A/N- this is a story that I have been constantly playing in my head, but
have never written down. I don't know whether or not its anything worth
continuing, as it's my first LOTR fic, so please let me know. ** = flash
backs
Disclaimer- I own nothing but my other character!
I slipped off my shirt, and stared at my reflection. A loose pair of black pants still adorned my legs, but even without my shirt, my entire torso was shielded. From my hips up, impossibly tight mesh bandages encircled my body, molding every curve together, crushing my chest flat, constricting my breathing. Unable to stand my own image any longer, I closed my eyes and thought back.
"Look at you." A harsh voice intoned, disgust etched in every line of his old face. "Worthless." He spat. "All the years your mother and I waited, until finally she was with child. Only to find out it was a girl. I had waited for the day my son would come, the day my family would live on, the day he would honor his family by being born. And then, she had you, dying in the attempt of having such a pathetic child." He spat again, and glared at the cornered girl, hunched on the floor with deep welts and lacerations marking vented fury on her vulnerable back. After what seemed like forever, the man left, leaving behind only a broken body, and the daughter he had never wanted.
Months passed. Injuries had become a permanent fixture on my back and sides, bruises landscaping across my chest. None of these were visible underneath my school blouses; they were my secret, and at the age of 16, people began talking about how introverted I was. Days passed by in a blur- I began to measure my life out in lashings, and discern the time of day by when I was safe and when he was home. I remember the day I started wrapping. It was really just being in the right place at the right time. I was passing the school nurses' office to get to my English class. A small boy was in there, getting a Band-Aid for a paper cut. The nurse gave it to him, but he pulled the elastic too tight, so that the pad cut into his finger slightly. I watched, forgetting about my class. It was the start of an idea, and if it were to go anywhere, I would need a trip to the drugstore first. The nurses' voice got me out of my after school plans, with a cheerful; "What can I get for you, dear? Do you have a hall pass?"
I remember walking hurriedly down the sidewalk, determinedly heading for the nearest over-the-counter pharmacy. Entering the closest CVS, I paced the fluorescent-light aisles, until I stopped in front of the first- aid section, and began grabbing gauze padding intended for deep cuts off the shelf as fast as my shoulder cuts would allow. I walked home again, slowly, the start of my idea beginning to take shape.
* I closed the door quietly. He wasn't home, but any noise would be like breaking an unspoken rule of silence. I flew up the stairs leading to my bedroom, and shut the door quickly. Unbuttoning my high-collared white school blouse, I stared at my battered body, with yesterday's rants still visible in the angry red stripes crisscrossing my back, and lacing down my stomach. I winced as I bent down and opened one of the many packages of bandages I had procured. Unfurling part of the roll at a time, I wound the padding up my torso, in increasingly tight circles, so that my hips were bound into stiff straightness. I proceeded up my body, almost collapsing with each revolution, and squeezing my eyes shut to hold back tears when I strapped my breasts back with brutal force. I pulled my long, luminously pale hair back into a ponytail. Naturally towheaded, my hair was constantly commented on, as it and my porcelain skin contrasted with my startlingly dark eyes, glinting black when they were looked at carefully. Not that anyone ever did. My bound chest rose and fell dramatically with each forced breath. My wounds screamed out in protest, but I didn't unwind the bandages. I deserved this. It was almost like making up for something, fulfilling the guilt I felt at being a girl. I deserved this; this was my punishment. I slipped my blouse back on, and looked in my mirror again. My bound body looked just like a boys. I smiled slightly, until another wave of pain racked me. I gritted my teeth. They were not coming off. I deserved this.*
I opened my eyes, standing listlessly for god knows how long, until I heard the door slam.... He was home. I looked about wildly for something to do, anything, but as I was in the act of grabbing The Fellowship of the Ring, and launching myself on my bed, my father kicked open my door, and stormed in. With no warning, with no reason, he stormed over, and pulled me off the bed by my hair. The book flopped open carelessly. Having no time to react, I let myself be kicked, beaten, sworn at. He grabbed one of my belts hanging on the back of my door, and mercilessly cracked my back, over and over, striping new wounds. My gauze layer did offer some protection, but the jerking action being so lashed caused my still-healing wounds to rip open again. He paused for a second, and I stupidly tried to stand. Seeing this, he lit into me again, the belt curling around my waist, and whipping off again, over and over, until I at last collapsed in an ungraceful heap until I heard him storm out, banging my door behind him so forcefully, I thought it would become unhinged. From sheer willpower, I stumbled onto my bed, and succumbed to a sleep so intense, so all-consumingly deep, I thought I would never wake up. My hand carelessly brushed the still-open book, turned to chapter six- 'Lothlorien'- and too tired to remove it, I laid my fingers on the cool pages as I closed my eyes. In the few seconds before sleep enveloped me, and I could finally be relieved of the pain, I thought I saw the book glow eerily white. I ignored it. There were several things I couldn't think about at the moment, and glowing books was one of them.
I groaned, and turned over. My mattress seemed to be made out of rocks. Each time I moved pain shot up my back, as the gritty surface chaffed the wounds. I shivered; I was so cold. My teeth chattered as the breeze blew again. Wait the breeze!? My eyes shot open as I heard a mans' voice say, loudly; "By nightfall, these woods will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlorien!" I heard light footsteps, like those of a child, accompanied by muffled crying behind me. I rolled over, fear coursing through me, sure it would be my father. Instead, I saw a small little boy with curly black hair, staring at me with the same astonished expression I must have been giving him. "Strider!" I heard him scream, but I was too tired to deal with anything anymore. Closing my eyes once more, I simply let everything wash over me, as the full force of exhaustion rolled over me. I had coped with more than I had thought humanly possible for one day and I simply could not cope anymore.
Disclaimer- I own nothing but my other character!
I slipped off my shirt, and stared at my reflection. A loose pair of black pants still adorned my legs, but even without my shirt, my entire torso was shielded. From my hips up, impossibly tight mesh bandages encircled my body, molding every curve together, crushing my chest flat, constricting my breathing. Unable to stand my own image any longer, I closed my eyes and thought back.
"Look at you." A harsh voice intoned, disgust etched in every line of his old face. "Worthless." He spat. "All the years your mother and I waited, until finally she was with child. Only to find out it was a girl. I had waited for the day my son would come, the day my family would live on, the day he would honor his family by being born. And then, she had you, dying in the attempt of having such a pathetic child." He spat again, and glared at the cornered girl, hunched on the floor with deep welts and lacerations marking vented fury on her vulnerable back. After what seemed like forever, the man left, leaving behind only a broken body, and the daughter he had never wanted.
Months passed. Injuries had become a permanent fixture on my back and sides, bruises landscaping across my chest. None of these were visible underneath my school blouses; they were my secret, and at the age of 16, people began talking about how introverted I was. Days passed by in a blur- I began to measure my life out in lashings, and discern the time of day by when I was safe and when he was home. I remember the day I started wrapping. It was really just being in the right place at the right time. I was passing the school nurses' office to get to my English class. A small boy was in there, getting a Band-Aid for a paper cut. The nurse gave it to him, but he pulled the elastic too tight, so that the pad cut into his finger slightly. I watched, forgetting about my class. It was the start of an idea, and if it were to go anywhere, I would need a trip to the drugstore first. The nurses' voice got me out of my after school plans, with a cheerful; "What can I get for you, dear? Do you have a hall pass?"
I remember walking hurriedly down the sidewalk, determinedly heading for the nearest over-the-counter pharmacy. Entering the closest CVS, I paced the fluorescent-light aisles, until I stopped in front of the first- aid section, and began grabbing gauze padding intended for deep cuts off the shelf as fast as my shoulder cuts would allow. I walked home again, slowly, the start of my idea beginning to take shape.
* I closed the door quietly. He wasn't home, but any noise would be like breaking an unspoken rule of silence. I flew up the stairs leading to my bedroom, and shut the door quickly. Unbuttoning my high-collared white school blouse, I stared at my battered body, with yesterday's rants still visible in the angry red stripes crisscrossing my back, and lacing down my stomach. I winced as I bent down and opened one of the many packages of bandages I had procured. Unfurling part of the roll at a time, I wound the padding up my torso, in increasingly tight circles, so that my hips were bound into stiff straightness. I proceeded up my body, almost collapsing with each revolution, and squeezing my eyes shut to hold back tears when I strapped my breasts back with brutal force. I pulled my long, luminously pale hair back into a ponytail. Naturally towheaded, my hair was constantly commented on, as it and my porcelain skin contrasted with my startlingly dark eyes, glinting black when they were looked at carefully. Not that anyone ever did. My bound chest rose and fell dramatically with each forced breath. My wounds screamed out in protest, but I didn't unwind the bandages. I deserved this. It was almost like making up for something, fulfilling the guilt I felt at being a girl. I deserved this; this was my punishment. I slipped my blouse back on, and looked in my mirror again. My bound body looked just like a boys. I smiled slightly, until another wave of pain racked me. I gritted my teeth. They were not coming off. I deserved this.*
I opened my eyes, standing listlessly for god knows how long, until I heard the door slam.... He was home. I looked about wildly for something to do, anything, but as I was in the act of grabbing The Fellowship of the Ring, and launching myself on my bed, my father kicked open my door, and stormed in. With no warning, with no reason, he stormed over, and pulled me off the bed by my hair. The book flopped open carelessly. Having no time to react, I let myself be kicked, beaten, sworn at. He grabbed one of my belts hanging on the back of my door, and mercilessly cracked my back, over and over, striping new wounds. My gauze layer did offer some protection, but the jerking action being so lashed caused my still-healing wounds to rip open again. He paused for a second, and I stupidly tried to stand. Seeing this, he lit into me again, the belt curling around my waist, and whipping off again, over and over, until I at last collapsed in an ungraceful heap until I heard him storm out, banging my door behind him so forcefully, I thought it would become unhinged. From sheer willpower, I stumbled onto my bed, and succumbed to a sleep so intense, so all-consumingly deep, I thought I would never wake up. My hand carelessly brushed the still-open book, turned to chapter six- 'Lothlorien'- and too tired to remove it, I laid my fingers on the cool pages as I closed my eyes. In the few seconds before sleep enveloped me, and I could finally be relieved of the pain, I thought I saw the book glow eerily white. I ignored it. There were several things I couldn't think about at the moment, and glowing books was one of them.
I groaned, and turned over. My mattress seemed to be made out of rocks. Each time I moved pain shot up my back, as the gritty surface chaffed the wounds. I shivered; I was so cold. My teeth chattered as the breeze blew again. Wait the breeze!? My eyes shot open as I heard a mans' voice say, loudly; "By nightfall, these woods will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlorien!" I heard light footsteps, like those of a child, accompanied by muffled crying behind me. I rolled over, fear coursing through me, sure it would be my father. Instead, I saw a small little boy with curly black hair, staring at me with the same astonished expression I must have been giving him. "Strider!" I heard him scream, but I was too tired to deal with anything anymore. Closing my eyes once more, I simply let everything wash over me, as the full force of exhaustion rolled over me. I had coped with more than I had thought humanly possible for one day and I simply could not cope anymore.