There comes a time when everyone hates what they are. What they have become. Who they were. Who they lost.
You might be wondering why I'm talking about this. Why would you open a story like that? Because it is the truth. I'm telling my story and it is far from a happy story. No happy ending. No happy beginning. Just life. Cold and hard.
Where to start? Where the pain started. Where my end began. In New York. In the city of hell. Gotham...The place of memories.
I gazed out the window of the building I had once called my childhood home. Could it really have been so long? Could it really have been me that would rush up those stairs everyday as a child and hug my waiting mother? It had to have been. I was the only one in this house with dark brown hair. Father had had dark brown hair, but father dyed his hair. He hated reminders of his old home. His old life.
I sigh as I turn away from the window and look at the inside of a place I once called home. I had left this place. Gotten as far as I could from it. Avoided my family. I'd even changed my name. Elizabeth Gates. Once Aliza Brown.
"ALIZA!" a male yelled in anger from downstairs.
The small teen hid in her mother's closet. She huddled in the furthest corner under the dirty clothes, behind her father's dresser. It was the only place he wouldn't look for her. She bit her lip as tears silently fell down her face. Her lip was busted from where she had been struck by the man. Not her father. The man her father had offered her to for an hour. The old, fat, balding man.
Aliza bit her lip and kept her mind on the here and now. She had to be able to hear if he was coming. She couldn't risk his wrath right now. Not ever. She should have ran. Only a promise to her mother kept her there. Mom....
Aliza burried her face against her knees. Father had sold her mother off. Lost her to a loan shark. Sold her off as a sex slave. Aliza held herself as she felt her heart break yet again. She could only feel pain now. No joy. No laughter to come from her again. Never. Broke. She was broken.
I push the memory off as my eyes take in the room. It hadn't changed. Still a good house with nice furiniture. Left in the will. My father's will. The thought of father being dead seemed a release. I would never be free though. The broken are never truely free.
My new home. Gone for ever. No. Father is not gone for ever. He'll always huant my memories and this house. I'll take this as my home either way. It will be a small victory over him. I'm not going to give out and sell it, if he were here still he would laugh at how weak and pathetic I am. My hand closes into a tight fist as I look at the boxes on the floor. Mine now, never to be his again. Mine.