His Sunflower

1

'Sometimes the strength within you is not a big fiery flame for all to see, it's just a tiny spark that whispers ever so softly, you've got this, keep going.'

My mother always used to say that good things happen to good people.

She lied.

If good things happen to good people, then why was she taken away from me? If she was telling the truth, why would she leave me alone, to fight for myself? Why did she have to close her eyes and not wake up again? If good things happen to good people, then I wouldn't have a huge cut going from my collar bone to my belly button; I wouldn't have to go through this daily torture. I loved my mother, but I envied that she got to leave this world whilst I was still stuck here, fighting day by day, each day my will to live deteriorating bit by bit.

It was Monday morning and yet another day where I had gotten less than three hours of sleep. I hated waking up from horrifying nightmares, which were in fact frightening memories of things that had actually happened to me. Sleeping was the one thing which was supposed to be my escape, but I dreaded it. Every night, I would fight to keep my eyes open and try to stop myself from falling asleep but most nights I would be so weak that my eyes would close, and I would have to relive all the painful memories that I try to keep locked away. I always jolt up covered in my own blood and sweat, having to remind myself to take deep breaths in attempt to calm myself down.

Grateful enough to at least have an old mattress to sleep on, I knew I shouldn't be complaining. Other people have it worse. I should count myself lucky. Looking through the cracked window opposite my bed, I could just about see the sun starting to rise and I began to panic. I only had around a short amount of time to get dressed for college and to make breakfast for my father.

Using a toothbrush, I began to simultaneously brush my teeth whilst putting on a pair of leggings and a black hoodie. Using some toilet paper, I wrapped it around the wound on my stomach and prayed that it would hold until I got to college. I was too scared to look in the mirror in front of me, but I knew that I had to assess the damage from last nights beating. I slowly raised my head with my eyes scrunched closed and hesitantly began to open them, my hand instantly covering my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

My cheek had a nasty cut on it, which was most likely infected, my lip was split and my jaw was turning all sorts of blue, green, purple and black. I chocked back the sobs that were threatening to spill, and my hands instinctively went to grab the chain around my neck.

The cool metal between my fingers gave me some sort of relief and strength as I closed my eyes and reminisced on how I got it. I could feel the small cursive engraving at the back of the charm, and it instantly filled me with some bravery. There was only one small word engraved and that was the name Liliana.

I knew that if I didn't start making breakfast now, I would be late to college and that would mean an unimaginable beating tonight. Looking in the mirror, I took a deep breath and released the chain, watching as the small sunflower pendant rested delicately on my bruised skin. I grabbed an old rag and quickly began to wipe the dried blood off of my face. Not having access to a first aid kit or any make-up to fix up my face, I had no choice but to use my hair to cover my hideous face and hope that my hood would cover most of the damage.

I silently but quickly tiptoed up the basement stairs, making sure that I missed the creaky third step, to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for my father.

Looking around, the place was littered with empty beer bottles and the table had white powdered lines scattered all over. My stomach churned at the sight as the awful memories of last night still plagued my mind.

Having no time to waste, I made my way over to the toaster and put two slices of bread in it. The smell was making my tummy rumble and I couldn't remember the last time that I had something to eat.

Before I could grab something, I remembered what happed last time I was caught trying to take some food; the round burn marks on my thighs were a very painful reminder.

I had lasted longer without food and today wouldn't be an exception. My body physically and mentally couldn't handle the consequences of taking some food without permission. It wasn't worth it.

The sound of the toast being popped out of the toaster snapped me out of my depressing thoughts as I grabbed a plate to put the warm breakfast on. Grabbing a knife from the cutlery draw and a jar of seedless jam from the fridge, I plated up his breakfast and put it on a tray, leaving it on the kitchen counter for him.

I managed to clean up the place a little before grabbing my backpack, putting my shoes on, and quietly leaving the house. It wasn't a particularly warm day so I knew the forty-minute walk would feel like longer than usual. Sighing, I pulled the sleeves of my hoodie down to my fingertips and began the brisk walk.

Finally reaching college, I immediately went to my locker and tried to catch my breath. Walking to school wasn't too bad but walking to school with broken ribs and an open wound on my stomach was tough.

College wasn't exactly a safe haven for me, but it was much better than the dreaded evenings with my drunk father and his friends. Pulling myself out of those horrifying thoughts, I opened my locker and grabbed the books which I needed for the day, before making my way over to my first period.

Heading over to biology, I kept my head down to try and conceal the evidence of last nights beating. Trying to navigate my way through the busy corridor whilst trying to avoid being seen was proving to be a difficult task as the next thing I knew, my stomach had made contact with the cold, hard ground. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood in order to silence my screams and tears were welling up in my eyes from the immense pain.

The massive cut from last night hadn't healed yet and the fall had not helped in the slightest. My hand was the only thing stopping the wound from opening completely and I could feel the thick, sticky blood oozing out from underneath my hand.

Looking up, I saw a group of girls huddled around me, laughing and high fiving each other. I should be used to the pain and humiliation by now but every time, it hurts even more. All I wanted to do was get up and run away, but I knew that my father would find me and I would regret it. There was no escape.

I knew that I needed to reapply tissue over my wound before it opened even further so using one hand to apply pressure to the wound, I used the other to try and get up, until a hand came into view. I peeked up and saw a short brunette girl with her hand out. I was so close to grabbing her hand for help, but before I could, I remembered all the hands on my last night, hitting, punching, grabbing at me and bile began to rise up my throat. Pushing through the pain, I pushed myself up from the floor and with tears streaming down my face, I ran to the bathroom, not caring that I was going to be late for my lesson. Luckily there was no one in the bathroom when I came in so I went to the last stall and locked myself in. My legs collapsed and I was left as a damaged mess on the bathroom floor.

The thoughts came to me before I could even stop them. Thoughts of self-hate, pain, and sadness washed over me and I started to believe that I deserved this pain. I must have done something so terrible that this pain I was feeling was my punishment. Maybe I should take the easy way out and join my mother somewhere off this Earth, away from the living devil.

My breathing got heavy and I tried to calm myself down, my hands gripping my necklace in hope that my panic attack dies down soon. It was almost working until I saw a pool of blood surrounding me and I began to throw up.

I eventually stopped and my breathing became less erratic. My head was pounding and my vision was blurry but I knew I had to get to my lesson soon or my father would be notified of my absence. I managed to wrap some tissue around my stomach and prayed that the bleeding would stop soon. Using the help of the cubicle walls, I managed to get myself up. Looking around the small stall, I realised that I must have left my backpack in the hallway. Tears sprung to my eyes again, knowing that I wouldnt be able to get another one and the beating tonight would be worse than ever. I pulled my sleeves down to my fingertips and wiped my eyes. Crying won't solve anything, I told myself, taking a deep breath and opening the door, only to come face to face with the same brunette who tried to help me, and in her hands, she held my backpack.