Find me

Chapter 3

Aria POV

My first day at school was weird.

I mean, joining a new school is always weird. People stare at you, someone always tries to talk to you, someone makes fun of you. I’ve been through that more times than I could count, but my first day at this school was weird in a different kind of way.

People were staring at me, whispering and murmuring. I didn’t pay much attention to it at first. I knew that they would stop. But when lunch came and the whispers and glances didn’t stop, I got nervous. I thought that something was terribly wrong.

Maybe they could see my bruises? I kept pulling on the sleeves of my hoodie. I was terrified of someone finding out. My parents would kill me if anyone knew what was going on inside our house.

Maybe they didn’t like my clothes? I knew that my clothes weren’t in the best shape, but they were always clean. I was always clean. I always made sure that my clothes were washed. I always made sure I didn’t smell like cigarettes or alcohol. My parents would sometimes throw bottles and glasses at me. The liquid inside would spill all over me, and the smell was hard to get rid of, but I always did my best to wash it out. Maybe I missed something. Maybe there was a hole in my jeans or in my hoodie. Maybe something happened to my shoes. Maybe I didn’t wash out the smell of alcohol and cigarettes well enough.

I was going insane worrying until I heard something that confused me completely.

“She looks like him.” I overheard one of the students whispering.

Was he talking about me? Was that why everyone was staring at me? Who do I look like?

I dismissed it and hurried to the bathroom to check my clothes and my shoes. I didn’t know anyone here. This was the first time I had ever been in this town. I didn’t have any other family. I only had my mom and my dad. There was no way I looked like anyone from this town. They had to be talking about someone else.

I checked my clothes and my shoes, but there weren’t any holes or stains on them. I smelled my clothes and my hair, but I couldn’t smell alcohol or cigarettes. I smelled clean. I smelled like soap.

Why were they staring at me?

I felt fingers wrapping up in my hair, and someone pulled on it.

“Why the fuck are you making rice, you little bitch?” my dad mumbled, pulling my head back. “You know how much I hate rice!”

“There was nothing else, dad.” I mumbled quietly.

They didn’t like it when I talked too loudly.

“Rose!” my dad screamed as he let me go.

I heard my mom stumble toward the kitchen. I lowered my head and continued stirring the rice.

“Yes, Mark?” my mom slurred.

“Why the fuck isn’t there anything but rice in this fucking house?!” my dad screamed again.

My mom stayed silent, but I heard her walking toward me. I tensed up and lowered my head even further. I knew what was coming next.

She grabbed the knife that was on the counter, and I had to stiffen the whimper that wanted to escape my mouth. I hated when they used knives.

My mom grabbed my hand and turned me around harshly.

“Why isn’t there anything else in the house, you little bitch?” my mom slurred, lifting my chin with the tip of the knife.

“I didn’t go to the store.” I said quietly, keeping my eyes on the floor.

I knew better than to look up at them.

“And why is that?” my mom asked.

Her breath fanned my face, and my stomach twisted. I could smell alcohol, cigarettes, and weed.

“I didn’t have any money.” I said quietly.

“What was that?” my dad asked, grabbing my arm and squeezing it tightly. “Speak up, bitch.”

“I didn’t have any money.” I repeated a little bit louder, keeping my eyes firmly on the floor.

My dad twisted my arm, and an involuntary whimper escaped me.

“Why didn’t she have any money, Rose?” my dad asked, gritting his teeth.

“I couldn’t give her any, Mark.” my mom responded, sliding the knife down my neck. “She is such a waste of space and money that there was none left for us.”

My heart broke hearing my mom say those words. It was not the first time I heard her say that, but it still hurt. She was my mom. Why didn’t she love me? Did I do something wrong? Was it because I was a girl and she wanted a boy? I just wanted her to love me. Just a little bit.

“Get her out of my sight.” my dad said, digging his nails into my skin. “I don’t want to look at her. Take her to the basement.”

My mom laughed, grabbed my other hand, and pulled me away. I stumbled behind her, trying to keep the tears from falling on my cheeks. They hated when I cried.

My mom opened the basement door and let me in first.

“In you go, little bitch.” she said as she dug the tip of the knife into my back.

I started walking down the stairs. She was following behind me. When we were about half way down, she laughed and pushed me.

I gasped and fell down the rest of the stairs. I lifted my hands, trying to protect my head as I hit the ground.

“Don’t be late for school tomorrow.” my mom said, climbing back up the stairs. “I don’t want people asking questions.”

She slammed the door shut, and darkness swallowed me. I heard the door being locked, and I let the first tear fall on my cheek.

My body hurt from falling down, but I didn’t have any major injuries. Nothing was broken. I would have some cuts and bruises, but I didn’t count that as a major injuries. In the past, I had broken bones, deep cuts, and burns. Those were major.

I carefully lifted myself up on my knees, wincing in pain. I tapped around until I found a wall. I sat down, leaned against the cold wall, and took a deep breath.

I hated the dark. I hated the basement.

In one of our old houses, there was an old Halloween decoration stored in the basement. The previous tenants must have left it there. It was a statue of a werewolf, with his canines showing and his arms stretched out. It looked like he was going to grab me with his claws. Fake blood was splattered all over it and the statue looked terrifying. I was only about six or seven years old when we lived there. When my parents found out how afraid I was of the statue, it became their favorite way to punish me. They would make me sit on a chair, tie me up, and place me right in front of the statue. When we left that house, they wanted to take that statue with us, but, thankfully, it was too big to fit in the car.

Each time they locked me up in any basement, I could see the werewolf in front of me. I could remember how afraid I was. I could remember how I cried and begged them to help me.

Another tear fell on my cheek, and a small sob escaped me.

I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, trying to calm myself down.

I will be okay. Everything will be okay. Only a few more months, and I will leave for college. Only a few more moths, and I will be free.

But will I survive until then? Will my body survive the torture that I know is ahead of me? Will my mind survive the insults and the pain that I know are ahead of me?

I wish that someone would see me. I wish that someone would find me. I wish that I wouldn’t have to wait a few more months. I wish this would end now.

But I had no one. The only two people I did have hated me. They wanted me gone.

Nobody would see me. Nobody would find me.

I was alone.