one last try » taylor swift

One

Grace

I woke up this morning at about ten, I know because I have a small clock next to my bed that Daddy taught me how to read last month.

I was freezing cold, as we couldn't afford heating in our apartment. It was winter, so it was no more than 20 degrees outside.

I walked into the small kitchen, where my mom was sitting with her head in her hands.

"Go away, Grace. Go to your room," she said before I could fill up my sippy cup.

"But Mommy, I weawy need some mowe miwk," I said in my little three-year-old voice.

I couldn't pronounce my 'L' or 'R' sounds yet, so they came out sounding like 'W's.

"Grace! I don't care! Go to your room right now or you'll regret it!" She screamed at me.

I felt my eyes start to get wet, but I knew that if I cried she would hurt me.

I noticed the various glass bottles sitting around her, all empty.

She used to have an addiction, that's what my Daddy told me.

It seemed to me that she was drinking again, which I knew wasn't good. Every time she drank, I got hurt.

There were more bottles in front of her than I had ever seen before, and I knew what was coming my way later.

I guess she noticed me staring at all the bottles, because she got up and slowly walked over to me.

"What did I just tell you?" She said, slurring her words.

I backed away from her, then turned around and tried to run to my room. My short little legs couldn't carry me fast enough, so she caught me.

"Are you trying to escape from me?" She asked, towering over me.

I shook my head out of fear, not wanting her to hurt me.

When Daddy was here, she didn't dare lay a finger on me, because she knew that he would call the child protective services. She didn't want to be caught.

But now he was gone, she was drunk, and she knew that I wouldn't tell on her.

She grabbed my arm and shoved me against a wall. She punched me in the eye, telling me that was for not listening to her.

She grabbed one of the many empty bottles, and pulled off my shirt. Then, with me facing the wall, she smashed the bottle against my back, leaving shards of glass cutting up my skin. She told me to stay put and disappeared into her room, coming out moments later with one of Daddy's belts.

"This is for being the biggest mistake in my life," she said as she wobbled over to me. I could tell the alcohol was getting to her, she couldn't walk straight and her words were slurred.

She hit the belt across my back, hard. I whimpered and cried, and she hit me again.

"Every time you cry, I hit you three more times," she said.

I couldn't hold my tears back though, so I got whipped many more times. I lost count after a while. I could feel blood dripping down my back, and my eye was swollen.

I was crumpled in a little ball on the floor, wearing nothing but shorts.

Mommy didn't like to waste money on me, so I didn't get to eat a whole lot. I hadn't eaten in a few days, because Mommy told Daddy I wasn't hungry.

I was abnormally skinny for my age, and my ribs protruded from my skin. I was tiny, to say the least.

My light brown hair was long and tangled, because Mommy said it didn't matter how pretty I looked.

I never left my house, Mommy didn't let me.

She walked away, and went back to the kitchen to keep drinking. Everything hurt, my back, my head, my arms, my legs. I didn't think I could move, so I stayed there on the floor, curled up to conserve heat.

Eventually I worked up the nerve to stand up, and luckily Mommy couldn't see me. I walked to my room as quickly as I could, which wasn't very fast because of all the things she had just done to me.

I went to the basket of clothes in the corner of my room, and searched through to find a new shirt. I didn't have many clothes, and the ones I did were mostly shorts and t-shirts that were too big on me. I finally found a shirt and put it on, wincing as it touched the welts on my back.

This was the worst Mommy had ever hurt me, and I was slightly upset with her. Every other time she had hurt me I didn't mind, because even though it hurt, I knew the emotional pain she was feeling was worse, so I forgave her.

But even at three years old I knew that she shouldn't drink away her problems and hurt me like this. I had to do something, but what can a three-year-old kid do? I couldn't survive on my own.

I couldn't talk to her about it either, she'd accuse me of going against her rules, and hurt me even more.

My Mommy scared me. Whenever I looked out the window and saw someone walking by, I was frightened. I couldn't look at any woman without thinking they would hurt me. Even my Daddy scared me a little bit, because I didn't know if someday he would hurt me as well.

Then a horrible thought came into my mind; if she hurt me this bad, what was she doing to herself?

I snuck out of my room, careful to be as quiet as I could. I walked into the kitchen, and instead of getting yelled at by my Mommy, I saw her lying on the floor, a pool of blood around her stomach.

She had a knife in her hand.

I took a step back, suddenly scared.

I hated my mother. I never wanted to admit it before, but I hated her.

She scared me. I knew I could never trust anyone because of her.

But suddenly, all my hate seemed to disappear.

Was my Mommy dead? I searched the kitchen for the phone, knowing that I should try to call someone.

When I finally found the phone, I realized that someone had yanked the batteries out of it. Mommy probably did that, because I don't know how to put them back in.

She must have figured that if I couldn't use that phone, I couldn't call for help, and she would die.

I didn't know what to do.

I guess this was my chance though, so I tiptoed into my room, careful to not move too quickly, or my back would hurt. I grabbed my teddy bear and then walked to the front door. I didn't have a coat, I didn't have shoes.

So, with only shorts and an oversized t-shirt, my teddy bear and I walked out into the freezing cold New York air.

-/-/-/-/-/-/

Hey!! I'm in the car so I'll be writing for a while. I'll try to update on "Dreams Don't Always Come True" and again on here. :)

-Alice