Aurora’s P.O.V
I jolted awake from a sharp pain on my side, my entire body feeling like I had been run over by a speeding truck. And it didn’t take long before the splitting headache made me groan out in pain.
I tried to move my body, but the sound of glass shifting under me made me halt. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim light and the stench of alcohol and misery. It didn’t take me long before I realized that I was lying on the cold hard floor of the living room, with shards of broken glass all over the floor.
My father...
He had been home last night…
‘You little whore!’ My father’s voice sounded in my ears, loud and heavily slurred, an empty bottle of whisky in his hands. ‘Where is the money? I know you work at that stupid restaurant! Give me the money!’
‘I don’t have any money,’ I had whimpered, trying to put on a brave front, but we both knew it was all a façade.
‘Liar!’ he had bellowed as he had shoved me hard on the chest, the impact had sent me crashing to the floor. ‘Don’t you dare lie to your father, you bitch!’
‘I’m not lying, I promise!’ At that point, I hadn't been able to stop him as he hauled me up from the floor with a grip on my hair. ‘Please! You’re hurting me!’
But my words had fallen on deaf ears. ‘Turn around.’
‘I don’t have any money, I swear!’ I had insisted despite the way my body had trembled violently from the way he was roughly searching my pockets, my lips trembling uncontrollably until I had bit down on them hard enough to draw blood. But that hadn’t stopped him from ransacking my room, without caring about my privacy.
He had found the money, inside the mattress cover, a total of thirty five dollars that I had gotten as a tip from the restaurant after hours of standing on my feet.
‘You fucking liar!’ This time, I hadn’t seen the bottle coming down on me.
But I had felt the impact of the glass on the back of my head; heard it shatter on contact. My head spun; went numb from the pain as black spots danced before my eyes.
He had thrown the half-broken bottle on the floor next to me, making me flinch, as if he hadn’t just abused his only daughter. And then he had stridden out of the house, taking my week’s worth of savings with him, not caring that me and his little son wouldn’t have anything to eat the rest of the week.
Now, I blinked the grogginess away and placed a hand on the top of my head, holding back a scream of agony when I felt the pain spike as if a needle had been drilled into my skull.
Tears streamed down my face as I sat up on the floor, looking at the mess all around me. I needed to clean this up…I needed to make sure no traces of last night remained on the floor, on the whole house…
I couldn’t afford this…I couldn’t afford Riley finding out how bad it had gotten.
Getting up from the floor took a different kind of effort. My entire body trembled and ached, making me realize that my father may have kicked me further after I had fallen unconscious.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips when I realized the extent of his cruelty, but what could I do? My father made it no secret that he hated my guts, and the torment has only increased ever since my mother passed away while giving birth to my baby brother, Riley.
Now, I stood up on unsteady feet, my head spinning with the effort as I tried my best not to step on the shards of broken glass. The pain was sharp, but I had learned to push it down. I couldn’t afford to let it show.
Riley. He was safe. He was hidden in his room, tucked away where he couldn’t see or be seen. I couldn’t bear the thought of him witnessing it again. I could almost hear him calling my name, asking if everything was okay, if I was alright.
But I wasn’t. Not even close. But how was I supposed to say that to a five year old? How was I supposed to share my pain to someone who hardly understood why all this was happening?
I padded back to my room, biting my lip to stop myself from crying out. The floor was cold against my bare feet, and I took one careful step toward the bathroom. The mirror reflected back a face I didn’t recognize—puffy eyes, hair tangled, lips cracked. My hands shook as I turned on the water, splashing my face. The coolness didn’t soothe me; nothing ever did anymore. But I couldn’t stay like this.
I needed to move. I needed to keep going for Riley’s sake. For his future.
Once the cold water had done its job, I stumbled back to my room and dug through the pile of old clothes in my dresser, finding something halfway decent for school. A plain shirt, old jeans, and sneakers. I hadn’t had time to shop for months—my father made sure I had nothing, and even the clothes I wore were second-hand, bought from a Goodwill centre. It didn’t matter. I’d wear them, and I’d go on with my life. I had to.
Because if there was any chance for me to get out of this horrid town, this awful neighborhood…then I will take all the chances I could get. For now, I needed to get my high school degree and to make sure that I stay out of trouble as best as I could, because my father had caused enough.
As I dressed and looked at myself in the mirror, and the image staring back horrified even me. I looked pale as a ghost but the dark bruise on my cheek needed to be covered us. I was already a freak at school whose father was a gambler and a drunk. I didn’t need to announce to the world that I was being abused as well.
So I used the only foundation I had managed to buy at a dollar store to cover up the bruise. It didn’t help much, but it got the job done.
Looking into the mirror one last time, I put on my best smile, as if it could help me fool myself that everything in my life wasn’t falling apart, that I wasn’t on the verge of falling apart on the seams…
It was at times like these that I desperately wished that my mother was still alive, that she hadn't left me all alone in this world, to take care of a little soul who I had sworn to protect to the very end.
But I shook that thought out of my head. My mother was gone, she was in heaven now, safe and happy…away from the torments of the man who she had desperately loved, and who had now turned into a monster.
Why? It was one question that I found myself asking more times than I could count. But I knew the answers wouldn’t come.
Why did my mother have to die so soon?
Why did my father suddenly turn into this gambling addict…this alcoholic…this…monster?
And most importantly…why did he hate me so much?
