UPDATE: July 3rd, 2014! Yep, another update two minutes after the last one. But like I said, these chapters are all completed, they just need editing. I'll get on with it, then.
A/N: Be prepared. This chapter has a massive trigger warning. It contains graphic descriptions of sexual abuse and physical abuse at the end. Please skip this chapter if these things upset you!
Chapter Three – Progress? Perhaps Not.
Xion's POV
Glancing down at my cell phone, I saw that I had a text from my new friend as of a few days ago, Kairi. I smiled a little bit, glad to have made a friend in America that I got along with and who made me laugh. I quickly typed out a reply and then slipped it back into my pocket. Looked like our usual lunchtime meeting place for the past couple of days had changed and I was in the wrong spot. This was normal for Kairi because her mind was as fiery as her hair, and her decisions were quick and somewhat random. Still, she was a great girl and our personalities seemed to compliment each other. I was content, to say the least, which was better than I had been before I met her.
I set off for the front steps of the school, where she was supposedly waiting. Across the cafeteria, I caught a quick glimpse of Namine and her large group of friends laughing at their table. I looked away quickly, ducking my head in the hopes that the blonde hadn't seen me. She definitely wasn't giving off positive vibes toward me in Choir and according to Kairi, Namine most likely would never forgive me for "stealing" her solo. If she saw me watching her from across the room, she'd just have more fuel for her fires of hatred.
If there was one thing that was similar between my former Korean high school and my new American one, it was the female hierarchy of the students. There was always going to be a leader of the pack—that one girl who was on top, who would never be dethroned by anyone else. Others were mere ants beneath her feet, and there were many who would give anything just to get the queen bee to acknowledge their presence. At my old school, I had definitely been at the top of the stepladder, being best friends with the most popular girl in school. Now that I was in a whole new world, it seemed that I had faded into the background. My mother's death and stepfather's constant abuse had gotten the better of me, changing me from a sprightly girl to a quiet wallflower.
Did Namine sense this in me? Did Kairi? Roxas? Anybody? Did it affect the way they regarded me, whether it be kindly or unkindly? It was hard for me to tell. In Korea, it was easy to read another's character by their tone of voice and the way they spoke to the people around them. Here in America, it was nearly impossible to tell if someone liked you or disliked you—they could be dishonest as easily as they could be honest with the quick turn of a phrase. There was no way for me to be sure if Namine really hated me or if Kairi truly wanted to be my friend. I had to just wing it and hope I'd made the right decisions.
"Hey . . . !"
I froze in the middle of the hallway, and turned around to see none other than the object of my previous thoughts.
Namine Lightle was standing alone behind me with a very large, very fake smile on her face.
"You're the new girl, right? From Japan?" she said brightly, with so much pep and sugar in her voice that it was sickening.
I nervously eyed her and adjusted the strap on my bag. What in the world could she possibly have to say to me, the girl who had "stolen" her solo?
"I am from South Korea," I said quietly in reply. "I am Xion."
"Xion, right, I know," she said with another quick smile. She placed her hands on her tiny hips. She was wearing a strapless white sundress and white sandals, and her blonde hair was effortlessly curled, hanging almost to her elbows. I felt like a bug beneath a magnifying glass, ugly and unworthy next to her beauty.
"Anyway," she went on, "I just wanted to meet you, and let you know that there's no hard feelings. Do you understand?"
My face screwed up in confusion. "Understand what?"
Her smile turned to a look of wide-eyed innocence. "I mean, your English doesn't sound all that perfect . . . I was just making sure you understood what I was saying?"
My heart skipped a beat. I knew enough English to be able to "understand" that she was being a bitch. Hell, she was probably lying about the "no hard feelings." She most likely had a lot of hard feelings towards me.
"Oh . . ." I said icily, glad that we were alone in the hallway. "Thanks, I guess?"
"Yeah, totally!" she said brightly. She turned to go, then froze. "Oh, and . . . It's okay for you to like Roxas, you know, but I wouldn't trust him. He's kind of a player."
"Roxas?" My eyes snapped to her. So she was his ex . . . "What do you mean?"
Namine twirled a random curl through her fingers and looked me up and down. "I know it's easy for someone like you to like someone like him, but I would just be wary. He's not that nice of a guy."
"He seems nice to me," I said a little bit defensively. The nerve of this girl, telling me who I could like and who I couldn't wasn't appalling. And what did she mean by "someone like me?"
She shrugged. "Don't freak out. I'm just looking out for you. You seem like a nice girl, and nice girls don't belong with douche bag guys."
I longed to snap back at her that she wasn't a nice girl herself, but I kept my mouth shut. I was fuming at the sneakiness and underhandedness of her idea of "looking out for me." She was looking at me as if I weren't as good as her—as if a guy as attractive as Roxas could never like someone as unremarkable as me. How dare she put me down?
Now I saw why Kairi despised her so much.
"I'll catch you later," she said with another fake smile.
I watched her go, and she turned at the last moment.
"Good luck on that solo, by the way." Twinkling eyes, bright grin. "You've got a lot to live up to, Xion."
With that, she wandered back off toward the Cafeteria. I couldn't let another second go by, scrambling to get my phone and start a new text message.
I had to tell Kairi about this!
x-x-x
Roxas's POV
Detention. Again. Christ, could I go one week without getting in trouble?! I suppose it was to be expected, though, since I really despised following the rules. I was a natural-born troublemaker: it was nearly impossible for me to sit in my seat in class in complete, attentive silence, twiddling my thumbs while adults spouted off nonsense. School and I weren't the best of friends, you see.
It was Thursday and I was currently standing in front of my Biology teacher's desk (I had failed Bio in Freshman year, so they were forcing me to retake it now as my third class of the day), listening to him berate me about my tardiness, laziness with homework, and inability to pay attention in class. I merely took it all in with a blank expression on my face. I was completely aware of my incompetence. This guy didn't know me left from right, so who was he to judge me? I was working hard to keep my hands clean and do better for my parents and sisters, not to please a bunch of stuffy school officials.
At the thought of my family, I couldn't stop my mouth from quirking up in a little half-smile. The night before, the twins had burst into my room while I was staring futilely at the book for my AP English book report. They came with a song and dance routine that they had made up just for me. It was entirely in Korean, and the cutest damn thing I had ever seen—more so because it wasn't the Big Butt Oppa song for once. They had then promised to make me dessert after dinner, which I politely declined. Dessert made by two six-year-olds just plain isn't safe to consume. Instead, I made them dessert, and then I let them sleep in my room that night so I could tell them scary stories. I loved my sisters, and that was one of the main reasons why I was trying to make amends for my mistakes. Just because this teacher thought my inattentiveness in his class meant that I would amount to nothing in life, did not mean that it was true.
Fuck him.
"So you think this is funny, Mr. Park?" The teacher snarled in regards to my half-smirk. "You just booked yourself a first class ticket to Friday detention for the next three weeks. Now, how funny is that?"
I opened my mouth to retort, but froze before the words could even leave my mouth. I felt a familiar feeling welling up in the pits of my stomach, burning intensely, as if someone were placing a hot poker against numerous spots in my intestines. My face screwed up in pain and I placed a hand gingerly against my abdomen, doubling over. This hadn't happened since Summer . . . Why was it happening now?
"Oh, so now you fake sick?" the teacher scowled. "Typical of students like you. How do you ever expect to get anywhere in life? Faking sick won't help you graduate, and it certainly won't get you out of detention."
I wanted to deck him in the face. He had no idea the amount of agony that I was experiencing. He had no idea the amount of agony that I had been dealing with all my life.
"Get out of my sight, Park!" the teacher said, waving a hand toward the door.
Wordlessly, I turned to go, took one step, and projectile vomited a small amount of dark blood all over his linoleum floor. I heard him gasp in horror, then run to his classroom door to yell for help in the hallway. I groaned in agony as I retched again, splashes of my life's fluid spewing from within me like lava from a volcano.
I hated this . . . I hated that it was normal. I hated that they were all going to panic and call the ambulance, unnecessarily costing my family more money in bills we couldn't afford. ZES was incurable and this vomiting blood and stomach pain was commonplace, so it made the 911 call all the more pointless. I hated myself for what I had done to myself and to my family. I hated all of it. As these thoughts whirled around in my head, I was throwing up all over the teacher's floor, screaming as the searing burning only seemed to grow.
"Call the ambulance!" the teacher yelled out the door once again. "Someone, please help us!" He dashed back to my side and put an arm around my shoulders, helping me to stay upright even though we were on our knees. I hardly felt his touch, as the pain was rising to such a crescendo that I could barely stand it.
This would stay with me for the rest of my life.
Everything else became a blur. The paramedics were called and I soon found myself back in a hospital bed looking at the faces of the doctors and nurses that I had come to know well over the course of my life. My father and mother both showed up at the same time, pale-faced with worry but calm, for they knew that this wasn't out of the ordinary. Pillows were placed behind me to keep my back straight, though thankfully the vomiting of the stomach blood had stopped.
The doctor, Dr. Strife, gave me a stern look. His unruly blonde spikes were slicked back today, only a few strands falling stubbornly forward into his eyes. He looked young, as he always did, and his smile was an anchor that I constantly found myself holding to keep myself from completely giving up.
"I have to say, I'm actually surprised to see you here this time, Rox," he said, using his nickname for me.
"Why?" I replied hoarsely, giving him a crooked smile. "Didn't you miss me this time?" I tasted blood in every inch of my mouth, and it was so regular to me that it was depressing. It stained parts of my face and had even gotten into my hair.
Dr. Strife placed his clipboard with my medical papers on it onto the bedside table and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Rox, you know what I mean. You were doing extremely well these past few months. I hardly had to see you when you were in juvy. Why are you here right now?"
I shrugged and tossed my head to get my bangs out of my azure eyes. "Dunno," I replied. My eyes snapped sharply to my parents waiting anxiously outside the door to my room, then to him. "I'm not using again, if that's what you're saying."
He gave me a long, hard look. "You'd better not. It was only making your illness worse, especially the pill-popping. Don't you remember what I told you? Excessive pill use can tear at your stomach lining, and you already don't have much lining left to tear. Antibiotics or not, too much of it can have the opposite effect of healing."
"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled. "I know all that, but it's irrelevant right now. It would only be relevant if I were popping pills, which I'm fucking not, so why don't you give me some damn credit? Shit . . ."
He sighed heavily and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Roxas. I don't doubt that you're telling me the truth. I know you're trying your hardest to change. I just want to make sure you're aware of the dangers you face."
I gave him a small smile. "Don't worry, Cloud," I said, using his first name. "I'm doing much better. I honestly don't know why I started throwing up blood . . . Your best guess is as good as mine. And I'm guessing it's just one of my ulcers acting up."
Dr. Strife chuckled a little bit and reached for his clipboard. "Fortunately for you, at this hospital, we don't run off best guesses, Rox. What we're gonna do for you is run some standard tests: bloodwork, X-ray, CT Scan, the usual . . . I'm sure you haven't already forgotten."
I waved a dismissive hand and laid my head back against the pillows, closing my eyes. Of course I hadn't forgotten. These "standard tests" had become as much a part of my life as brushing my teeth, or using the bathroom. I was no longer afraid of needles or scalpels. I was used to going under the knife and having things removed from my insides. Anything he said he was going to do wasn't going to shock me.
"Anyway," he continued. "I'll send my wife in to take your blood, and then we'll get you prepped for the CT Scan."
His wife, Nurse Aerith Strife, entered almost immediately after, already prepared with the rolling tray of needles, cotton balls, and test tubes. Her long brown braid fell over the front of her shoulder and her sparkling emerald eyes were always a source of comfort in the never-ending sea of hopelessness that was my life. She smiled warmly at me.
"Welcome back, Roxas, honey," she said somewhat sadly. "Sorry, but I've got to poke you a couple times."
"Meh, no problem, Aerith," I sighed. "Used to it, you know."
She gave me another smile before she swabbed my forearm with rubbing alcohol to sterilize the skin. As she worked, she eyed me somewhat warily.
"What?" I said, barely flinching as the first needle drew blood.
"I'm just worried, is all," she said, exchanging fleeting glances with Dr. Strife as he headed for the door to let my parents in.
"Worried?" I replied curiously, suspicious of why the spouses had look at each other like that. "You're always worried about me."
"I know . . ." She trailed off as she screwed the lid on the first test tube filled with my crimson blood. She reached for the second needle. "It's just that though this is normal for you, it's something we should really be careful to check on often. This could really be serious. You have gastrinomas in your body, Roxas, and you know what kind of turn they could take for the worse." She frowned. "You could be really sick; sicker than we thought. I'm just worried, and I think you should be extremely careful after today."
"Aerith, dear," Dr. Strife said as he came up next to her. "Don't scare him. He's probably fine. This is probably an episode just like any other." He glanced up and waved my parents over to the other side of my bed.
My mother sat down next to me and held my hand tightly. Her black hair was pulled up into a loose bun and she had flour on her nose. She must have rushed straight from cooking something, for our family owned a Korean restaurant on the affluent side of the city. It was a very successful business and my parents did an excellent job running it together, but with the medical expenses I was constantly acquiring, it was a daunting task for them to have to constantly be "catching up."
"Oma," I said with a roll of my eyes at the sight of tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm fine, it's okay. Don't cry. Aissh . . ."
My father stepped closer to me and ruffled my hair. "We just love you, that's all." He looked to the doctor. "Now, Dr. Strife, what were you saying was going to have to be done this time?"
Dr. Strife said, "Well, aside from the bloodwork and the X-Ray, I think we're going to give him a CT scan . . . Just to be safe."
I sighed. I hated CT scans. They were extremely boring, and they meant that I was staying the night at the hospital.
However, there was one bright light . . .
"Does this mean I get out of detention tomorrow?" I said with a mischievous grin and a devious wriggle of my eyebrows.
"Aigoo, you got detention again?!" my mother wailed, her eyes blazing in an almost comical way.
My father rolled his eyes. "Dear Lord, son."
Dr. Strife laughed, "No, don't worry—you'll be right as rain tomorrow, and perfectly capable of attending detention. Sorry, Rox."
"If we don't find anything wrong with him, of course," Nurse Strife spoke up with a finger pointed up in the air. "I'm not taking any chances. Cloud, if you see even one thing that looks like it doesn't belong inside that boy's body, you better keep him as long as it takes to figure out how to fix it, got it?"
"Yes, ma'am," Dr. Strife grinned.
"Good," she huffed. "Now, I'm going to take these to be processed. I'll see you later tonight, Roxas. Nice seeing you, Mr. and Mrs. Park!"
"Oh, as always!" My father gushed, giving her a wave. "We will all have to have dinner at the restaurant sometime soon."
"Of course!" Nurse Strife said, waving back as she left the room.
I turned to address my parents, feeling a bit guilty. I didn't want them to think that my having received detention meant that I was regressing.
"Listen . . ." I started.
My father held up a hand for silence and gave me a warm smile. "Don't worry about it, son. Just try to relax, and we'll be right outside the room."
". . . Kamsahamnida, appa," I replied, returning the hug that my mother then proceeded to give me. A few moments later, they were gone, followed by Dr. Strife to go get things ready for my X-Ray.
I was left alone with my thoughts.
x-x-x
Xion's POV
I never knew fear as a child. As a young girl, there was never anything to fear. My parents were wealthy, and I had everything I could ever want or need. All I had to do was ask. Though my parents had separated at a young age, we were still a loving family. I was raised in an entirely Christian home and up until my mother remarried, my life had been simple and normal: go to school, get good grades, maybe have sleepovers or shopping trips with my friends, go to church, be respectful. Easy.
But then my mother got sick, and things weren't as easy anymore.
My older sister Yuffie who was 16 at the time our mother fell ill, immediately moved back in with us (she had been living with our father in America), dropped out of school, and devoted her time to taking care of our mother. My stepfather, who had been a wonderful partner for my mother and excellent father figure for me, seemed to be around a lot more often, spending more time with my mother, Yuffie, and I than at the office. Everyone seemed to predict the inevitable—that she was going to pass away—and we all just wanted to come together as much as we could before the end.
Little did I know, I was to finally know the true meaning of fear.
Walking into my house after school, I usually had no worries. My stepfather didn't usually come home until late at night, and I had the maids to keep me company while I did my homework, wandered around the mansion, or went for a walk out on the estate. I had plenty of alone time to myself in the afternoons and evenings, so I experienced no fear or worry.
Until the times that the front door slammed shut.
A slammed front door usually meant one of many things: My stepfather could be drunk after an evening out with co-workers or friends; he could be angry at a case that he didn't particularly want to deal with; he could be feeling depressed about my mother and wanting to take it out on me. Sometimes, though rarely, he could even come home high on some unknown drug. Those were the worst times. He always came home angry with me, but those times were the times when he blamed me for everything that had ever gone wrong in the whole entire world. Those times were the worst beatings.
Those times were what had taught me the meaning of fear.
Today was no different from any other return home from school. One of the maids, Pak Su Jin, greeted me in Korean at the door and took my shoes for me, then asked me how my day went. We walked to the kitchen together while I animatedly told her in our native language about meeting Kairi a few days ago, and the friendship we had already fostered. I also joked with her about me getting detention and she seemed amusedly shocked.
"You? Detention? Our Xion? My, oh my," Su Jin giggled, her effortless black waves moving with her laughter. "Well, I hope everything else in school is going well for you . . . I better get back to sweeping the front entryway before your stepfather gets home."
I waved goodbye and entered the kitchen to grab myself a Diet Pepsi, the only soda I allowed myself to drink. I hadn't eaten all day and my stomach was grumbling quite loudly. Normally, I didn't drink or consume anything, but due to meeting Kairi a couple of days before, my spirits had risen a little bit. I had decided to allow myself a soda in celebration (it had 0 calories anyway). Maybe later, I'd eat some celery since that was void of calories as well.
In fact, my spirits were up so high that I almost felt like myself again. I wanted to skip all the way back to my room and see if Kairi had texted me yet, like she had told me she would do before we parted ways at school that day. I wanted to go into my bedroom and plug my iPod in so I could practice singing like I used to. I might even dance around my room while I did so. I wanted to actually do something other than sit in my bed and sleep or cry.
I popped open the top of the soda and took a swig, relishing in the sweet fizzy taste. I hummed a song to myself from a Korean drama I sometimes liked to watch on my laptop, and headed back through the hallway for the stairs. I didn't realize that my face was against the floor until after my soda had been smacked out of my hand. Dazed, my brain furiously worked to try and figure out what the Hell had just happened as I just lie there on the floor like a confused, broken ragdoll.
"Mweo . . . ?" I moaned, the taste of my own blood in my mouth.
Su Jin came into view, a mop in hand. She carefully avoided my gaze and kept her head down. Upon seeing this, it clicked.
My stepfather had come home early.
Clutching my hands to my stinging nose, I scrambled to my feet and turned to face him, standing in the hall. His face was calm, but his eyes glowed icy blue with rage.
"Don't say a word," he said quietly in Korean to me. Though he was originally from England, we only spoke Korean in the house. I'm not really sure why—maybe it was a comfort thing for him, since it reminded him of my mother. All I knew for sure was that the one time I spoke English to him, he smacked me across the face at the dinner table. Logically, I never spoke it to him again. It was an unspoken rule that I knew better than to break a second time.
He ran a hand tiredly through his wavy blond hair. "Your oma would be extremely disappointed in you," he said. "Detention, Xion? Unacceptable. You shame me, disrespect your mother, and embarrass this family."
"Mianhae . . ." I said thickly, tears flooding my eyes. I was useless. I was a waste of space. An "embarrassment to the family," as he'd said. Why not cry about it?
He put his hands on his hips and watched me silently sob for a moment. Then, his hand lashed out once again, catching me hard on the left cheekbone. I flinched away from him, my head spinning in agony as he did it a second time.
"I got a call from your school," he growled. "Interrupting me in my work day to tell me that basically, my daughter is a failure." He grabbed me forcefully by the upper arm and I whimpered in pain. "And now, here you sit, crying because you're in trouble. You don't care about me, or this family. You're selfish." He slapped me again and again, until I collapsed to the floor on my knees, dizzy from the loss of blood from my nose.
"Pak Su Jin!" he barked after glaring at me for a second more. "Help her get cleaned up and then lock her in her bedroom. No dinner tonight."
I watched him go, feeling only a small amount of triumph at the inner knowledge that him restricting my dinner privilege was not a bother to me at all. Hell, I wasn't going to eat dinner anyway, and even if he had forced me to sit down to a family dinner, I would have exercised it all off in my room.
It gave me satisfaction to know that my awful stepfather couldn't win at all things.
As Su Jin gently helped me up from the floor, I desperately hoped that the small bit of triumph would be enough to get me through what was sure to come tonight.
x-x-x
Wiping my eyes, I stared at myself in the mirror. My face was bruised from the hits I had sustained earlier. I'd been laying in my pillows and stuffed animals for hours, dreading the upcoming night, regretting being born, missing my mother, and hating myself for being such a screw up.
I wanted to punch the mirror. I hated what I was looking at. I despised who I was, what I looked like, and the appearance of my body. I had removed my clothes and was standing there in nothing but my bra and underwear, wondering when the Earth was going to finally cave beneath my feet and swallow me whole. I felt so low, so sad, and so angry at myself. So many feelings were attacking me at once that my heart was beginning to flutter wildly and my self-hatred levels were raising by the second.
I ripped open the top drawer next to the sink and searched manically for my scissors. I forced them open, held out my right arm, and began to viciously slice new wounds on top of the old, barely-healed ones. There were so many scars adorning my porcelain flesh that it was almost impossible to find a bare spot to cut, so I always found myself laying open old wounds.
This was nothing new to me. I was worthless, and so I deserved to be hurt. I was useless, and so I deserved to bleed. I was less than nothing, and so I utterly and completely deserved to be cut into like I was a piece of raw meat.
I watched the crimson blood well up in the gaping wounds, felt the sharp stinging and agonizing throbbing, and the euphoria set in. I plopped down on the linoleum floor, my hair falling forward over my shoulders. I quickly grabbed the roll of toilet paper nearby and wrapped it around my arm until it was completely covered and blood no longer seeped through the paper. I sighed and began to weep again.
"Why is this happening to me?" I sobbed, barely able to get a breath in. "Why?"
Why couldn't it have turned out some other way?
A creak outside my bathroom door instantly made me go silent. I sniffled as I struggled to regain control, and then I hurried to get up and go to the door. I pressed my ear to it and tried to listen, but I heard nothing. My trembling hand then hovered over the doorknob, and I debated locking myself in all night.
Visuals of my enraged, drunk stepfather breaking down the bathroom door terrified me and I knew it was better to leave it unlocked. I was so terrified of him raping me that I allowed him to touch me and make me touch him, all because I believed that if I complied, he wouldn't try to take my virginity. I felt disgusting. Like a worthless whore and sick freak since it was incest by marriage, but at the same time, I knew it wasn't my fault.
Or did I?
What if it was my fault? What if my stepfather was only doing this to me because of something I had done to screw up? Was it something I was saying or doing? Was it all my fault?
I heard another creak and my heart skipped a beat. Terror turned my veins to ice and my entire body began to shake all over. I just wanted one night. One fucking night to myself without him invading my body. I hated this so much. I hated everything about my life. I just wanted peace. I just wanted peace.
A slow knock came at the door.
"Xiooooon," he drunkenly slurred through the wood. "I know you're iiiiin theeerrree . . . Cummon . . . Lemme in so I can apologize to you for earlier . . ."
I closed my eyes and hugged myself. My arms screamed in protest and I anxiously tightened my makeshift bandages.
"A-Annyeo." I stammered. "G-Go away!"
Silence.
"Xion," he slowly said. "I said I wanted to apologize . . . You were the one who made me mad and I'm the one who is apologizing. You're gonna be ungrateful?"
I silently cursed myself, wondering why I had even bothered to try and stand up for myself. It never got me anywhere. It always ended up in me getting hurt physically or emotionally. I knew that if I didn't open that damn door, he was going to come in and do things to me right there on the bathroom. I didn't want to have to see my shame, so I knew it was better to go out into my dark bedroom. Both options were awful, but at least if it were dark, I wouldn't have to see the look on his face as he violated me.
My hand shaking, I turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door. I stared downward and tried not to flinch as he reached down to tuck my hair behind my ears, knowing what would happen to me if I did. I felt horrid, but I knew I had no choice but to comply.
As usual, he hauled me across the room, pushed me onto my bed, and started tearing off my clothes. At the scent of the alcohol on his breath, a wave of nausea threatened to make me throw up. I blinked away tears as the cool air hit my naked skin.
I was disgusting and worthless. Nothing but a mere toy for him to play with as he saw fit. As his hands caressed my breasts, I wanted nothing more than to die.
Sometimes I imagined myself into the form of a phoenix. Majestic, beautiful, and strong, I could die in a bittersweet burst of anguished flames only to be reborn by the golden light of Heaven. I would have a brand new body, gorgeous new feathers, and a truer love of life and the good things it had to offer. For I knew there was good in this world, I just had yet to experience it. I longed so desperately for that new life and new body that I often found myself praying to Jesus for my death, hoping that I could maybe see my mother. I dreamed that she was already there, in Heaven, waiting for me. Maybe she was sitting at God's side, both of them watching from afar with a plan to rescue me from the Hellhole I was in. Maybe they were just waiting for the right time, forging me a new soul and body so that when the flames overtook me, I could swoop right into it and gain true clarity and pure happiness.
I knew it was all just a silly fantasy, though.
I wasn't a phoenix, nor would I ever be. My body was unfit to be reborn by any means. My mother was dead, rotting in the soil. My stepfather was going to continue to abuse me until one day, he would most likely go too far and take my virginity or my life. There would be no sweet release from pain for me. I was stuck right where I was and I was going to die miserable, just like I felt like I deserved. I was going to starve and cut myself to death, and I would never reach that state of euphoria I so longed for.
'And so it must be . . .' I thought to myself as the tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks, and my narcissistic stepfather took from me what he felt entitled to have.
x-x-x
A/N: Not much had to be changed in this chapter, which is why I put it up so quickly! See you next time!
