Flightless Bird

The View

I woke up the next day at around five in the morning, still lying on the kitchen floor surrounded by the remaniants of last night. Tears sprung to my eyes as I woke and fully registered the pain of the burns and the belt. I sat there, trembling for at least ten minutes before I could get myself up from the cold ground, hauling myself up by the edge of the counter.

I forced myself to clean up last nights dishes and make his breakfast with the last egg in the refrigerator before stumbling to the stairs.

We were officially out of food now.

I clung to the railing for dear life, dragging my battered body up the stairs and into the bathroom. I stripped from the work clothes I had on from before, pausing for but a moment to glance in the mirror.

Large, angry welts coated my back, still weeping and slightly wet from where the belt had cut into my skin. Blood lay crusted across my spine, and fresh bruises masked the fading ones, successfully creating a camouflage of residual pain.

I couldn't bare to look at if for very long, and my eyes then traveled up to my face and chest, where a large, meaty handprint of purple was already forming and melding with the others.

How was I still alive?

A sizable bruise had formed across my chest, replacing the small ones that were previously scattered there before. From the plate hitting my head the other day, my brain still throbbed.

Who was this girl in front of me? Surely that can't be me? I suppose it must be, for I had the pain to match the marks. Years of scars and bruises littered my body, from the fights with my father when he tried to pawn me off on some stranger, to when he finally made his dream into fruition with this infinitely more ruthless man I'm living with.

I was destroyed, both mentally and physically.

It's a miracle that I get up and work each day, successfully hiding the reality and severity of my situation.

Wait...work...WORK!

I snapped out of me reverie to see that it was now 5:30, and I only had an hour and a half to get to work. I finished stripping down, turning on the cold water and tripping my way into the shower. I frantically yet cautiously scrubbed my body, rubbing away the tenderness of my scalp where Samuel had ripped my hair out. I could cover it up later. I scrubbed the caked on blood off as gently and quickly as possible.

One hasty shower later and a bout of soap in the eye, I managed to hop out and throw on my only other skirt. My attire consisted of smooth, grey pencil skirt to contrast the black one from yesterday, paired with my last unstained white blouse, with the same black heels as yesterday.

Maybe when I get my first paycheck I can finally get new clothing, something more suitable for the office. For now, I settled with tossing my dirty laundry in the beat up washer down the stairs with some baking soda and solution to try to clean of the blood stains.

I dried my hair as quickly as possible with the old drier that was built into the wall from the previous owners, leaving it flowing down my shoulders as I tucked a strand behind my ear.

I pulled on some tights to cover the bruises on my legs, and made certain that the bleeding had stopped on my back and was covered with a liquid bandage before I buttoned my blouse, even going so far as to apply burn cream to my shoulder.

I want to be as prepared as possible for my first day on the job.

I finished by attempting to cover my face with foundation, but if one stood too close, the faint outline of the mark was detectable.