Hope / whiteviper111
Abuse makes a child quiet… …as quiet as he can be.
Every Day Is Exactly The Same (Nine Inch Nails)
I believe I can see the future
'Cause I repeat the same routine
I think I use to have a purpose
But then again
That might have been a dream
I think I used to have a voice
Now I never make a sound
I just do what I've been told
I really don't want Them to come around
Oh, no
(Every day is exactly the same
Every day is exactly the same
There is no love here, and there is no pain
Every day is exactly the same)
I can feel Their eyes are watching
In case I lose myself again
Sometimes I think I'm happy here
Sometimes, yet I still pretend
I can't remember how this got started
But I can tell you exactly how it will end
I'm writing on a little piece of paper
I'm hoping someday you might find
Well I'll hide it behind something
They won't look behind
I'm still inside here
A little bit comes bleeding through
I wish this could have been any other way
But I just don't know, I don't know what else I can do
The class didn't like me very much, I could tell by the way they laughed and glared. Sometimes I wished I were the one doing the laughing and glaring. At least then I wouldn't be the one stuck in my spot, thinking my thoughts, and knowing what I know.
Though honestly, it scared me to death to imagine a life without what I had become accustomed to. It would seem impossible, but I knew what I was doing.
I think.
Someone taps my shoulder, and for a second I flinch and withdraw. Please, not today, daddy. I want today to be normal, as normal as it can be. A voice reaches past my mental barriers. The barriers place to deflect as much pain as was possible. "Take your seat, class is beginning."
She calls everyone else 'Dear', and 'Hun', and even 'Pumpkin', but not me. I don't deserve an acknowledgement. That's okay. I'm fine; I know what I'm doing.
I hope.
The class does begin, but it's as though I'm not there. Some kids kicks notes in my direction, but I'm too afraid to reach down and retrieve them, or even read them. I have to please the teacher; I want to be perfect for everyone.
'Specially daddy.
Absently I realize the bell for lunch has rung, but lunch has an empty meaning to me. Like a bell without a clapper; so silent, scared to make a noise. I kind of feel like a bell, which may seem a little strange, but makes tons of sense to me. As I head out the door, the teacher stops me.
"Please go to the office after getting your lunch; they'd like to speak to you." I add a mental 'Hun' in there for my own benefit, but otherwise remain indifferent. She seems to hang on the edge for a response.
So I nod. It is obviously forced.
I leave the room. Upon entering the crowded little cafeteria, I remember I have no lunch to retrieve. I notice a bright, green apple sitting haphazardly near the end of a table, which when no one is looking, I swipe up and stick into my raggedy coat pocket.
No one's gonna notice. If they do, well, they'll just have to take it back.
I'm walking down the hall back to the front of the building, nibbling on the stolen apple, when I get the impulse that I really am not going to like what is probably in store for me. The secretary points me in the direction of the principle's office, which I enter with great hesitation.
First thing I see is my brother. He's sitting there with his eyes covered by his fisted hand, and jaw clenched tensely. I open my mouth to call out to him, but no words form.
I think he heard me enter, because he turns in my direction with a look of relief in his dark brown eyes. I can't even will a smile, though. He notices the stiff movements my body makes, even if I do my best to hide it, and I see his look darken. What? It wasn't a mystery to him. Definitely not.
I can't help the rage against him that fills my heart then. So many other opportunities he could have used to turn me in, and he chooses now? Right when I have things under control?
Someone off to the left breaks the heady silence, "C'mon Gaara, it's alright now." I didn't believe him. I've talked to enough 'helping' people that anyone should talk to in a lifetime, only to find out that they didn't 'help' a thing.
My brother encourages me to speak, but my mouth refuses to form words. I was silenced, and I'll stay quiet until He tells me to talk. "Gaara?" my brother asks, voice cracking.
I stare at him.
It's time to go home, anyway. I need to get back to cleaning the porch; I didn't get enough time in between cleaning the bathrooms to finish. Scanning the room, I spot my backpack, and before anyone can stop me, heave it onto my shoulder.
My brother halts me and tells me in a quiet voice, "You can't go back home right now, Gaara." I instantly panic, but for some reason, I still can't mouth any understandable words at all.
Where's daddy?
I make a move towards to the door, but an arm blocks me again. I look up fearfully into the crystalline eyes of my sister. Those blue orbs are brimming with tears.
I need to get home.
They don't seem to understand this. Wanting so badly to tell them why I needed to get home, what chores needed to be attended to, but not being able to voice it was torture at its finest. My brother and sister glance at each other briefly, before my brother moves forward and scoops me up into his arms.
Immediately, I dig my nails into his bare arms, but he doesn't signal any discomfort. I push against his chest like a mute, struggling child, trying to pry his arms apart so he'd drop me enough to allow me to get away.
I need to get home. Now.
Because He's waiting for me to finish my chores, and I have to, to make him proud, and I must make him proud, because it's the only thing left for me to achieve, the only goal I am allowed to achieve. When my brother's strong arms do not falter, I bite into his elbow, and he looks a little surprised.
But he doesn't understand. I have to go home.
The police officer follows us out of the room, and we both get into the car, me kicking and not screaming, my throat constricting in the effort to make some sort of noise. It's Kankuro's car, I can tell, because of the countless rips in the passenger seat, and the back seats. He wouldn't fix it, but I still thought it was nice of Him to buy it.
Kankuro knows what I've been through! He should know that I have to get home!
Temari seems bothered by my silent struggle, watching me with pity-shining eyes. As the cars starts and we pull away, I know something is wrong. We're not headed home, but even more, we aren't heading in the direction of the police station. Now that I realize it, the police officer isn't in the car. He just followed us outside.
After what seems like forever, Temari turns the steering wheel and I can't really see where we are anymore because Kankuro is holding me tightly to him. The door is opened.
I force my way out of his hold and onto the pavement.
We're at a hotel. The Holiday Inn sign peers down at me as I gape. I've never been to a hotel before. Temari gently takes my hand and, during my state of shock and awe, leads me inside. Kankuro is talking to the person over the desk already. My eyes stay glued to the ground, but I know they're looking at me in disgust. All these years I've come to notice something: If you don't look them in the eye, if you don't look at their faces, you don't have to suffer their thoughts about you.
That's why my eyes are always on the ground.
The ground doesn't have a face to scowl up at me with.
As I'm counting the tiles of the entranceway, Temari pulls me to the elevator, and at first I refuse with all my body to enter it, eyelids screwed shut and lip nearly bleeding from the pressure of my teeth. Then Kankuro hoists me into his arms again and steps up the stairs quickly. I want to wrap my arms around his neck, but I don't.
The beds inside the room are so soft. Half of me says I've finally gained freedom, and the other half just tells me to shut up and enjoy the break away until I go back.
Temari lies beside me and holds me to her, whispering that I don't ever have to go back. That we'll find a house or apartment to live in, just the three of us, and be happy and carefree and normal. I honestly don't believe her. But there's hope.
I hope.
I hope I never have to go back.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Notes: Inspired by A Child Called "It" by Dave Pelzer, which, after countless searches in library after library, I finally got to read.