One: Welcome to my life

Temperance

My eyes flutter open. The cold, hard surface against my back reminds me that I am still in the living room. My head buzzes from nausea rising in my throat.

I shakily stand, every nerve failing my efforts. I feel pain all over. My body wobbles on the spot, almost collapsing.

The stinging sensation in my chest increases with every breath I take. Perhaps my stomach suffered another internal bleeding.

Memories from last night fill my mind as I shrink in my position, feeling the shivers upon my barely covered body. Every slap, punch, and kick crashes back engulfing me in sorrow. Is it worth having his daughter raped? All for the drugs that didn’t do him any good?

Everything hurts so bad that I have to limp to my room. Jolts of numbing pain hit my lower stomach with each step I take. I bite my lip, forcing the flashbacks of that unknown man's brutal force to disappear.

I'm not okay at all.

My emotions have become stagnant. The battle I fight has blurred. While I see countless shadows floating above, I continue to drown.

As I shower to wash the remnants of last night away, My wounds sting from the hot water trickling down on them.

My mouth curves to a bitter smile. When I glance at the mirror, the reflection etched the fact that I no longer had the creamy pale skin from before. It's riddled with discoloration everywhere.

My eyes fall on the purplish bruises on my thighs. I graze my fingers over my stomach and chest where the concentration of bruises is at its peak.

Turning to the side, I notice my hip bones peering out from my body. Food is a luxury to me and that is why I look more malnourished than skinny. If I try to sneak food, I’ll be punished. A type of spanking that left whelps on my body.

The only good thing that comes out of my malnourishment was how it makes my curves stand out. I wince at the glaring handprint left on my neck and a black eye that contrasts my pale face.

My thoughts wander to the only two people I may address as my friends, Nicole and Ryan. They've been with me for years.

My mom and Nicole's mom, Emily had been friends since their high school days which laid the foundation for my and Nicole's friendship. Ryan came into our lives when Nicole and I started elementary school. And he completed our trio.

They don't know about the abuse. No one does.

My father always tells me that no one's going to believe it anyway. Why? Because that's the image no one could instill about him.

After changing into a new set of underwear, I dig through the closet, looking for clothes that can hide my reality from others. I slip onto a pair of skinny jeans ignoring the sting. Though it hurt the bruises, I feel a lot reassured with everything tightly hidden. The light blue hoodie hides my upper body.

And there I stand fresh, concealing the darkness that my life is.

I grab my backpack, ready to get this day over with. But soon footsteps march behind me and before I can defend myself, I am yanked back by a rough hand grabbing a chunk of my newly combed hair. “Bitch! Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

A whimper escapes my mouth as I fall from the impact. Severe pain rushes up my arm as he plows me with his hardest kick. There'd be a bruise. There always is.

“Where are you going slut?"

"I-I- I'm going t-to school," A cough breaks through my body as blood spurts out with it. He forces my chin up, making me face him. I can’t protest and squint at my abuser.

“You better come straight back home after school. If you don't, I'll make sure you regret not dying along with your mother." With that, he lets go of my jaw which has already started to ache. His figure blends down the hallway, leaving me be with a trail of blood trickling down the corner of my mouth — down the chin.

12:30 pm…

I sit at the back of the class most of the time including in English. Usually, I'm left alone as I was tagged with the title, "the rich girl who became poor". I'm a symbol for bad luck, they believe the same thing could happen to them. Either they ignore me or pick on me to quench their vanity.

I get picked on frequently but today with the addition to the numbing pain wrecking havoc inside my body, I am ‭annoyed‬.

The strong fragrance of perfume fills my nose. ‭Sabrina, the witch.‬ Her face is caked with makeup that doesn’t match her skin tone. Her eyelashes look like fly legs and her lips are colored a disgusting red that people with no makeup knowledge preferred.

"What's with the black eye, ‭Temp‬?" I know very well how fake her words are and how she just wants to pick on me. I gaze at my wrist, focusing on driving my growing nervousness away. I feel her fake nails outline my black eye. I snap my head aside, swatting her hands away.

"You dumb bitch." She growls at my reaction, ready to give a blow.

"Hello, class! Everyone, please take your seats." Our teacher steps in, stopping her just in time.

Shaking, Sabrina shoots me an icy glare. Then she sways her hips back to her seat. I feel uncomfortable. She might devise something for later. I exhale and lean down on my desk. My body hurts and my head throbs violently. I am starving, and my brain refuses to cooperate.

Suddenly, the teacher's voice drew. "Ah, Mr. Turner, glad you could join us."

A tall male follows in. My eyes stalk him as he reaches the teacher's podium. The numbness in my heart dulls and a flicker of electricity bursts in. It speeds up.

He is tall enough to hover over the teacher and his aura exudes handsomeness, catching several eyes. He had his signature leather jacket on, the black shirt defining his torso. He nods at the teacher and looks around the room until our eyes meet for a split second. Heat rushes into my cheeks as I blink away, looking down at my hands. I have always disliked being caught staring.

"Go take a seat by Miss Andrews." Mrs. Delilah gestures my way.

A smirk graces his thin lips as he makes his way toward my desk. I roll my eyes at his overconfident behavior. He takes a seat beside me, dropping his bag on the floor.

"What happened to your eye?" He turns to me.

I face the other side, unconsciously wrapping my arms around myself for comfort.

I can feel him studying me. His eyes burn onto my skin, making my head feel hot. It makes my skin itch and his firm stare heightens my annoyance. I want to tell him to stop. But I can't.

I can't speak. Because if I talk once, it will lead to another and soon more. This will lead to friendship. And I can't make friends aside from the ones I already have. It's too risky.

"You sure are quiet, flower." He whispers low so that it's only audible to me.

Flower? Why would he call me a flower?

I’m far from that.