Disclaimer: No obviously I am not Stephenie Meyer, therefore none of the characters found in the Twilight Saga belong to me.
Pain ( by: Jimmy Eats World)
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Isabella, Happy Birthday to you." I paste on a fake smile and stare at the flaming sticks melting and leaving puddles of solidifying wax on the cheap grocery store cake. Yah happy birthday to me, woo hoo, 18, and no where to go.
"Make a wish." my social worker, Jan, says an overly cheerful smile splitting her face in two but never making it to her eyes. As far as social workers go she really isn't that bad. She comes to visit me once a month to make sure I have everything I need. She shows up at school anytime I get in trouble. She's even made it to the house on my birthdays for the past two years. Not bad, some of the kids who've been through this house hardly ever saw their social workers. One kid went three years without a single visit. I guess I should count myself lucky. Jan even pushed for me to have a Court Appointed Special Advocate last year supposedly to help me transition into adulthood, whatever that means.
"I wish to get the hell out of here!" I reply under my breath the whole while smiling prettily for my social worker and the other kids standing around the table genuinely happy to be having a party. I can't ruin this for them, there are very few happy days in a group home. Even if I am not happy I hate to see the little kids sad. Samantha as if on cue runs over and tightly wraps herself around my knees hugging me tightly before lifting her hands up in the air for me to pick her up.
"Appy irfday." she claps leaning in to wrap her arms around my shoulders as I place her on my hip.
"Thanks, Sammy." I reply mechanically. "You want some cake?" Her little head bobs up and down sending her ebony curls bouncing as a beautiful smile lights up her face. "You have to sit in a chair to get your cake." I tell her as I set her back down on the cracked linoleum floor.
Katherine the manager of Casa Amigos, the group home I have lived at since my tenth birthday, cuts the cake into varying sized pieces. As she slices and places the cake on plates I walk around the table handing out the cake making sure the slice size matches the child's size. Such is life in a group home. No presents, no parents, no family at all, but you are never alone.
Having finished passing out plates to the seven children crowded around the large rough hewn dining room table I decide to make my escape. "Katherine," I ask quietly laying my hand on her shoulder. I've learned if I want her attention I need to touch her in some way. In a house full of eight kids ranging in age from Samantha who just turned three last month, to well me, speaking is not always a good way to get someone to notice you. Normally this works in my favour, blending into the wall paper is a skill I learned very young, but occasionally I do need to be heard. Finally she turns to look in my direction with a questioning look. "I'm going to go to my room to read for a while."
"Alright," she answers turning briefly to stop Michael from shoving the entire slice of cake into his tiny mouth. I quickly flee the room making it to the hallway entrance before I hear her calling after me again. "Oh Isabella, don't worry about your chores today, Spencer and Riley will cover for you. I'll make sure Abigail and Connie know not to bug you for the rest of the day."
I smile genuinely for the first time today. Sharing a room with Abigail and Connie has been hard. They are good kids, but I'm sure I'm not the only 18 year old who would prefer not to share a room with eight year old twins. Solitude is a precious commodity, one that I get very little of. I know Katherine wishes she could give me something special for my birthday; she doesn't realize just how special these few hours of alone time she is giving me are. "Thanks." I answer quietly hoping she hears.
Happily I turn back to the hallway and quietly slip into the room I have shared with so many other kids. I climb up to my bunk pulling my worn piecework quilt back. I slide under the quilt pulling it up over my head just like I did as a child when I was scared. I breathe deeply imagining I can still smell my mother's scent.
Birthdays are always the hardest. I realize most people view birthdays as a time for joy, a day of remembering one's life, a day of celebrating one's birth. I doubt my birth was celebrated even on the day it happened. My mom loved me, I know that. My mom always made sure I knew I was loved and wanted. She just wasn't strong enough. Her love for me couldn't protect me, it couldn't keep me safe. Just as I have done for the last eight years, I curl up on my side wrapping my arms tightly around my chest trying to keep myself from falling apart as the old wound in my chest threatens to rip open. Memories of my mom fill me taking me back to a time I wish I could forget but also pray I never will.
"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!" I yell excitedly as I run through the house looking for my mom. My small feet catching on a bump in the carpet in the hallway. Mom placed it there after I repetitively fell over the electrical cord stretched across the entry to the table lamp beside dad's armchair. "AHHHH" I squeak out as the floor rushes up toward my face. Blood runs down my face as I begin screaming in tears.
"Oh Bella." Mom sighs picking me up off the floor and taking me over to the sink to clean me up. She grabs a white wash cloth out of the kitchen drawer wetting it and wiping away the blood from my lower lip and the scratch on my right cheek which is swelling slightly, already showing signs of a bruise. "Here baby." Mom hands me a boo boo buddy ice pack shaped like a teddy bear to hold on my cheek while she continues cleaning my face. She gathers me into her arms cringing slightly as I wrap my legs around her waist and lean my head on her shoulder. Mom carries me into the living room and settles us on the couch grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV to my favorite cartoon. "So what had you so excited today my little love?"
"Oh Mommy you'll never guess! Today Mrs. Macroony told us there's going to be a play and I get to sing a song in front of everyone! All by myself Mommy! Mrs. Macroony says I sound like a little bird when I sing!" I proudly announce forgetting all about my injuries as I bounce up and down on the couch. Mom's smile lights up the room as she pulls me to her chest for a tight hug.
Mom was so beautiful, sometimes I forget how beautiful she actually was when she was happy. A tear slips down my cheek tickling as it drips off my chin onto my neck. Just the first of many today I'm sure. Reaching beneath my bed to the small folder I keep tucked away between the bunk board and my mattress I pull out the only remaining piece of my family I have. An old faded carelessly taken snap shot from the darkest day of my life. Mom's arm is carefully wrapped around my shoulders, her bruises visible even in the grainy picture. A forced smile graces her face, even when pained she was still a stunning woman. Clueless of what was coming I smile brightly for the camera. Charlie my father, in the biological sense of the word only, can be seen in the background sitting in his lawn chair surrounded by a large pile of crumpled beer cans. His face a mask of disgust as he glares toward me and my mother. Letting go of restraint I sob. Breathing becomes difficult as my sobs turn into full blown wailing. Shoving my pillow over my face I hope no one hears my cries. This pain is one I will never share, if pain is all I have left of my mother I will hold tightly to it till the day I die.
I don't know how long I've been crying but every muscle in my body screams in agony for being tensed so long. My head throbs sending fire through my nerve endings with each beat of my deadened heart. Once again I reach into my hidden folder and pull out a small zip-lock bag containing small white pills. My salvation, my escape from these painful memories. My ticket to a few peaceful hours. I've hoarded these over the months, saving what I have not needed to take for pain. As often as I hurt myself I am never at a shortage of prescription pain pills. Of course I do have to plan ahead to have them when I really need them. State law says only staff can give a minor medication and it must be kept under lock and key. I have learned over the years the trick of tucking my medication under my tongue, enabling me to save it for later. The pain of a sprained ankle or broken wrist are nothing compared to the pain my soul is in right now. Hmm Valium or Oxycodone? Both, yah this is definitely a both day. Realizing my secret stash had dwindled dangerously low a few months ago I had decided that injuring myself enough to keep my emergency rations up was not a viable option; so I had decided I needed to start having migraines. It's amazing the drugs doctors will prescribe for migraines. Much more effective than Ibuprofin 800.
Taking a deep drink from my water bottle I toss one of each type of pill in my mouth throwing my head back to swallow. Knowing my relief is only minutes away I reseal the water bottle placing it against the wall, and close the zip-lock baggy containing my medication and slide it and the picture of me and my mom back into the folder under my mattress.
I lie back down covering myself once again with my fading quilt and wait for sweet oblivion.
Well, Let me know what you think. Please, little blue button down there, only takes a second of your time really.