this way? I never asked for much in life, not all that expensive tuff like other girls my age, or anything. I didn't need a new car, or an iPhone, or a new wardrobe of expensive clothes. All I wanted was some one who loved me just because I was me. I didn't care who it came from, I just wanted it so bad! Even after all they've done to me, I love my parents, so why can't they love me? Am I really so stupid and ugly that no one can love me? Doubts, questions, and self ridicule swirled in my mind as I drifted to a fitful sleep.
I awoke some time later in the night, which is very odd for me as I always slept until daylight, but when I walked out to see the one, tiny window in the basement, it was still dark. More surprising, and scary, was that the window was open, the bottom of the frame warped from some one prying it open. I backed away a bit before darting toward the stairs, my internal panic worsening when I saw the door kicked in. Somebody was in my house, and my parents were in danger. I crept up the stairs, trying to be quiet. At the top I could peak around the corner and see into the living room a bit. My parents were there, tied to chairs from the kitchen, while a two men stood by them.
One had dark reddish-brown hair, wore a leather jacket, jeans and black boots. The other has blonde hair that fell to about his shoulders, tied back in a loose ponytail and he wore a red montes uniform. 'What the hell are they doing here?' I considered sneaking back down the stairs and through the window, but my stupid curiosity had me glued to the spot. I gulped and listened carefully, trying not to make a sound.
"Please, please stop!" My mom was practically bawling at them. Her make up was ruined and running down her cheeks from her tears. Even from here her breathing sounded erratic and much too shallow. One of the two had scratched up her face and arms, though none were too deep that she'd bleed out.
"What fun would that be?" The brunette sneered, stepping closer to my parents. Dad growled at him and received a harsh blow to his right cheek. "Speaking of which, you're pretty good looking." He gave mother a dark smile and I noticed he'd had a tooth knocked out.
"No!" Dad was hit, this time with a hockey stick by the blonde. For a second I thought his jaw might have been broken, he was hit so hard. But he turned back to them, a bit of blood running down his chin, but he still growled at them in furiosity.
"Wait, wait!" Mother's voice was hoarse from her crying, "I have a daughter, downstairs." My eyes widened at her declaration. How could she!? What kind of mother tries to sacrifice her daughter to save herself?
"Hello there poppet!" I almost squealed as a strong hand gripped my arm, right over the gauze, and pulled my out of the thresh hold. This man was smaller than the other two, though he intimidated me just as much. Honestly the guy looked creepy, despite his less than impressive attire. Seriously, a pink button up, pruple vest and khaliks? But for now I put more thought into the pain he sent up my arm, cursing the tears dripping down my face as I made everything worse by trying to yank my arm out of his grip. His over exagerrated smile fell as he pulled my arm closer then scowled deeply. "What's this then?" He readjusted his hold and slowly, gently stripped off the bandaging. Blood oozed down my arm and over his fingers as he exposed the still open gash that really needed soe stitches.
"Damn, they sure did a number on that arm, eh?" I jumped. I had momentarily forgotten about the other two men in my house. The brunette had moved closer, starign at the wound in a sort of sick fasination.
"Fuck off, aye!" The blonde with a ponytail growled, wacking the brunette in the back of his head with the hockey stick. "She's still just a kid."
"Yeah, but not for long." He licked his lips, now looking into my eyes. "Besides, Matt, she's real cute."
The blonde, Matt, just snorted in disagrrement. "Way too skinny."
For some reason, that upset, getting my heart pounding and I ground my teeth together. Why should I have to stand here while these guys scrutinized and critized me? "Well, it's not my fault my fucking parents don't feed me anything." I growled back, startling myself. Had that agressive, sassy comment truly fall from my lips, or was this all a dream? I'd never talked to anyone like that, and logic said an armed man who'd broken into my house wasn't the best person to start on.
He grinned just like the other, his sunglasses sliding down his nose to reveal violet eyes. "Maybe you're right Al. What do you think Oliver?"
"Well, this arm needs properly fixed. I, as a gentleman, can't allow a little lady to roam around this injuried. We'll just have to take her with us!" A deep dread filled me and I pulled away hard, only getting loose because I'd caught him off guard and bolting down the stairs. I ended up tripping near the bottom and for a second struggled to get back up. The heavy thuds of them on the top stairs made me push myself harder, off the ground and toward the window. I hastely pulled myself up and over the ledge, barely getting out before I was grabbed. Once I cleared our front yard I thought I was home free, but I tripped on the curb, sprawling flat on my face. Some one yanked me back by my arm, slightly off the ground and covered my airways with a strangely scented rag. Soon everything blurred together until my vision faded to black.
Running on nothing but starbucks here, so forgive my crappy editing. As always, hope you enjoy, compliments and constructive criticism are welcome. Also, special thanks to SlifofinaDragon for being the first person to add this to their favorites, you are a totally awesome person.
- Jacky
