Prisoner in my own home

Sophia

I don't remember exactly when I started to feel like this house was a prison. Maybe it was the first punch I got for not cleaning the kitchen quickly enough, or the first time I heard Vanessa, my half-sister, laughing at me while my stepfather, Tomás, pushed me against the wall and called me useless. Maybe that was the day I stopped crying when I realized that tears weren't going to save me.

Today is just another day like all the others. I wake up before sunrise because I know that if Tomás finds me sleeping, he'll drag me by my hair to the kitchen, shouting that I'm lazy. He likes to start the day by reminding me how unwanted I am, how I'm dead weight in his house.

I tiptoe down the stairs, trying not to make a sound. Any wrong sound is a reason for him to wake up in a bad mood, and when Tomás is in a bad mood, I'm the one who pays the price. My stomach churns with hunger, but I don't dare touch the food in the fridge. That's forbidden. The only food that belongs to me is what's left on Tomás and Vanessa's plates, the cold, dirty leftovers they leave to remind me of my place.

I turn on the tap, cold water running through my fingers as I wash the dishes from the night before. It's an automatic ritual: wash, rinse, dry. My hands, hardened by constant work, move in the same rhythm every day. Sometimes, when no one is looking, I stop for a second and stare at my distorted reflection in the water. I barely recognize the girl I see; there are deep dark circles under her eyes and a deep-rooted sadness. But I can't afford to stop for long. I have to finish before they wake up.

Vanessa comes down shortly afterwards, impeccable in her silk robe, her blonde hair perfectly styled as if she'd just stepped out of a salon. She walks around the kitchen as if she owns the place, which, in reality, she does. I'm just a ghost, a shadow who exists to serve her every whim.

She sits at the table and doesn't even bother to look at me, but her critical eye follows my every move. “You're cleaning up all wrong!” she comments, her voice full of disdain. “Do you want my father to get upset with you? You know how he gets when things don't go his way.”

I press my lips together, swallowing the words that want to come out. It's no use. I've learned the hard way that any answer only leads to more problems. Vanessa feeds off my fear, my silence, and feels powerful over my pain. She never gets her hands dirty, never gets directly involved; she prefers to watch from afar as Tomás takes his frustrations out on me.

The sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs makes me wince; Tomas is awake. My heart is racing, beating so hard I can feel it in my throat. He enters the kitchen like a storm. His eyes, always full of disgust, meet mine.

“Why isn't this ready yet?” He points to the unfinished breakfast on the table, his hands clenched into fists. “How can it be so useless?”

Every word is like a blow, more painful than any punch. My whole body trembles as I rush to finish what he wants. Panic is an old acquaintance; I know exactly how it works, paralyzing me and making me lose track of time. My fingers burn when I touch the hot frying pan, but I don't make a sound. The physical pain is insignificant compared to the terror I feel for him.

It doesn't take much for him to explode. One dish out of place, one wrong look, one word not said submissively enough. I feel his rough hands on my arm, pulling me violently to the side. My shoulder hits the counter and all I can think is that it's going purple again. Another mark to hide. I try to keep my expression neutral, to hide the fear burning inside me, but my traitorous body trembles uncontrollably.

“You think you deserve better, don't you? Your mother left you to me as a curse,” he growls, his hot breath hitting me as he holds me tight.

I lower my head, unable to look at him. There's no room for dreams, for hope. There's no room for anything except fear. Every day is a silent battle to survive without being seen, without making a sound, without giving them more reasons to hate me.

I finish serving breakfast while Tomás and Vanessa sit at the table totally ignoring me. When they finally leave, the house is empty and cold. I grab a piece of stale bread left over from breakfast and eat it quickly, as if I were stealing it, and that's how I feel.

I dream of one day leaving this house. One day, this miserable life will be just a distant memory. I don't know how or when, but I have to find a way.