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I Think I May Be Sorry
One
Dim light shone through the window, glittering. Light- safe, sound light. Light was safe, light was warm. Light meant life, light meant protection. Light was… deceiving. I opened my eyes, and frowned. Light may have been safe while it was there- but when the light went away, everything broke loose. Darkness meant pain and suffering. Darkness was the real world. Darkness was my life. I couldn’t escape from it.
I pulled myself up, my head pounding. I gasped in air, and looked at the wall clock. Six thirty.
Crap. School started at eight. I stood, very unstably, and hobbled towards the bathroom. I pushed open the white door, and almost choked on the laugh that erupted from my stiff lips. Bottles of beer and stubbed out cigarettes littered the bright pink room, darkening the cheery vibe one should have gotten from the frosty pink. I pushed the ashes and cigarette butts onto the linoleum floor, and looked at myself in the mirror.
My curly, thick, light brown hair was a matted, greasy mess. My eyes were sunk in, and dark circles were surrounding them. A fierce bruise was dark and defined on my pale cheek. Streaks of brown and red blood ran down my face, spanning from my small, tiny nose, to my light blue tank top. Tear marks spilled through the blood. I stripped down, and looked back in the mirror. My ribs were bruised and swollen. The familiar picture of a punished daughter was painted before me. I turned the shower on, making it almost scalding. I moved my foot up to step in, and gasped when my ribs burned with a sharp, definite pain.You deserve it, I reminded myself. I slowly moved my sore body into the steady stream of water, and tried to make the best of it. Even though the steamy water rushing out of the shower head felt nice against my tensed muscles, it did little to relax me.
When the warm water cooled to an icy stream, I cautiously eased out, setting my feet down on the cold tile floor. I grabbed a black towel from the wooden cabinet by the shower, and wrapped it around my aching body. I grabbed another black towel, and towel dried my hair as best as I could. I gently pushed the door open, and tiptoed to my room. I opened the door, which was adorned in messy, hand drawn signs I had made. I padded across the faded brown carpet to my dresser, and grabbed a pair of white panties and a matching bra. I slipped them on, being careful to avoid my ribs. I shuffled over to my closet, and pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans, a red tank top, and a black My Chemical Romance tee shirt. I dressed slowly, trying to avoid painful moves as much as possible.
After I got my clothes on, I staggered over to my dresser, and frowned. Even though all the dried blood and tear stains were washed down the drain, and all the evidence of what really happened was erased, there was still a fist sized bruise on my face, and dark, sunken circles under my light hazel eyes. My lips pulled down at the corners, and I picked up a bottle of ivory concealer off of my messy dresser. I dipped my finger into the smooth, cold liquid, and smeared it on my face, making sure to cover the bruise and the purple circles sitting under my eyes. My lips pulled up slightly at the corners when I looked back into the mirror. The bruise was barely evident to the eye. The circles were gone, and my face looked bright and happy. I almost laughed. Bright and happy didn’t even belong in the same sentence as anything about me.
My curly, brown hair hung down over my shoulders. My pouty lips were parted, my breathing more of a wheezing. I glanced over at my clock. Seven fifteen. I sighed, and slowly slipped my feet into a pair of old, worn checkered vans, and grabbed my rugged green backpack. I walked out of my room, out of my house, and put a smile on my face- and dove into the act of faking a happy life.
I pulled myself up, my head pounding. I gasped in air, and looked at the wall clock. Six thirty.
Crap. School started at eight. I stood, very unstably, and hobbled towards the bathroom. I pushed open the white door, and almost choked on the laugh that erupted from my stiff lips. Bottles of beer and stubbed out cigarettes littered the bright pink room, darkening the cheery vibe one should have gotten from the frosty pink. I pushed the ashes and cigarette butts onto the linoleum floor, and looked at myself in the mirror.
My curly, thick, light brown hair was a matted, greasy mess. My eyes were sunk in, and dark circles were surrounding them. A fierce bruise was dark and defined on my pale cheek. Streaks of brown and red blood ran down my face, spanning from my small, tiny nose, to my light blue tank top. Tear marks spilled through the blood. I stripped down, and looked back in the mirror. My ribs were bruised and swollen. The familiar picture of a punished daughter was painted before me. I turned the shower on, making it almost scalding. I moved my foot up to step in, and gasped when my ribs burned with a sharp, definite pain.You deserve it, I reminded myself. I slowly moved my sore body into the steady stream of water, and tried to make the best of it. Even though the steamy water rushing out of the shower head felt nice against my tensed muscles, it did little to relax me.
When the warm water cooled to an icy stream, I cautiously eased out, setting my feet down on the cold tile floor. I grabbed a black towel from the wooden cabinet by the shower, and wrapped it around my aching body. I grabbed another black towel, and towel dried my hair as best as I could. I gently pushed the door open, and tiptoed to my room. I opened the door, which was adorned in messy, hand drawn signs I had made. I padded across the faded brown carpet to my dresser, and grabbed a pair of white panties and a matching bra. I slipped them on, being careful to avoid my ribs. I shuffled over to my closet, and pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans, a red tank top, and a black My Chemical Romance tee shirt. I dressed slowly, trying to avoid painful moves as much as possible.
After I got my clothes on, I staggered over to my dresser, and frowned. Even though all the dried blood and tear stains were washed down the drain, and all the evidence of what really happened was erased, there was still a fist sized bruise on my face, and dark, sunken circles under my light hazel eyes. My lips pulled down at the corners, and I picked up a bottle of ivory concealer off of my messy dresser. I dipped my finger into the smooth, cold liquid, and smeared it on my face, making sure to cover the bruise and the purple circles sitting under my eyes. My lips pulled up slightly at the corners when I looked back into the mirror. The bruise was barely evident to the eye. The circles were gone, and my face looked bright and happy. I almost laughed. Bright and happy didn’t even belong in the same sentence as anything about me.
My curly, brown hair hung down over my shoulders. My pouty lips were parted, my breathing more of a wheezing. I glanced over at my clock. Seven fifteen. I sighed, and slowly slipped my feet into a pair of old, worn checkered vans, and grabbed my rugged green backpack. I walked out of my room, out of my house, and put a smile on my face- and dove into the act of faking a happy life.
♠ ♠ ♠
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