I remember the first time she touched me. It may be rather irrelevant, but the sun was held in a gorgeous blanket of blue that overlooked a field of untrimmed grass. The brilliant sent of sunscreen and campfire declared summer was in bloom. I found myself in an alien setting; unfamiliar pictures painted the walls of an oddly modeled floor plan that I’d lost my own self in. I struggled to swim through the ocean of people to maybe find a stairwell to prevent my drowning, but the waved crashed off the walls and sent me back stranded. I searched for my guardian angel, my saving grace, but that day felt as if any other as I realized I’d be without my father again.
I hardly noticed he was taller than the rest until a firm hand grasped my wrist and raked me from the crowd. I felt the radiance of the sun kiss my July exposed skin as my eyes learned to focus on the brightness of the sunset. It was but a weak attempt to hide my broken self while feeling the light pain from a variety of aged bruises burn as I crossed my arms. He held out his hand.
“Welcome to my home, it’s lovely to meet you” I’d never encountered such kindness; there wasn’t a hint of hostility, not even pain in his tone. Maybe he actually cared. I dared to sneak a quick glance into his eyes, but instead of the look only lasting the fraction of a second that I’d planned, I had to linger; I had never seen eyes so humble, so kind. My attention had been ripped away by a sharp, unexpected pain that held my most recent bruise around my forearm.
“Don’t just stand there like the fucking idiot you are” How low her whisper was did not mask the venom she that she spat into my ear. Looking at the floor, I managed to force my lips into a smile and cautiously take his hand as her claws dug into my arm.
“Thank you for having me over.” I dared to look back up but my step mother’s grip into my arm had already turned my hand numb, so I left my head hung. I let my unwashed, tangled hair cover my eyes and slowly let my heavy lids close. Listening to that vile voice stringing a false web of compliments to my new neighbour, I held my breath, attempting to escape my body. The next thing I remembered was a harsh tug at my hair.
I tried to hold myself up, but she was pulling too quickly. I lost my footing and let myself be dragged across the sandpaper I wish I could call a road, but to me, it was only the path back to hell.
Absence of light only foreshadowed what would proceed; only I hadn’t realized she’d finally snapped until the door was already slammed shut. After reaching the point of starvation, you can only assume how light my frail body weighed. Brutally snatching me up, she shoved me back onto the hardwood, my cheeks smacking the floor. I only prayed that my bones wouldn’t shatter underneath my thin layer of flesh that already proclaimed signs of her hatred. Still blinded by the shock of pain, I felt another one of her lashes smash my ribs. Again. Again. The accuracy in which she managed to hit the exact same point every time was unbelievable, but I could no longer think logically for she broke past the surface. All I felt was a slice that cut directly between two of my rib bones, as if she wanted to separate the bondage they’ve held throughout my entire life. That was the first time I’d ever seen my own blood.
Again, I felt the floor beneath me disappear as her constricting hands noosed my tiny neck. With my airway cut off, all I could see was death staring back at me, refusing to even give back my own reflection. Empty, she was empty.
A pull of hesitation grasped her attention as she caught my eye. Just when I thought her humanity had come back to her, she proved me wrong. I knew this time would be different than the others; the way her claws laced my neck as she held my limp body in the air and how brutally strong each lash at me was. It was nothing but pure hatred.
The edges of my vision began to blur as I slowly lost control over my own limbs. Gathering what was left of my strength; I looked up, exhaled my final breathe, and gave in.
Apparently, there isn’t a limit to the amount of damage one’s flesh can show. Each cut, each bruise, every single scar, they all tell stories. And if one is nothing but visible and invisible scars that refuse to ever fade, when is it made official that they have been broken? At what point is someone labelled “broken”?
All I could think about was how much carpet burn actually hurt and how was I going to explain it. Falling down the stairs is one thing, but being dragged up a carpeted stairwell by nothing but your own hair is absolutely inhumane. After about midway up the mountain, I lost consciousness; the overwhelming pains had drown me. From that point on, it was nothing more than seeing her gruesome face over me and blackness.
That revolting grimace, then me, in the desert, searching for water. That appalling voice, then me, crawling through the dry ocean of sand. Unable to concentrate on actual reality, I absorbed everything; from how white her knuckles were due to the tightness of her fist to how agonizingly heavy I felt as I forced myself to drag my body across the burning grains of sand. But there was one thing I clearing remember, forever, the wound will be engraved in my mind.
I was ordered to stand, but barely being able to distinguish which parts of my body I could control, all I felt myself being pinned to the cold wall. Then, without anymore hesitation, I was sexually assaulted.