The world behind mirrors ( abuse )

The begining

April 9th , 2008 .
15 years . 15 long , horrible , pain filled years on this planet .
That's practically all my mind thought about as I struggled up the steep ally way between a bank and a law firm . My arms burning as bad as my legs as I tried to keep the cheap , plastic covered grocery bags from hitting the pavement . Dirt swirled around me as the bitter cold winds long icy fingers tore at the thin fabric of my shirt . 57 out side and I'm wearing a light blue t-shirt and capris . My hair is a knotted mess in a messy bun , and black , hole filled ,flat shoes . My back screams for a moments break , but I know that if I'm not home before 3:00 , the bruises I carry will have new friends .
     My eye is swollen and black . Streaks of red , skin crusted scratches covered the top left half of my face . Bruises and scars littered my arms and legs , the cringing pain of hitting the bruises again and again trying to raise the bags higher .
     After about ten minutes of this walk I check the time in a small pocket watch given to me by my grandfather . 2:52 . Crap . I have 8 minutes to go down colonial street , turn left on flexer , and right on magnolia . 8 minutes . I pushed through the screaming pain and began to run . Just before the end of the street I took a left into the woods , racing down the dirt covered pathway . Tree branches snagging my arms and cutting my legs . Roots rising out of the ground out of no where . Losing my balance on multiple occasions , all it took was that last root to send me tumbling .
    Dirt covered my only clean clothes . Grocery bags still attached to my arms , thank heavens , but as I stood , a plethora of fruits and vegetables fell through the giant gash in the bag . The only thing not wrapped has to hit the ground . I quickly grasped multiple apples and oranges in my hands throwing them into random bags . Picking my self up off the ground  , I cut through the hedge of over grown grass and bushes into the clearing , revealing a beautiful , white , Victorian home . And standing beside it , was a dark blue , large 3 story regular home . That was mine . I pulled my pocket watch out of my pocket as I trudged up the stairs , 4:06. Crap , another loud series of thuds erupted as another plastic bag broke . The gallon of milk rolling down the stairs spraying from holes that broke the tough plastic layer . Canned corn and green brands followed close behind .
By the time I picked up all that I had dropped , it was 3:17 . He is going to kill me . I slowly walked in the door , our eyes meeting only for a second as I looked away . Quietly I shut and locked the front door . Taking the bags to the kitchen and placing them on the black counter tops . The white cabinets and marble wood floor , a small chandelier hung from the ceiling , a bunch of small crystals wrapped around the center light .
His foot steps were slow , gentle , but terrifying . I couldn't help but flinch when his hand touched my shoulder . For a moment , it stayed at complete silence . My eyes already filled with tears . His hand moved from my shoulder to just above the elbow , gently pulling me to the black table that stands across the room . Placing me into the seat across from him , he folded his hands , and met my gaze .
   " Where were you ?, your twenty minutes late".
     With little hesitation I answered " The bags kept breaking , the bus was late , Malcolm ..."
     " Stop . " with that I knew to hold my tongue . He swept his hair from his face . His grey roots showing under the long dark , tinted brown . Frustration covered his face . He released a heavy sigh , and the angered emotion began to disappear from his face .
He looked up , his eyes looking me over , very carefully . Their gaze drifting from the black eye , to the red , bruised arms , than to my clothes . The thin fabric hanging off my arms as If it was dog in a horses sweater .
     " you've lost more weight ? When was the last time you ate ?"
     " I don't know ......... Umm.... 6 days ago ? "
     " Its been 8 " he replied with no emotion .
  If he knew why did he ask ? He really tiffs me off . Quietly we sat in awkward silence for about five minutes . His face hardens , his eyes angry .
     He stood abruptly , the beer bottles on the table clanging together . His large fingers coiled around my arm , jerking me up towards him . His face in mine. The scent of alcohol strongly lingering on his breath . Screaming about Lilly-Anna . Lilly Anna was my first adopted mother .
       -------------Flash back -----------
     Living in a small town Cody, Wyoming , I was never acknowledged. I kept to myself , leaving my heart closed off from more to harm it. I was 7 years old. Wondering the streets lifelessly . Only worried about the next bench to sleep on, when and where the police patrol, find a place with a little bit of decent food in the dumpster. I never went to a shelter, they asked to many questions about families and when they find out your on your own, police show with in thirty minutes . and that's hhow I lived. stay away from police, eat when it was good and sleep when you could. Than I met Lily-Anna.

She owned an amazing Italian restaurant called Le Bella . Not her choice for a name but the family business. I usually stayed there. the dumpster was clean surprisingly. and there were two trash compartments. One was used for Le Bella , but their food was so good they didn't need a dumpster, anyone who went in came out with a clean plate and a full stomach. The other was just there. empty and never used. So I made it mine. I sole the couch cushions from random couches on the side of the road to line the floor of it. Battery powered book lights taped in each corner. Raggedy blankets. It wasn't a home but it was someplace. a lid to keep out of rain or snow, warms during the day in the heat and keeps warm at night. doesn't smell like a dumpster so no rats or cockroaches . It was what I could do. She stayed very latte at night , sometimes she never went home. She always tried to find new recipes . I met her one night when the cold was to much, when the frozen rain and freezing wind tore through the thick plastic , invading the space by pressuring every crack. Honestly , all I remember was shaking. the dumpster shaking from the wind, me shaking from the cold. I couldn't take it anymore.

I crawled from my little half home and made my way over to the restaurant. I peered through the windows , looking for any movement . after about what seemed to be ten minutes , I carefully got down on my knees retrieved the key from under the mat. I had seen her use it before but I never had the motivation to break into a restaurant. I walked into the kitchen, smells surrounding me , filling my nostrils with wonders. I raved the cabinets , ate the stale bread, drank what seemed to be gallons from the soda machine, breaking the glass to the pastry section, stuffing my face with donuts, and Éclairs , churros , all of it. I became tired , exhausted. My legs didn't move from beneath me , they just sat.. I pulled myself to a booth and just fell into a deep sleep. Little had i known she had been there watching the whole time.