Loving a Monster

Why I Hate My Life

POSSIBLE TRIGGERS

Almost immediately, my bedroom door swings open. And in steps my mother.

My mother is a beautiful woman. Her hair is usually tied up in a tight bun, her high cheek bones and (m/e/c) seem to pierce through an facades. She's a tall, lean strict-looking woman. She's a respectful adult that has a decent position at an office building. And, worst of all, she's bent on my being her perfect little girl.

Of course, I'm not. And when I'm not, I get hurt. Usually it's not physically, but there have been some horrible nights.

Eyes like a hawk's, she spots me in less then a heartbeat. "Why aren't you in bed? You should have been asleep two hours ago." Her tone is sharp, but calm. If she's not flaming, she's smoldering. She's most dangerous when she's not shouting. I'm dead.

"I couldn't sleep. I had some nightmares and didn't want to go back to bed." A common and believable excuse for me. I've always had trouble with my nightmares.

"You didn't want to or you couldnt?" If a creature could growl without growling, my mother could.

"I couldn't stay asleep for very long. I gave up." Uh oh. Now I've done it. My mother hates anything related to giving up.

On lithe legs, she crosses my room in two steps and grabs me by the throat. She may not look it, but my mother is extremely strong. She always has been. She lifts me off the ground by at least a foot, holding me without choking me.

"You gave. Up?" She snarls.

I claw at her arm, my throat and jaw set on fire. Her grip tightens, now I'm choking. As reflex, my legs start thrashing. My body starts twisting. I try to claw at her hand, get her to loosen her grip. Nothing works. She stands strong, cutting off my air just enough so I feel like I'm about to pass out, her eyes baring up at me.

"No daughter of mine will 'give up' on anything, you ungrateful brat. I raised you. I birthed you. I cared for you your entire life! Fed you, dressed you! You will not ever give up on anything. Am I clear?" I frantically nod.

As she turns back to the door, she nearly throws me into my bed, making my head hit the wall. "Never show weakness, girl. It will be the death of you. Go to sleep." She slams the door shut.

I listen as her footsteps fade down the hallway. Finally, I allow myself to gasp and cough, trying to compensate for the oxygen I couldn't take in. I rub my neck. Of course, it's already bruised horribly.

What am I going to tell Jack? Judging by the way he reacted to the men in the roof, he won't like seeing my bruises. Maybe I can skip tomorrow? No. He'll come looking for me. Maybe I can cover them up with a scarf. No, he's expecting me an hour early just to inspect for new injuries. Makeup won't fool his eyes, either. Or... Sight? Hm.

I'll just have to sleep in and get to school just before the bell rings and book it straight home afterwards. Maybe go to the library during lunch. He'll know something's wrong, but he won't know what. It's not much, but it's the best I've got. My mother may be strict and cruel, but her and dad are still the only family I have left. I can't let Jack kill either of my parents.

I got to the bathroom and get ready for bed. I slip into my room, ignoring my mother's yelling at my dad. As I fall asleep, I take mild consolation in the fact that even my father can't escape her wrath.

My brother was the only one who could stand up to her. I wish he'd come back.

The next morning, I shut my alarm clock up. Instantly, my neck explodes in pain. I bite my tongue. If I cry out, my mother will yell at me. Gritting my teeth, I get out of bed and head for the showers. Once I'm washed, I dawn the same jeans I'd worn yesterday, a knitted turtle neck of varying colors and simple designs, grab my sneakers, a scarf, Jack's mask and head for the kitchen.