❝you are quite the mystery.❞
❝i am nothing but the unread part of the novel.❞
⋘ ⋙
amelia fulton had it all, until she didn't.
in many more ways than one, gilbert blythe had reversed all of...
WARNING: this chapter will be dealing with the kind of treatment Amelia's mother puts her through, if you are triggered by child abuse, I'd advise you to click away.
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"GET IN HERE."
I gulped as I looked down to my feet, watching them as I stepped up the steps to the front porch of my house.
"Faster!" My mother screeched, grabbing my hair before harshly pulling it, causing me to drop my school things onto the ground.
"Mother, my school things," I muttered lowly, loud enough just for her to hear.
"I don't care," her words slurred, implying that she was drunk yet again. She still had a tight grip on my hair, causing pain to shoot throughout the right side of my head as she dragged me into the living room.
"W-What are you-"
"Shut up!" She screamed, throwing me to the ground. I groaned as I looked up at her to see the belt in her hands.
"N-no, please! What did I do?" I pleaded her to not do this. I felt my eyes burn with tears as my mother lifted up my dress. "Mother what did I do?"
"Everything!" She cried out, slapping me across the face. I yelped in pain, using my right hand to hold my face while my left hand held me up. "You can't do anything right!"
That's when she slapped my back with the belt, causing the area to sting.
"I hate you!" Mother screamed, slapping the same area with the belt once again. At this point, my tears were uncontrollable. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Timothy standing there, tears spilling out of his eyes as he watched our mother take her anger out on me.
"Timothy, go to your room," I mouthed to him, which he seemed to understand as he climbed up the stairs as quietly as he could.
"I never wanted children in the first place," Mother muttered as she brought the belt down on my back a few more times before throwing it onto the chair beside me. "Get up."
Tears continued to spill out of my eyes as she grabbed my dress, pulling me up. She grabbed my shoulder, turning me around. She brought her hands up to my face, causing me to flinch. Her cold hands rested on my cheeks, her thumbs swiping my tears away as I stared into her eyes. For a moment, I could feel myself calm down.
That is until she placed a harsh slap against my cheek.
"Stop crying," she spoke sternly, scoffing at me before walking off, making sure to grab a wine bottle on the way to her room.
I whimpered as I brought my hand up to my cheek, the stinging sensation still burning as I shuffled my feet to the front door, grabbing my things that I had dropped before heading up the stairs slowly. I quickly wiped away my tears before opening the door to my room to see Timothy sitting on my bed, my pillow over his ears.
"It's over?" He questioned me as I placed my things down onto my desk. I nodded my head, managing a weak smile to reassure him. I walked over to my bed, sitting down next to Timothy before pulling him into my side for a hug. "I don't like it when she hurts you."
I sighed, smiling down at him while shaking my head. "I don't like it either."
"You have a bruise on your face again," he spoke softly, pointing to my cheek where mother had slapped me repeatedly.
"I know," I mumbled.
"Will she hurt me too?" Timothy questioned, looking up into my eyes, fear visible inside his.
"Hey, I don't want you to worry about that," I muttered to him, tightening my grip on him. "I will never let her hurt you. I'd take all the pain just for you. Trust me, as long as I'm here, she will never lay a finger on you."
We stayed in our hugging position for awhile before I could hear his small yawn from beside me.
"Hey, if you're tired, why don't you go to sleep?" I mumbled. "I have homework to do anyways."
He nodded, slipping off the bed before waddling out of the room. I sighed, feeling tears well up in my eyes before I let them slip out. I try my hardest to suppress my sobs but failed horribly. I buried my face into my pillow as I felt my body heave up and down with every sob.
Why does this have to happen to me? Why was my mother like this? Why did father have to die?
Just why?
The 'why' questions ran through my head, even as I got up to grab my schoolwork and began working. I could barely focus on my work, just thinking about everything that has happened ever since father died.
Part of me felt bad for mother, but the other part despised her.
But she's family.
I cant abandon family.
______________________
"Get started on dinner!" I could hear mother screech from downstairs as I finally finished schoolwork. I scrambled to my feet, quickly grabbing my apron before tying it in place as I ran out of my room. "Hurry up! I'm hungry! You don't want your mother to starve to death don't you?"
I rolled my eyes as I began to prepare supper.
"Sometimes I do," I muttered lowly to myself as I began cooking.
"What are you going to cook Amelia?" Timothy questioned as he walked up to me, tugging on my dress.
"Roast," I replied simply, scurrying to get this done quickly.
"Ooo! Roast!" Timothy exclaimed happily, causing mother to shoot him a dirty look.
"Quit yelling!"
"Sorry."
I glared over at mother as she continued drinking her bottle of wine.
"Go wait in your room, I'll fetch you once supper is ready," I smiled down at Timothy, in which he responded with nodding his head and waddling back upstairs to his room.
_____________________
After we all ate dinner, I quickly cleaned up before mother could use that as an excuse to hit me again. I ran as fast as I could to the stairs, but before I could walk up them, my mother's voice caught my attention.
"C-Charles," her words were slurred due to how drunk she was. "C-Charles?"
The sound of my father's name escaping her lips was enough to make me stay, stepping towards her carefully.
"Mother?" I mumbled. My mother's eyes opened as she looked at my face.
"Charles?" She mumbled, seeming to not be in the right head space at the moment.
"M-mother its Amelia," I stuttered hesitantly as she leaned her head back in the loveseat.
"I don't want you," she mumbled. "Where's Charles?"
I couldn't help but tear up at her words. I knew my father's death was the main reason behind her alcoholism and abusive behavior, which still didn't make it alright, but it gave her reason. It still hurt to see my mother so broken like this.
After all, she was still in pain, just like me.
My mother seemed to mouth a few more inaudible words before she passed out, her head back in the seat. I wiped my stuffy nose before I grabbed the bottle of wine, placing it on the small table next to her.
Before I headed up to my room, I looked down at my sleeping mother.
Then, I headed upstairs and into my room to get ready for bed.
