It's an age-old story of fear and hatred. It's a tale of tears and anguish that is too often told. There's no way to run from it, no way to hide from it. Believe me, I've tried.
It's been happening to me ever since I was small, five or six, I would say. It's my deepest, darkest secret. I suppose it is for any of us whom it happens too.
I've been hiding for while now, waiting for the bruises to fade, waiting for the dark red blood to dry. I've let myself go this time. I was nearly killed.
I know I should stand up for myself. All of us, everyone this happens to, should stand up for themselves. But you feel that little tug in your heart, that little twist in your soul, and you know you can't do it. Not until the time is right. That's the day you will leave forever.
And you're scared of that day. You're scared to death. You know it's going to come, of course you do. I know it, too.
It's your stupid hope that keeps you going. It dries your tears when you cry in the night; it calms your fears when you face them again. The tiny, attention-craving child within you is forever hoping that someday, just maybe, they'll love you again.
Because you miss that spark in their eye that they used to get when they looked at you, the gentle feel of a comforting hand on your back when you cried. It used to be there, you insist. It still is there. It's just buried, lost under years of hatred. But you can bring it out again. You will bring it out again.
So you try your best to please them. You get good grades and you wear them like a badge of honor, running proudly into your kitchen and waving your exam results under their nose. You know you've done it this time, why, you've done so well that they can't possibly ignore you. You wait with crossed fingers, your eyes eager and full of anticipation.
But something is wrong. And you've failed again. Then comes the stinging slap that knocks you to the floor, but no amount of physical pain can compare to the stabs of disappointment you feel in your heart. You're a failure. You've let them down.
Even as you lie screaming in pain, even as they bring the whip down harder and harder each time, you're thinking to yourself about how you'll do better next time. How you won't mess up, and they'll finally be proud of you. And that thought keeps you going forever. Just the faint, blurred memory of the time when they did care, and they loved you. The memory of their smile.
That's why you never left. That's why so many of us never leave.
Why did I, then?
Because I never got that smile. I never saw that look, that warm glow in their eyes. I hoped anyway, of course I did. I held onto my hope for sixteen years.
I was beaten and abused, for sixteen years.
This is my story. How I finally gathered the courage to free myself from my own prison, how I told one person about my pain and how another found out in the worst way possible. How I survived all those cold, lonely years, how I managed to turn my best friends against me and how I lost myself. But most of all, how I found myself again and gained my true family.
How it all worked out in the end.
It's not always a pretty story, but in fact, what story is? The truth hurts. But it also sets you free.
Are you up for the ride?
*shoves hand in your face*
You flinched.
Author's Note: Short little chapter, this one. Just a new idea I wanted to try out. Love it? Like it? Hate it? Want to murder it? As usual, this will only be continued based off of your reviews. So if you like it and no one else does, I suggest you adopt an alternate persona and review the heck out of me. And I hope you enjoyed my angst. I have a lot of it.