Flight to Freedom Ch. 1 -
My 17th birthday was seven months away, and I'm already a fugitive. Shame I couldn't have made it through the summer before my junior year. I guess I should explain, my name is Bella Swan, and five hours ago I ran away from my mother and stepfather.
I'm currently sitting on a plane, have been for about ten minutes now, and their announcing their final call for passengers. My fingers tapped my leg nervously, desperate to be on the move.
Why, you may be asking, have I run? Why am I nervous? And why in the seven levels of hell does my face have a bruise the size of Texas on it? I can answer them all in one, my stepfather has anger issues, and my mother's a coward. Some would call it abuse, tell me to go to the cops, but I'm in fully acknowledged denial.
There no other kids in the house, so no one else is in danger (Phil loves mom too much to hurt her) and really, it's not Phil's fault. Well, maybe a tad. You see, Phil was diagnosed with lung cancer 14 months ago, and the chemo hit him hard. If you've ever been around someone whose on chemo you'll know what I mean. That stuff screws with your emotions. The first six months, when he was on treatments every other week, things were alright (though he was more irritable, but really, if I was being drugged constantly I'd be a bit pissy too). When the treatments upped though, that's when the abuse started.
No, he didn't just wake up one day and decide to hit me, tonight was the only time he had actually, but this started the events that led up to it.
Flashback
"Isabella, I need you to clean the kitchen, dishes, moping, everything. We're having company tonight." My mother told me absently, as she painted the apple in the bowl of fruit she was trying so hard to replicate. I winced at the use of my full name, I mean really Isabella? Ew…
Sighing at the thought of yet another day cleaning (we'd been preparing for a week, or rather, I'd been preparing while my mom painted fruit – horribly). I set down my book (Pride and Prejudice – hellooo, Mr. Darcy, mmm-mm)! and went into the kitchen, gaping at the shear amount of dishes from just last night, which had been mom and Phil's anniversary (explaining the ungodly mess that awaited me). The dishes were overflowing from the sink. The plates, which hadn't been rinsed, had dry sauce and food caking them, and the glasses, which had held everything from chocolate milk to wine, were everywhere!
My stomach turned, and perhaps I felt just a little resentment toward my mother, who never bothered to offer help. Who only called me when she wanted something done, or when I was being "Fresh" as she liked to call it. Who seemed to have taken me from my dad only for the personal house elf she got out of the deal (oh yeah, Harry Potter, I just went there)! If I had friends, they would call me Dobby…
So like a good little house elf, I cleaned… and cleaned… and cleaned.
I finished thirty minutes before their guest were set to arrive (6:30), just when Phil walked in the front door actually, I thought, as I heard him greet my mother. I sat back on my heels and sighed, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. I stood and gave the sparkling surfaces, one last look of pride, before turning to go to my room. Only to come face to face to Phil, who had had a bad day from the looks of it. His cold gaze swept the kitchen, before flaring up with anger.
"You call this cleaning!" he shouted, "Did you even sweep before you mopped? It looks like the floor is brown, not white." And on he ranted; I blinked back tears and waited for the verbal assault to end, before looking at him coldly and turning to walk slowly up the stairs.
Not run, oh no, I told myself; walk. And so I did: all the way up the stairs to my room; where I gently closed the door, walked calmly to my bed, sat down, and cried.-All the while wondering, why my mother, who had been standing right behind Phil, hadn't said anything.
And the fleeting idea of resentment from this morning solidified in my gut.
End Flashback
It had all been verbal, after that night Phil seemed to find that the tongue lashings he gave me made him feel just a bit better. So he started doing it when he was mad, then whenever something went wrong, and then whenever I was in sight. And my mom stood there and let him…
The small pebble of resentment from that night soon grew to a boulder, crushing me from the inside, until tonight when it suddenly didn't matter anymore…
Flashback 2
I gave the figurine one last dusting, pausing on my way out to scan the room for anything out of place. Seeing nothing, I turned and grabbed my coat, not wanting to be here when Phil got home. I'd been leaving every night now for the last two months. In the first week I'd been doing it, I'd made friends with an owner if an old motel, about a mile (which I'd taken to running) away from my house. She was a nice old lady, and let me stay in the lobby late, until I was pretty sure Phil was in bed (around 1 is when I left).
She didn't ask questions, but she had a knowing glint in her eyes that all abused kids had. The acknowledgement of another sufferer, which never went away, even if you were too young to remember the abuse itself. Because what your mind didn't remember, your body had lived, and what your body had lived, your instincts knew.
So in return, I didn't ask her questions; just tidied up the lobby and kept an eye on things until I had to go back to the house.
Tonight, on my way out, I saw my mother come into the room out of the corner of my eye, a glass of coke in hand.A siren blasted somewhere in the streets, startling her so badly she dropped the glass, and I vaguely registered the liquid seeping into the carpet as I opened the front door. My mind however, was too busy thinking about leaving before Phil got there to remember that I would be expected to clean that up. So the door closed behind me, and I started running to my safe haven.
#^$#^&^#%*&$*^%&(*&(%$%^#
It was 1:09 when I jogged up to the front door of my house, my breath coming out in small gasps. I turned the key, and opened the door quietly, then closed it just as carefully. I began walking over to the stairs, only to notice the living room light was on. Curious, I walked over to the door and peeked in.
Phil and my mother were there, and they saw me. Phil went an unnatural shade of red, and he started screaming "YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO COME BACK HERE! YOU-YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING FREELOADING BRAT!" It probably would have gone on normally like that, had my restraint not finally broken.
"Will you shut up, you slave driving piece of shit. The whole neighborhood will be deaf by the end of the night because of your mellow-dramatic PMS-ing." I said when he paused for breath.
I didn't mean to say it, before; such comments had had the decency to stay in my head. Tonight however, this particular one seemed desperate to jump out of my mouth. Time seemed to freeze, and for some reason, I desperately wanted to run, but my legs and heart weren't cooperating.
Then, there was a swirl of colors, and I was on the floor with the left side of my face aching and blood pouring from my lip. I looked up, and Phil looked just as surprised as I was. His fist was still raised, and his mouth seemed to have lost its ability to shut. I looked at my mom, and she looked at me, but did nothing.
My heart hardened with my eyes, and I knew, that I would never have anything to do with these people again. I. Was. Done!
I stood, not taking my eyes off of Phil's hands, which had dropped to his sides. I spit out a glob of blood onto their precious carpet, right at Phil's feet before turning a running, for the first time, to my room. I slammed the door, locked it, and began shoving clothes into a backpack. I grabbed my hairbrush off my dresser, all of my savings out from under my bed, and the key my dad had sent me a year ago, with a note saying I could come whenever I needed to.
Then I opened my window, climbed out and ran to the airport, never looking back.
End Flashback 2
So here I was, sitting on a plane to Seattle, thankful I had been able to get a ticket. We suddenly started moving, and the attendant reminded us to buckle up.
Then we were in the air, and peanuts and soda were being passed out. When the attendant reached me she paused at my bruised face and tentatively scabbed and swollen lip."Are you alright Miss?" she asked.
I smiled sadly, and said,"No, but hopfully I will be..."
%$#%^%$#&^%&(*$(*%&
Hundreds of miles away, a small vampire looked up in surprise, her bronze headed brother copying her.
"Who was that?" he asked.
A pause followed,
I have no idea… was the answering thought.
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