My name is Elian Agwè Peréz. I grew up with an abusive step mother. My real mother died when I was 3, and my father remairred immediately. She abused me for 14 years, my dad was too busy with work to notice and I was too scared to tell.
Despite my...
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Elian ^
Authors note: This is a new story I am going to be doing since the other one has to be put on hold due to issues with time. This first part is going to seem weird, but it's told by a 4 year old so I didn't exactly know how to write it. Anyways after that the rest of the story is told by 18 year old Elian Agwè Peréz. I don't know if I will be doing different perspectives, but enjoy and let me know what you think in the comments! (All art is by me by the way)
Tip toe, tip toe. Don't wake up Daddy and Mommy. Around the corner, avoid the noisy stair. Don't let Bongo bark. Into the kitchen. Tip toe, tip toe. Grab the stool. Reach into the cookie jar. Wait. What's mommy doing outside? I'll go look. Woah...why does she have beer? Daddy says we aren't aloud to drink that. Why is there smoke? I cough on accident. Uh oh! She noticed me! Run! Back into the house- I flinch as she grabs my arm, nails digging into my skin.
"The hell' you doin out here brat?" Uh oh. Mommy's drunk again. I twist and turn, trying to wiggle out of her tight grip. She brought her hand back and smacked me across the face, leaving a burning pain. I feel tears began to slide down my face as I shake my head. Her nails dig into my arm even further, and a yelp of pain escapes my mouth as I try to pry her hand away.
"Shut the fuck up, you'll wake up Victor." She peers into the house, seeing the stool by the counter. "I'll tell him you we're gonna steal cookies if you tell anyone about this." My eyes widen.
"No!" I finally speak, earning an evil grin from Mommy.
"Then you better get your ass back to bed. And when daddy asks about your bruise, say you fell." She finished, shoving me towards the door and almost making me trip. I scramble inside, racing up the stairs and jumping into bed, hiding under the covers and shivering as I cry.
"I hate you.." I whisper, clutching my now bleeding arms.
My eyes shoot open, darting around a completely different room. My heart is beating a million miles an hour, my back and forehead drenched in sweat. I glance down and rub the nail shaped scars that haven't faded in the 14 years I've had them.
I simply sit there for a few minutes, trying to calm my breathing. "It was just a dream." I repeat this sentence over and over until I'm completely calm. I nearly fall off the bed as I get startled by a knock at the door.
"Y-yeah?" I ask, throwing off my covers as I get up.
"Dad says breakfast is ready." My brother John's young voice spoke, a sliver of an Australian accent to it.I mutter an "okay" before walking into the bathroom.
I slip my boxers off and set my glasses on the counter before turning the shower on, giving it a minute to adjust. I step in, groaning at the feeling of the hot water sliding over my body. I wash my hair, pausing half way to think about the recurring dream... well memory actually. I thought it was finally over, I hadn't had the dream in over 2 months. My terrible step mother has been gone for almost 5 years, but the damage she did still haunts me.
Suddenly I get pulled out of my thoughts by the stinging of soap in my eyes. I curse and run water on them, dulling the pain. I sigh and finish washing my body, then turn the water off and walk out to my dresser. I let the towel that is wrapped around my waist drop, and quickly slip on boxers and sweatpants.
Glancing over at my tortoise Tortellini, I pick up his bag of food and put some in the bowl, stroking his shell gently before heading down to the kitchen. As soon as I exit, my two kittens Millo and Mago attack my legs. I smile and scoop them into my arms, cuddling them as I enter the kitchen to see my dad dancing around in paint stained shorts.
He is an artist, a really talented one. Unfortunately, that isn't enough to support our family, so he works as a chef at a fancy restaurant. He enjoys it though, so I guess it doesn't matter.
I set the kittens down then sit down at the table, smirking as John threw our fat dalmatian Bongo a piece of bacon.
"Don't feed him, he's already fat enough." My dad scolded with a chuckle, putting eggs, bacon, and a piece of toast on my plate.
"Fine I'll give it to Annie." John snickers, sticking his tounge out and tossing some to our new Visla puppy. We are definitely animal lovers... well me actually considering they're all my pets.
My stomach growls loudly, hinting that it's time to eat. I practically inhale my food, just barely finishing before I hear a loud and rapid knock at the door. I glance at the clock. 11 am. Bet it's John's girlfriend. She's the only one who ever comes over uninvited.
I open the door, nearly being knocked over by Natsuyo who bursts through the door way and jumps into John's arms. His face lights up, and he wraps his arms around her waist. Their lips connect in a quick kiss before they lean back and John runs his fingers through her long black hair. She looks back at me quickly, her hazel eyes shinning as she mutters a 'hello'. I nod with a sigh and quickly run back up to my room before they get all mushy.
I flop down on my bed and begin blasting Attention by Joji. Soon though my song is rudely interrupted by a call. With a groan I answer the phone, not bothering to look and see who it is.
"Hello?"
"H-hey Elian.." Rowan's soft and choked up voice comes through the speaker. I sit up immediately,worry flooding my mind.
"You sound like you're crying, what's wrong?" I ask carefully, fiddling with the strings on my blanket.
"Can... can I come over? I'll explain later." His voice grew even quieter and I could hear him snifling.
"Of course you can." I reply gently, not getting a response as he ends the call. I shrug and wonder what could be wrong. Maybe it was his dumb boyfriend. I've hated that guy from the start. Rowan has been my best friend along with Harley since I moved here 5 years ago. Ever since he got with the asshole he likes to call his boyfriend, he's been more quiet and reserved.
I ponder over the reason for a few more minutes before I hear a faint knock at the door downstairs, quiet talking, and then the sound of someone walking up the stairs.
Rowan walks into my room, his soft green eyes red rimmed and his tan face tear stained. I open my mouth to ask him what's wrong, but before I can he walks over, leans down, and presses his lips against mine.
