"Don't trust everything you see. Even salt looks like sugar."

-anonymous

***

Running up the path, leading to my front door, I scramble through my things for my house key. Pulling out the metal piece, I insert it into the keyhole and twist, dreading what I may find on the other side. I quickly open the door and slip in, closing and sliding the bolt behind me.

I stop for a moment in the entryway, listening for signs of life in the house. When I hear or see nothing, no keys in the tray, no noises from the television, I let myself relax. I drop my keys into the tray by the door and slip off my shoes. I hang my bag on a hook by the door and make my way into the kitchen, but pause in the archway.

Sitting on a stool at the central island, is a beautiful woman. Moira Knight. My worst nightmare come to life. My step-mother. After my father's death, she changed her surname back to her maiden name and took over the household. Beautiful and smart, like the cunning snake, she slowly poisoned me. Before my father's death, she was kind and would rarely show her true colours, lest my father notice and kick her out.

She would pinch me in places where no one would notice and slowly degrade my self-esteem in small, practically unnoticeable ways. Small insults here and there. It was after my father's accident, that the monster reared it's head. No one ever knew, no one ever suspects. As a well known reporter, no one expects her to be so cruel to her step-daughter, let alone abusive.

She turns to me now, her angular face hiding her evil intentions. Ice like eyes scorn me from afar, her talon like nails tapping on the granite countertop as she watches me with complete and utter hatred.

"Why are you late?" her voice is calm and bored sounding, but I know better than to relax.

This is the calm before the storm.
"I was studying in the library at school, Ma'am," I say softly, trying to keep my voice level and void of any fear.

Never show the enemy your fear.
"Don't lie to me!" she suddenly screams, rising to her feet and slapping her palms on the counter.

I flinch and try to conceal the fright in my expression, but it's too late, she already saw.

"I'm not, Ma'am," I whisper, trembling slightly.

"You take me for a fool, child!" she screams, rushing towards me.

My eyes widen with fear, my heart racing a mile a minute and I think for sure that this time she won't hold back and she will kill me. I squeeze my eyes shut as she rips my sweater and blouse over my head, hurting my neck as the top buttons pop off, leaving me in only a bra on my upper half. My breath's come quickly as I watch her toss my ruined clothes across the room and her hand come across my flesh. Her razor sharp nails claw through the skin of my shoulder, gauging out four parallel furrows. Tears stream down my cheeks, but I make no sound against the pain, she would only make me hurt worse. I clutch my injured shoulder, feeling a sticky red substance seep between my clenched fingers.

Hauling me up by the neck, she pins me against the nearest wall, causing the walls to shake and the breath to leave me in a rush. I throw my hands to my defense, clawing at her fingers to release my throat, my vision turning black. She reels back and in one swift move, delivers a sucker punch to my gut. My vision turns red as stars burst in my eyes at the blinding pain.

Whoever said woman were weaker and less violent. They haven't met Moira.

She releases me, allowing me to drop to the flow in a crumpled heap. I hear her heels click away and I allow myself to grunt in pain. I bet stabbing me would have hurt less. I lie on the floor motionless, curled in as tight a ball as my injuries will allow me. My breaths are short and shallow, the pain in my stomach too great for deeper breaths. I honestly wish I could die, the and constant abuse really getting to me.

Why couldn't I have died with my father instead of having to endure constant pain. It's too much. I try to sit up, knowing I'm starting to stain the laminated floor boards with my blood. Moving causes a spasm of pain to shoot through my abdomen and I can't stop the yell of pain.

Whimpering, I brace myself against the counter, clutching my stomach as I grab for the wash cloth. Dropping to my knees, I flinch from the protesting muscles in my shoulder as I scrub my blood from the floor and wall. I rub desperately, not wanting to give her another reason to beat me.

"Don't forget to make my dinner!" Moira shouts from somewhere inside the house. Probably from her room upstairs.

"Yes, Ma'am," I call back weakly, the pain palpable even in my voice.

I swear I hear her laugh as I cry out, trying to stand. Luckily I already boiled some soup the night before, so I don't have to exert myself more. I quickly grab a bowl, yelping every now and then as I work. I pour some pumpkin soup into a bowl and heat it up in the microwave, adding some sage to the top once it's done.

I place the bowl and some cutlery on a tray, adding a glass of red wine. Wincing, I trudge up the stairs to her room and knock on the door. She opens the door and grins maliciously at me, before snatching the tray from me and slamming the door in my face. Believe it or not, this is her on her best day, she's usually worse. Especially if something goes wrong at work.

I stumble back down the stairs and head for the small basement door under the staircase. I used to have a beautiful room, the biggest in the house, but she turned it into her private home gym. She kicked me to the basement and burned all my belongings, besides a few things and my clothes. Even though we have multiple rooms, she claims she needs them for when we have guests over and to be ready at a moments notice.

So I have the basement. It's not that bad actually. Kinda. With a low ceiling, dark corners and old junk, it looks like it belongs in a horror film. To me, it's the only safe haven I have, since she never comes down here. Other than a cupboard, sleeper-couch and a old vanity, I don't have much in the way of furniture. Unless you count the tumble-dryer and the rickety old washing-machine.

I pull out the old medical aid kit and patch myself up, taking a painkiller to hopefully keep the nauseating pain at bay. I strip and redress myself in pj's, too tired to shower at the moment. I collapse on my bed and fall into a fitful sleep.

~•~•~

Vote/Follow/Comment/Share

LilMissImperfection xoxo