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Wednesday • January 4, 2023 Location • New York City.
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As my alarm went off for the eighth time, I finally turned over in bed and silenced the horrifying noise that made my ears ring. The warm blankets surrounding me were nothing short of heavenly, and I didn't want to get up whatsoever. I've already slept longer than I should've because it was already eight-thirty in the morning, but last night Alessandro told all the kids that attended high school they could sleep until nine.
I was glad that I got at least five hours of sleep, which means I didn't fall asleep until about three in the morning - even though I had been laying in bed the entire time. Well, maybe that was a lie. I was up because I was feasting on the leftovers from the day before. What? I was starving and food was the only thing that could quench my starvation.
After laying down for another ten minutes, not necessarily doing anything other than staring up at the ceiling and occasionally checking my work phone for any notifications that were important, I finally got up from the comfortable bed.
I walked across the room towards the bathroom, my movements slow from the grogginess of sleep. The lights automatically turned on as I stepped through the doorway, the brightness of the room making my eyes blur. Once I was able to see without tears in my eyes, I made my way over to the shower and turned it on without much of a struggle.
That was a lie, too. I tried turning the shower on for at least twenty minutes, and when it finally turned on I was practically perspiring from frustration. Once the water started running, I stripped from my nightclothes which was just a plain black oversized shirt, and it wasn't even that baggy on me.
I glanced at myself in the mirror across from the shower, my gaze scrutinizing every little detail about me. I threaded my fingers through my onyx colored hair, the ends tickling my lower back. Tattoos littered my body, the black intricate designs contrasting with my tan skin. There were many different stories as to why I got the tattoos, but the most prominent one was that they covered the scars that marred my body. It wasn't nice to look at your scars only to remember exactly how you got them, which in my case was never good.
I slid my hands over the raised scar against my lower stomach, the c-section incision an unwanted memory of what happened about five years ago.
Long story short, I was raped and got pregnant by John, my stepfather, and when I was only five months, he decided it would be the right time to beat me after being lenient for the entirety of my pregnancy. I was rushed to the hospital because I had been bleeding internally, my baby was cut out of me when we finally got there and she was taken away before I could even hold her. The next week I was back 'home' without my child while the abuse got even worse than it was before.
