It was a hot summer's day. The birds chirped, and the trees swayed in the breeze. But all I could hear was the sound of my father screaming, his voice echoing through the air, "GET UP!" I lay on the cold basement floor, blood dripping from my mouth, feeling like I was choking. I took a slow breath, my body trembling, and forced myself to my feet. My 6-year-old body felt like it had been run over by a bus.
I glanced up at the monster I called my father. His face twisted in anger, a sneer forming as he raised his fist. The bone-crushing impact sent me to the ground. I felt the cold floor against my cheek, and my body screamed in pain. He thought I passed out from the beating, from not being fed. His footsteps echoed as he walked away, slamming the door behind him. I lay there, crying silently, praying that someone would hear me.
"Please..." I whispered through my tears. "Please let me survive this torture..."
Now, I'm 15, and it feels like life couldn't get worse. Sometimes, I wonder if it would be easier to just jump off a cliff.
I woke up in my bed, aching all over. A pounding headache pulsed in my skull. "Oh honey!" My mom's voice rang out from across the house. I cringed, hearing that sickly-sweet tone. I dragged myself to my closet, grabbing the first clothes my hand touched. Baggy sweats that were too big for my small frame, an old shirt, and my hair thrown into a messy bun. I trudged to the kitchen, where she was making breakfast.
"Darling, are you ready for school?" she asked.
"As ready as I'll ever be..." I mumbled, my voice flat as I looked down at the floor.
I felt her heels click closer, and then pain exploded across my cheek. My bottom lip split open, and I felt the sting of fresh tears.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" she snarled.
"Yes, ma'am," I whispered, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.
She sneered, "Grab an apple and get the hell out of my house, you worthless bitch!"
I grabbed an apple and walked out, feeling a sense of peace as the cool air hit me. The sun felt warm on my skin, and I put my earphones in, trying to drown out the world. Middle school felt like hell. I would rather be anywhere but here.
When I reached the front gates, the weight of it all seemed unbearable. My friend, KitKat, called to me from across the yard.
"What's wrong, Rosie?" she asked, her concern genuine.
"Nothing. Just... my mom calling me names again." I avoided her eyes, watching as she read her latest obsession—another werewolf vs. vampire book. She loved those, always gushing about them. It was getting old.
"KitKat, why do you always read that fairy tale stuff? None of it's real."
"Oh please! What if it were?" she gushed. "Wouldn't it be amazing, having a perfect guy who's meant for you?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, sure. In your dreams."
She grinned, unfazed, and I walked away, heading to my next class. I passed by my bully, Jessi, and her goons—rich girls who thought they owned the world.
"Oh look!" Jessi sneered. "The unwanted bitch shows up!"
She laughed with her blonde hair swinging, stepping into my path. I glared at her, my fists clenched.
"What do you want, Jessi?"
"I thought I'd give you something." She smiled with disgust.
Then, without warning, she shoved me. I hit the ground with a sickening thud. Kids stared, one even laughing. My hateful teacher, Mr. Grey, finally appeared.
"Get in your seats before I give you all detention!" he barked.
I sat down quickly, my face burning with humiliation. The rest of the hour dragged on in a blur. When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my stuff and headed out. But then, as I walked, someone tripped me with an outstretched leg.
"My bad!" someone called.
I picked myself up, rubbing my bruised knees, only to realize I had just run into a person. Not a wall, but... him.
"I'm so sorry!" I stammered, my heart racing.
The deepest voice I'd ever heard spoke up. "Are you okay?"
I looked up, surprised. He was the most handsome guy I had ever seen—emerald green eyes that seemed to see right through me.
"Yes, I'm fine," I muttered, feeling embarrassed as my cheeks flushed.
He smiled, his teeth white and perfect, before he helped me gather my scattered books. "Okay, as long as you're sure. What class do you have next?"
"History," I replied, still caught off guard.
"Me too!" he grinned.
"I'm Alex," he said, extending his hand. "Alexander Vallord, but you can call me Alex."
I shook his hand, feeling the warmth and softness of his skin. "I'm Rose."
Just as I pulled my hand away, I felt a wave of panic. Anxiety hit me hard, and I quickly excused myself, running to my next class.
I barely made it before the teacher, Mrs. Hex, arrived. She was cheerful as always, her energy almost too much to handle.
"Class, we have a new student," she announced. "Please welcome him. He's from Ireland!"
I froze, my heart sinking. Alex walked into the classroom with his easy smile, and I felt my face burn with embarrassment. He had said he was going to history class, but I didn't expect him to be sitting next to me.
He smiled at me, and I looked away, trying to focus on Mrs. Hex's lecture about the world wars, though I could feel his gaze on me.
"This can't get worse," I thought, wanting to crawl into a hole and disappear.
When the bell rang, I bolted for the door, eager to escape. But I heard a voice call after me.
"Hey, wait up!"
I turned to see Alex jogging toward me with that same look in his eyes—a mixture of confusion and concern.
"Rose, would you like to walk to lunch together?"
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by the offer. "I guess... but I don't think it's a good idea. I'm not really the type to make friends."