Disclaimer: I don't own any of the LOTR characters (that's all Tolkien's) ... regrettably ... what's mine are the OC's … and the mistakes … yep, that's about it.

WARNING: There is DV in this chapter, so just be aware of that ... read at your own risk.

CHAPTER 1

Some say the journey is more important than the destination, I dare to disagree. The destination is what's it all about, no matter how much we like to convince ourselves otherwise. While seemingly important a journey without a goal is meaningless – with nothing in sight how would we convince ourselves to move forward, to embark on the journey at all? The end goal doesn't have to be anything grand; it can be something as benign as mine was. I wanted to be alright, to finally be okay. I wanted to do better. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be accepted. That's what my dream was all those years ago. Looking back now it seems like such a small goal, how could I ever want something so small? Yet all those years ago it wasn't small at all. Quite the opposite I thought that I could never reach it no matter what I did. It was just this grand goal, that kept me going no matter how bad the things got, nothing else.

Now looking back, I realise that striving for normality wasn't exactly normal, that usually people want to be great, or if not great then at least be different from others. However, when I was younger, I didn't realize any of that. Nor did I realise, that there was something off with my parents. I never connected the dots. I knew, that if I disrespected them, I would come to regret it. I knew that the regret would usually come in a form of yet another new scar. However, I didn't realise, that that wasn't normal.

I remember being about five years old and watching other kids playing at the playground, their parents attentive and caring, while mine were nowhere to be seen. I watched them and honestly pitied them. For I knew, that if there was something worse than indifference my parents showed it was their sudden bounds of interest that came every once in a while. Then they changed, they would take me to the amusement park, or to get ice cream or they would just praise me. Sometimes it would last couple of hours, sometimes a week, but it would always end. The indifference would come back and leave me totally confused and unsure if I didn't just imagine it. It's no surprise that when I was little, I believed the other kids had it either same or worse.

As I grew older, I came to appreciate the indifference. It gave me respite from my parents' ideas of my future. It felt as if my destiny was predestined since I was little. They seemed to have my life figured out. I was supposed to go to pre-med and then become a doctor. Yet I knew that if I did that, my life would be tied with theirs and then there would be no escape. While they wouldn't let me pay for tuition, they wouldn't let me forget, that they did. So, as soon as I turned 18, I packed my bags and left.

The beginnings of being on my own weren't easy. I had no work experience and frankly I was out of my depth when it came to the whole adulting business, but I managed. To be honest it was mostly luck. And although I worried my parents wouldn't just let me go, they did. I ended up in a town that was about an hour away from my parents' house, far enough, that they wouldn't randomly stumble on me in the bookshop I worked at. Yet close enough, that I knew the landscape and didn't feel totally lost.

It took me a couple of tries before I found a job where my nerdiness and quiet demeanour were a benefit not a vice. However, once I did things started to settle. The bookshop I worked at was a peaceful place. The owner was an older, but energetic lady. She was no more than 5 feet tall, loved to wear cardigans and to talk about politics. Sometimes I wondered whether she really needed the help with running the bookshop or whether she just wanted some company. Still, no matter the reason, not even three months after I left home, I had an income I could rely on.

At first, I took it one day at the time, I didn't have time nor the energy to worry about the bigger picture. When I wasn't working, I was deciding whether to buy dinner or gas. However, slowly but surely, I started getting a hang of it. First big success came the month when I finally broke even. Another when I saved enough money to put down a downpayment to rent a small studio apartment close to the shop. My life was slowly starting to come together. At first, I enjoyed it. However, after a couple of years, I started to want more. I wanted to go to college. Not to study medicine, but maths.

As long as I could remember numbers always calmed me down, that's how I relaxed, I would get lost in them. At first in simple calculations and later in more complicated proofs and theorems. I loved it.

The owner of the bookshop was supportive of my efforts and agreed to let me work part time, so that I would have time to attend classes. Those four years were the best ones in my life. I learned a lot and although money was always tight, I finally felt like I wasn't just surviving, I was alive. Maybe that was the reason why those four years flew by so quickly and before I knew it, I was inviting the owner to my graduation.

She was flattered and assured me that she would be there. She inquired whether I planned to invite my parents. However, once I expressed that I didn't intend to, she didn't mention them again. So, I was quite surprised when at my graduation I saw them standing right next to her. I don't know how she contacted them, and I didn't want to know. Had it been just my parents I would have bolted right then and there. Yet I knew I couldn't do that. I didn't think the owner realised what she has done.

She seemed approving of parents. If the way she looked at the big bouquet my dad gave to me was any indication. Her eyes sparkled when she heard the praise my mom showered me with once the ceremony was over.

The only thing I could feel was an all-encompassing sense of dread. This wouldn't end well for me, I knew better than to trust their flowery words and smiles, I was no longer a child I was a 25-year-old adult after all. But the fear that didn't left me from the moment I saw them didn't feel adult at all. I was terrified, but also couldn't find it in myself to oppose them when they suggested a celebratory dinner at their house.

The dinner went surprisingly well, the reason probably being the attendance of the bookshop owner. And somehow after all these years I allowed myself to hope, that maybe, maybe they had changed. Maybe it would be different now, that was why when I was offered a room to sleep in so I wouldn't have to drive back so late I accepted, even though the bookshop owner refused saying that she would bring my car here on the morrow. I knew I shouldn't have, yet hope is a dangerous thing and sometimes makes us do the dumbest shit possible. So, I stayed. I shouldn't have, but I did. I was dumb.

This time it lasted just three days. Some could argue that it was my fault. I got too comfortable, I let my guard down. And during the dinner on the third day, when my dad asked me about which med school, I was planning on attending now, I corrected him. I assured him, that although I was planning to continue my studies, I wouldn't be going to med school. Instead, I was going to Scotland for my PhD. I couldn't wait to travel there, and I've already done all the necessary paperwork and would be leaving in two weeks' time.

To say my parents didn't take the news well would be an understatement. While my dad mostly just complained about how ungrateful I was, my mom was livid and once she realised, that I wouldn't be changing my mind she slapped me across the face, her long pristinely manicured nails leaving scratches on my face.

It took me a couple of seconds to realise what happened. However, once I did, I knew, that I wouldn't be staying there a minute longer. Since I became an adult, physical harm is where I drew the line in my relationships, no exceptions. I didn't do second chances. I got up from the table.

"I think, we are done here" I announced and turned to leave the dining room.

"That's no way, to treat your mother, young lady" said my dad angrily. I could hear him getting up and walking towards me. Perplexed I turned back around showing him my face.

"And this is no way to treat your daughter, I'll be going, enjoy the rest of the evening." I tried to move towards the door.

Yet, he was blocking my way, when I tried to walk around him, he grabbed my arm keeping me in place. "Where do you think you are going?" The fear started to gnaw at me, yet I tried not to let it show. For I knew, it wouldn't get me anywhere. I needed to show strength, I needed to scare them of.

So, I tried "Home" after he still didn't let me go, I calmly continued with "I think, it would be better if we talked about this some other time."

I was so glad when he agreed "Alright, let's talk some other time" and let me go, that I missed the dangerous flash in his eyes as he said so.

So, instead of being careful, I just moved towards the door "Crash", I felt something hit the back of my head, I staggered.

Then I was suddenly on the ground trying to protect my head from ferocious kicks "You ungrateful, bitch" "After all we've done for you?" "You should be ashamed" I felt each kick painfully. It seemed like the beating would never end. Yet it did, and after some time I felt myself being dragged through the house. I realised we were in front of the cellar, only when the door opened, and I was pushed down the stairs. I experienced a brief state of weightlessness, before hitting the floor of the cellar.

I laid there dazed; the last thing I heard my father say before I lost consciousness was "You wanted some time; here you can have all the time you want."

When I came to, I panicked. I couldn't tell where I was, it was dark, and everything hurt. It took me a couple of minutes to recall what happened earlier. Paradoxically that calmed me down, I was no longer in some psycho's basement who knows where. I was at my parents and although my situation wasn't exactly peachy, I was convinced that my parents could be reasoned with.

I tried to take stock of my injuries only to realise, that the situation was by no means good. When I tried to move my hands only to realise that they were bound by something. A rope? I didn't like that; it meant that my ability to do anything about either my situation or my injuries would be severely limited.

Another worrying thing was how hard it was to breath and how every movement sent wave of pain through my ribcage. I added possibly broken ribs to my list of injuries. Although not happy with my list so far, I continued. I tried to get up, tried being the important word here for when I put weight on my left ankle it buckled under me, and I fell back to the ground. Now laying on the ground and trying to catch my breath as the world span around me. I tried to sit up, but before I managed, I was overcome with nausea and threw up. That's not good, not good at all. I thought as the darkness welcomed me once again.

Notes:

Cursive = thoughts