Disclaimer: I don't own divergent
Beatrice Prior 9th October, Friday, 8:43 pm. The apartment.
I make my way up the narrow stairs and walk through the 5th-floor corridor, passing the once white walls that are now tinted yellow with age. The damage is portrayed clearly, with the white-yellow paint peeling off or cracked, revealing the plaster underneath.
I place the small metal key that unlocks my door in the lock turning it slightly to open the door, although, I know it's not just my key that can unlock the door, any sort of jolt with enough force behind it could pry open my door and unlock the apartment.
However, the apartment building isn't unsafe, nor are the people. From one glance, you can tell that this place screams low income, people end up in a place like this for a reason, because of money.
This part of Chicago is for one type of people only, for those who can't afford better, no one tries anything, we all share the same hardship and earn the same amount of money. No one makes much more than the others, so we struggle together.
I enter my apartment, it's not much, but over the years, it has become home.
The leather brown sofa that was once in good condition, new for its time, is now worn by age and by use. It was one of the first things I had received for this apartment from my friend Susan. Or, at least my old friend.
Susan and I were friends while we were at school together, it was always Susan, Robert who was her brother and me, the three of us.
We had a sort of relationship where we would always stick together during school, walk home together. We weren't like other people, we didn't spend every second of our lives together, and I thought that what our friendship had was sufficient. It was only when I met Christina, Will and Al at my first class of criminal justice in university, that I realised I was wrong.
Ever since then, we've been inseparable, our friendship was different from the one I had with Robert and Susan, it was in a way, stronger.
I walk towards the small kitchen in the corner of the main room and open the moderate-sized grey fridge in hope to find something appetizing.
I close the fridge door, not finding anything worth eating without it having to be cooked, something I did not have the energy for at the current point of time.
The small pantry provides me with a solution. Soup.
I place the second-hand kettle I bought about a year before on its electrical stand and put the plug into the electrical socket.
After making the warm liquid, I grab the mug that contains it and retreat to my room.
My bedroom is different from the rest of the apartment, a soft pink glow encloses the small room, the light-emitting from either the lamp next to the bed or several of the small electric candle lights that I've placed around the room, which are far cheaper to use than the main light in the room.
A small double bed that a few fluffy blankets and an assortment of coloured pillows are placed by the head of the bed.
The bed itself has Its white metal headboard against the wall and is placed around a meter away from the right side of the wall.
A small shelf is planted above my bed, slightly closer to the wall. On it, a few of my small trinkets or perfumes are placed as well as small things that belonged to my mother that I now had in my possession.
On the wall, an oval mirror is stuck in place, although I rarely use it.
Opposite the mirror, across the room, a brown mahogany desk, it took months of saving up for, but it was well needed.
A few small pictures frames of me and mother occupy the surface of the desk as well as scattered sheets of paper from the occasional practice case that took longer than intended.
After gulping up my dinner, I place the small heater by the side of the bed, in hope it'll keep me warm tonight. Although it's still early October, winter seems to be coming early this year at a cooler temperature.
I climb into bed, enveloping myself into several of the fluffy but thin blankets as well as a slightly thicker duvet.
I look up, my eyes planted on the ceiling, waiting for sleep to overcome me. I observed every small detail, every crack, colour change and spot.
Suddenly the lamp and the heater switch off leaving me in the light illuminated by the battery-powered candles.
Another power out.
This isn't an uncommon thing to happen, especially here, over the years I've come to realise the fact.
That I'm living in a 'less than respectable place'.Because of less than respectable people. Who create less than respectable standards.
As if they believe the world's that black and white.
That good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. That's another thing I've stopped believing in.
Good and bad.
It's another thing I've discovered. Good and bad are perspective. There is no god or bad, they are just words, words mean nothing unless you give them a meaning. A good thing to one person could be a bad thing for another, so then where do we draw the line, what is good and what is bad with the exception of words we give a meaning to.
I snuggle further into my bed, relishing the feeling of warmth that I know will soon disappear. As winter has come faster, the wind that accompanies it will come faster and more severe.
As if on cue, the harsh wind slams against the weak windows that shield me from outside. I can only hope they won't shatter under the pressure.
I often think of what things would be like if the situation was different. If something had changed that day.
Don't get me wrong, now, I'm grateful for what happened, even if I haven't been in the best condition for the past few years. I often wonder what I did wrong, but then again, I'm sure it was always bound to happen no matter what.
I was born on the 6th of November to my mother, Natalie Grace Wright, and my father, Andrew James Prior, although, I wasn't born alone, three minutes prior to my birth, mother gave birth to my twin brother Caleb. My parents were both young and in love, but not married at the time.
They were both at different places in their life, with mother completing university, and my Father starting his first job. They were both 22.
They decided to keep a child each and promised to meet up in the future, vowing to make us all a family.
Father and Caleb moved to New York, where father's job was and mother and I stayed here.
Mother would always tell me stories about her and Father when I was little, from a young age I would wait after school by the window, hoping today was the day father would come.
By the time I was ten, I had lost all hope he was coming. I knew my mother still believed he would come, and to this day, she still does.
Aged eleven, I asked my mother if our family was broken, as Susan and Robert had both a mother and a father. If I knew what would happen next, I would have held my tongue.
A month later, my mother was married to a man named David Turner. Mother took his last name and became Natalie Turner, but I kept my birth fathers last name, Prior. I knew it made my mother feel as if she had a part of him here.
After a few days with David in the house, I knew she didn't love him, not as much as she loved my father, thinking back, she only married him for me, to give me a father, or some sort of father figure.
Although I'm appalled to say, her sacrifices for me went to waste.
The first-year with David mother and I was spent as some sort of family, we would play games together, he would ask about my day, all the types of things I wanted to do with my real father.
But the expression too good to be true was accurate in this case.
It started with neglect, he would ignore me, I didn't exist in his eyes, he loved my mother, and I was just a burden he was forced to deal with. Things with him and mother continued as normal.
Mother confronted me, asking what happened between me and David. I remember that night all too well, I sobbed into her arms for hours, telling her that he hated me, and he'd never be my real dad.
She assured me he was just busy with work and that he truly loved me, that night she had the same conversation with David, he told her exactly what she wanted to hear, that he was busy with work and that his intention was never to make me feel that way.
The man was skilled at lying. Whenever he and I were in my mother's presence, he became the person he was when they were first married, he would ask about my life and seem genuinely interested, my mother was pleased.
But no one changes that fast, so as soon as my mother was gone, I wasn't shocked when he turned a blind eye once again, although he was furious at what I had told my mother about him, this is when the verbal abuse started.
Phrases such as, 'you good for nothing girl', 'you should have never been born' and 'no one will ever love you' were thrown around on a daily basis.
I was only thirteen when it started. The only moments where David wouldn't say anything was when mother was around, or if I had locked myself in my room.
I could never tell my mother what was going on, and it wasn't just from the fear that things would get worse after I told her, it was from the knowledge that things would get worse, David would always threaten to do things if I told mother.
I often find myself wishing I could go back in time and tell mother then and there, I was naive, I believed what he said, 'Don't you dare even try to tell your mother or things will get really bad for you, and she wouldn't even believe you, who would?' It seemed as if there was a new comment every day.
When I thought things finally couldn't get worse, they did. He became physical, I was fifteen, I was knowledgeable about physical abuse, I just didn't think this was the case. It was only a slap here or there, maybe an occasional punch. By the time I realised he was abusing me, it was too late to do anything.
David had managed to neglect, emotional abuse, and physically abuse me all at the same time without raising suspicion.
I never blamed my mother for not noticing the abuse or neglect, David was a very clever man, he knew how to cover up all his tracks, how to fake innocence and make a lie the truth and the truth a lie.
When I was seventeen he would throw more punches, leave more buries, even picked up a knife, I knew at that moment when he left marks on my upper thigh a place where no one could see the pain I was going through, I wouldn't stay quiet for much longer.
Unfortunately, so did he.
Parents were meant to cherish their kids, help them, care for them, reward them. My mother did all those, as for David, I wouldn't even classify him as a parent. David hated everything about me, he wanted to get rid of me as fast as legally possible.
On my eighteenth birthday.
When the day came, It was around six in the morning he yanked me out of my bed, grabbing a fistful of my hair and tossing me like a ragdoll on the floor.
He told me to pack my things and get out, and I didn't object. I knew I'd miss my mother, but I needed to get away from him. I would've never left on my own account, at least not then. I only started working at a small cafe in town at the age of sixteen, earning slightly more than minimum wage, I wasn't financially stable.
I was able to afford a small apartment in a not so good part of Chicago, the one I live in till date. I worked double hours on weekends and as many hours that I could on weekdays after school.
I never told anyone about what David did besides Christina, and that was only recently after four years of friendship.
I always had exceptionally high grades at school and managed to get a scholarship to University. Originally, I was going to be a social worker like my mum, but soon after being kicked out, I decided I wanted something different.
Having completed high school, I didn't have all the options in the world, and somehow, I decided to do a degree in criminal justice.
Thats where I met Christina, Al and Will, we hit off immediately, spending the little time I had while balancing both a job and university classes together.
About two months into University, I received a call from mother. She asked if it was possible to meet up and I agreed. After my shift on Tuesday night I met mother at the cafe, she took a deep breath and started explaining why she hadn't looked for me until now.
David had never informed the mother that he kicked me out, he lied saying 'I left wanting to be independent and no longer felt the need for my family.' She explained that even though she missed me terribly she never wanted to disrespect my wishes.
It was only until one night where David came home drunk and raised a hand to her that she knew something was up. Given his drunken state, she was able to get information out of him and found out about his abusive side and the truth about me leaving.
Mother immediately applied for a divorce and asked me to move back in, but much to her surprise I rejected, telling her I was now financially stable and would do fine, leaving out the information about my apartment's state and the fact I was too scared he would find me.
After completing the two-year degree Christina, Will, Al and I had to do another two-year training at CPD that focused on two things, physical strength and ability, and mental skills. That's where we met Uriah, Marlene and Lynn.
Sleep finally catches up to me and my eyes droop. The long hours of work I do on the weekends at the cafe as well as the training to become a detective which I will finally completed today takes quite a bit of energy. A sleepy smile finds its way onto my face, proud at how far I've come.
A/N:
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, this was just a basic background information one, and the next chapter will be filled with more action. I'll be posting every 3 days as I have prewritten the next ten chapters.
I will not be abandoning my other story so don't worry about that, please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter, until next time,
-Divergent 31