My Savior, In The Looney Bin?

I'll secretly protect you

I stopped waiting for that one "perfect" boy a long time ago. I've realized he's not there, here, wherever. There's no such thing as fairy tales, no such thing at all. Not with love, there isn't, nor will there be love towards me from anyone, not a parent figure, older sibling, not even a boy to hold me in his arms. My life will never be that one 80's movie where life is nothing but a perfect little dream. Not with family, not with a boy. I've learned a long time ago that life isn't a movie and I should stop expecting it to be. I suppose I should still keep my head held high in hopes for finding love one day but one day I will no longer be here, it may be from old age, the drugs the keep injecting me with, or a heart attack at a young age, maybe even my "mother" might be the cause of it. Perhaps I would be the cause of my own death.

I would fall asleep and never wake up, death would be my heaven. But for suicide I would go to hell, I'd meet my "mother" there when her time comes, I'll never have peace even if I were to be dead. So much for that. Sometimes I try to smile but it hurts too much and I would just fall. Literally, my face would probably be bruised from the stupid floor that is supposedly there to "catch" me when I fall.

In the hallways my head is hung low, avoiding every possible pair of eyes that glare and glower at me. I guess they finally recognized me, fabulous. After I made my terrible attempt at running away from that curly haired boy, I strolled off to the bathroom to dry my eyes, their puffy now. A little pink too. I sniffle now and then, refusing to let myself weep. I hold onto my elbow with my other hand in a shy fit, all these eyes are making me-- no not shy, scared. Their making me scared. All of them think I am a physco, they probably heard about my mental break down when the workers back at the institution took my treasure. I know it's not much and I shouldn't over react but my mother and father gave me that before they turned into such monsters on me-- when I was just a little girl.

This will sound a little creepy, most likely frightening but it is what it is. It started out as a beautiful pearl colour. Not even a scratch or a stain on the teddy bear, it had a royal blue dress made out of silk, a white bow-tie. It wasn't much to me at first but the moment when my "mother" and "father" began to change, the more and more it became important to me. Through beatings from my "parents" and chores I was demanded to do for food, through the pushes and fights to take away the "stupid", "useless" bear, it got worn out, old. All that's left of it now is the head. It's grey and dusty, scratches and stains, stains of blood. My own. It was with me when I took her beatings.

I doubt in my mind that my "father" would have ever hurt me if my mother hadn't. He only follows her foot steps and does what it takes to keep her happy-- or at least not pissed. Whatever she pleases basically. That sent me to the ground. People wonder-- the workers wonder why I call that thing treasure and I never tell them, but my answer is simply because it's all I have that my parents haven't destroyed. Including me. It's the last thing my parents gave me before they turned their emotions into nothing but hatred and cruelty. It's the only good memory I have of them, the rest was swept away. Disappeared like dust.

I don't even dare to take a glance at any of the people who stare at me. That is until the whispering begun. All I hear through the echoes of the halls are murmurs and snickering, but the worst of all I hear are the words they whisper.

"Physco broke lose." More like your heart broke lose.

"Great. She's infecting the schools uniform." At least I have a brain, you blonde bimbo.

"Just put her back in the asylum where the mutt belongs." You don't know a damn thing about me.

"I heard she begged one of the male workers at the institution for some--" that's when I lost it. And I can't grab my treasure from my bag so I had nothing to calm me down. My blood boiled from inside of me, I felt my nostrils flare. My eyes landed on the girl and I took a swing at her face. The only reason I got so worked up over her comment is because I wasn't just abused but at the institution that worker she says I supposedly tried to get some action from... He touched me. In places and ways young girls like me should not be touched. He almost raped me, I felt like crying but my anger overpowered that by billions.