A Completely New Life

Chapter One

Mollie's PoV

I sighed as the waves crashed onto the sandy white beach. Stretching out my hand, my fingers barely skimmed the clear, blue water. The sunset was just beyond the horizon, so close that I could almost touch it, escape from my father, so close--

"MOLLIE JANE LEA!"

Father appeared in the doorway of our house, his leather belt dangerously close at his side. "What do you think you're doing?!" he yelled at me, his tone like knives. The wind was blowing strongly, and his black hair blew across his face.

"I-I'm sorry. I was just--" Father cut me off with hatred. The first blow was bad, but it was the second one that was always the worst. The belt stung, leaving new wounds to take care of.

"How many times do I have to tell you, no going to the beach!"

"You've never--" Father struck me again, this time harder than all the others. I winced, but not enough that he would take care in noticing it. Father never cared. He grabbed my wrist and twisted it, sending sparks of pain up my arm like lightning bolts. A car could be heard coming down the street. Mother. "Not. A. Word." Father whispered words I'd heard many times before.

Mother's old, red Jeep came up the road, squeaking and creaking as it went. Father loosed his grasp on me until he was no longer grabbing me, but resting his hands on my shoulders. I glanced up at his face just as he was turning his wicked smirk into a sweet, charming smile.

"What?" he snapped at me, his expression momentarily turning evil again, then turning right back to that smile. Mother's car slowed down as she neared our driveway, slow enough that she could roll down the window and talk.

"What are you guys doing out so late?" Mother asked, her voice showing a hint of concern. Mother has blond hair and brown eyes just like me. I opened my mouth to say help! but Father squeezed my shoulder and replied.

"Oh, why we were just playing catch." A softball appeared in his hand from out of nowhere. "Mollie's really getting a lot better. Right, Mollie?" At this, he squeezed my shoulder again.

"Oh, um, yeah, I guess," I said shakily.

"That's good, sweetie. Now, let me go inside and cook dinner. I'm starving," Mother said, her car already moving forward towards the garage. I looked up at Father. He sneered. "Good job back there, little lady," he laughed. When Father laughed in front of just me, it was a deep, evil laugh, starting at the back of his throat and ending there too. When he laughed in front of Mother, though, it was a nice, hearty laugh, like the laughs you hear from a Santa Claus at the mall.

Father gripped both my arms with his hands and dragged me inside. He told me to go up to my room and say I wasn't hungry. That was Father's way of teasing me, making sure I didn't get enough to eat. I slowly trudged up the stairs, too hungry to go any faster. That was until Father barked at me to hurry up.

I rushed into my room and launched myself onto the bed. Tears welled up in my eyes as I checked the new wounds that had formed on my back. They were bleeding badly. I walked to the bathroom to grab some fresh bandages and applied them to my back. I walked back into my room, grabbed a book, and sat on my bed to read. An hour probably passed before I heard Mother and Father walk into their room. I waited for another half hour. I heard Father's voice in my head, warning me not to do what I was about to. With my head down, I slowly--and quietly--walked out of the room.