Hi fellow fanfictioners. So this is my first fanfic and I'm not really sure if it's good or not. I apologize if it sucks but please bear with me. This is the first chapter and it's kinda long and boring, but then again most first chapters are. I hope you like it and thanks for reading! Enjoy ^-^
A young girl skipped happily through the tall grass of her backyard, humming a slight tune and smiling as her little stuffed rabbit that she always carried with her drug slightly on the ground. Birds sang and the sky was clear and pretty. The city of L.A. thrummed and throbbed in the background noise of the girl's head, but it was still too distant to penetrate the barrier of her backyard and enter her world. She skipped up onto a large, spacious porch that wrapped around the side of the huge house she and her parents lived in.
The house was white and tall; two stories. It had a beautiful garden and a gigantic yard. In the hallway off the staircase, there was a little room painted light pink. There was a small twin bed with a little white comforter covered in pink flowers on it and stuffed animals sitting against the headboard and pillows. A bookshelf and fish tank were in the corner of the room and scattered about the floor were crayons and coloring books.
The little girl entered the familiarity of her room, placing down her stuffed rabbit. Giggling, she doodled in her coloring book, smiling at her pretty picture. Just as the girl was finishing her picture, she heard the sound of her parents' car doors slamming and she rushed to the door.
"Mamma, mamma come see what I did," she said excitedly as she tugged open the front door. Her father stood in front of her, blocking her mother from view.
"Scarlett, move," he said harshly. "Daddy needs you to leave."
The little girl, confused and slightly hurt by her father's sharp tone, said, "But daddy I…."
"Scarlett listen to me when I talk to you! Don't be stupid you worthless girl," he yelled. After that, he pushed her forcefully out of the way, causing her to fall. She fell with great force against the wall, slamming her head, and then she cried. "Mamma daddy hurt me! Daddy why are you being mean," she sobbed.
Her father was partially up the stairs but he whirled when he heard his daughter cry out. "Don't you dare talk to your mother! That worthless woman! Both of you are worthless," he yelled, causing the little girl to cry more.
Just then, her mother came into the house. The little girl jumped up, running forward and wrapping her arms around her mother's legs, burying her tear stained face in her skirt. Her mother mechanically stopped moving, looking vacantly down at her daughter. The empty look in her mother's green eyes frightened the girl. "Mommy…...," she questioned, trailing off.
Though she was young, the girl noticed the difference in her mother. She saw the absence of light and warmth in her mother's eyes. The happiness so familiar to her was no longer there. In its place was a vacant look of pain and emptiness. There were tear stains and one large splotch of red skin with the imprint of a hand on the woman's cheeks and her daughter noticed them, becoming even more scared. Her mother looked lifeless; she looked broken. And though the little girl didn't know why mommy was crying and she didn't understand why daddy was being horrible, she did understand that whatever happened that day would change everything.
She tugged lightly on her mother's skirt, "Mommy..." No response. She tugged again. No response. And so she tugged again, and this time the woman pushed her away gently, walking as though she were a puppet on strings, down the hall past where the little girl's room was, and entering the second door. The little girl was never allowed in that room, but now, as she followed her mother into it, she was aware of why. The walls were painted a light shade of blue and it was unmistakably meant to be a nursery. There was a crib and toys and a rocking chair and many other things the little girl recognized as baby supplies.
In the center of the room, the girl's mother collapsed, falling to her knees and letting out the heart broken sobs of a woman who has just lost a child. The little girl understood that her mother was hurting and that this room that she was never allowed in was meant for a baby boy…..and though she was young, she also realized that the baby boy was dead, and that he was supposed to be her brother.
The little girl slowly and quietly backed out of the pale blue room, letting her mother mourn the broken child she was never to have. She didn't want to go upstairs and see her father, afraid of being pushed or called worthless again. However, she wanted to talk to someone. She didn't want to hear her mother cry…..but that was all there was to do.
The rest of the day, the little girl sat in her room, doodling and coloring, reading and playing with her stuffed animals, but she was lonely. She wanted a friend, but there was no one in her house who cared. She could constantly hear her mother's sobbing and she constantly wished she could fix it. She knew she couldn't. And so she finally stood up and went and sat in a dark corner of her room, against the bookshelf, huddled up with her hands covering her ears and quietly sobbing, trying to ignore the sound of her mother crying and wishing that she didn't know all the things she did.
…..
I sat up with a jolt, the screeching of my alarm clock pulling me from my dream. Damn it, I thought groggily. Why did I have that dream of all dreams? Slamming my fist on the alarm clock and laying down, I tiredly rubbed my eyes. After laying in the pale stillness of my room, I sat up again and looked around.
My room was tiny and cramped and totally messy. Clothes were strewn everywhere and the room was musty and dank. Everything about the room was gray and moldy and the smell of decay and vomit filled the air. Water stains decorated my ceiling and the smell of pot floated to me from the room upstairs. "Stupid potheads," I muttered to myself, thinking of the two assholes that lived above me and my worthless father in this Godforsaken building.
I swung my feet out of bed and cringed as they hit the cold cement floor. (Yeah, you heard me right. I said cement. This apartment complex is so cheap they can't even afford carpet.) I stretched stiffly and felt my bones ache as the joints cracked; whether they were stiff due to sleeping on a horrible bed while it's cold or due to my father, I couldn't say just then.
After stretching, I padded silently out of my room and across the tiny hall to the bathroom. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and grimaced. I looked horrible.
I think now is the time I should introduce myself. My name is Scarlett Citali, or Lett for short, and I'm sixteen years old. When I was eight, my mother came home from a doctor's appointment where she found out that my brother died in the womb, hence the reason for the dream. After she found out about my brother's death, she lost it. She lived in his room, slowly wasting away and becoming a doll, forever my unborn brother's toy. She used to talk to him and sing lullabies, and the only thing keeping her alive was my father. Ironically, the only thing keeping my father from letting her die in that damned room was his enjoyment of beating her. See, my father really wanted a son, and when we lost Damon, that was going to be his name, he lost it, too. He became an alcoholic and druggie; he used to beat my mother and me for fun because we were useless women. My mother became an insane person who didn't care if she was beat and abused and who lived in her dead child's room, raising him. And I was in the middle.
At the age of eight I pretty much grew up. I learned to survive without the nurturing care of parents and I was used to being alone. My father yelled, sometimes calling me a pathetic bitch, other times calling me a failure, and other times blaming me for Damon's death. No matter what I did, my father loathed me and my mother. And I grew up loathing him and her both.
Since my father wanted a son really bad, and because my mother forgot she had a child other than Damon, my father enrolled me in school as a boy. He forced me to wear boys' clothing and kept my hair cut short. He even had me wrap my chest when I started to develop breasts. And every night I came home to a beating. No matter how well I played the part of a boy, I was always the wretched girl that wasn't supposed to be born.
Luckily, I do look kind of masculine. I have a pale, narrow face and a thin mouth. My eyes are an ugly shade of blue and my hair is the color of dark wine, somewhere between purple and red. I am relatively flat-chested and I could probably survive without wrapping, however if my father ever found out I would probably be beaten to the point of not being able to stand. I'm not very tall, probably 5'7" at the most, but I still have the reputation of the biggest trouble maker and fighter in the school. So far, I've been undefeated.
Now that you know me, I'll continue talking. After looking in the mirror, I brushed my teeth and then washed some of the dirt off my face. Sadly, some of the 'dirt' turned out to be bruises so I obviously couldn't get them off, but it didn't matter anyway. I went to school as a guy notorious for fighting. Scrapes and bruises were normal on me. Isn't it ironic how I get all my bruises from my father and almost never a single one from school? Anyway, after that, I threw on my usual black jeans, t-shirt, and vans. I chose to wear a purple beanie and put in a pair of earrings my father didn't know I had. He still hasn't seen my ear piercings and I've had 'em for a few years. He'd be super pissed if he saw them but he never does cause he's always drunk. One of the perks of alcoholism, right?
Once I was dressed, I threw my backpack over my shoulder and put on my signature sunglasses, then walked into the living room, where my father was snoring in the recliner with some half dressed woman in his lap. Gross. I sighed in annoyance and opened the door, making sure to slam it behind me. The pleasant sound of screamed profanities from my beloved father followed me down the stairs as I started my long walk to school. I knew I would get a good beating later because I woke him and his one-night-stand up, but I didn't really give a damn. What's one more bruise in a sea of others?
So what'd you think? Is it any good? I'm still debating whether to continue this idea or not and I would love to know your opinions or hear any suggestions you have. Don't forget to favorite, follow, and review, k?
-Scarlett