My Secret Panther Pack

CHAPTER 3: OLD ENDINGS

Zara Acade

    I'm not much, nor am I worth it. Or so I've been told every day for no reason. When my parents had me, they were young, dumb, and spoiled to a tee. Both my parent are from wealthy backgrounds, and because of that, it was an arranged marriage. My father was abusive and my mother toxic, and they had a plan that didn't involve me.

  They agreed in any way possible, never s*x, play it off like either one of them is infertile. But being New York's elite, my parents had parties to attend that included alcohol. Events like these were well-known. After one too many drinks, my parents went home drunk. And soon enough, pieces of clothing came off.

    That night everything went downhill. A few weeks later, my mother found out that she was pregnant instead of gifts, celebrating, and affection. They became bitter and filled with hate. There was no way the pregnancy was going to stay secret. And it didn't, not for long anyway, my mom told my Grandmother, and she leaked the news to every newspaper in New York. Having an unwanted pregnancy was horrible enough. But now, they had to deal with media coverage. They both agreed to play along and act like the happiest soon-to-be-parents ever.

    After my birth, I was kept out of the public eye until I could learn to hide my emotions. Be the perfect lady. My parents shipped me to my Grandmother whenever they got tired of me, which was my childhood.

    "What are you doing? Sit like a lady!" Grandmother scolded me. Knowing there were fresh scars on my back from the whipping my father gave me, on my back from this morning. Now sitting straight for hours is painfully impossible.  

    "Yes, Ma'am," I said diligently, scared that she would slap me or hit me on the knuckles with a ruler. "My back is aching. Might I take a moment off?" I said, innocence dripping from my words. She gave me a look of indifference. "No, when you learn to sit like a lady, then you can take a moment off." Mocking me at every turn. I can't catch a break today now, can I. So fast forward eight hours, it is now 4 o'clock, and I'm still required to sit like a lady. The bruises from my parents are throbbing. And I can tell that the slap marks from my Grandmother are going to bruise as well.

    My Grandmother looks at me with annoyance written all over her face. "Get out of my house," She starts to glare at me from under her hat. Observing my Grandmother, I can't help but think about how much she looks like my mother and I. Same wavy blond hair, except she has a few strands of grey starting to show. All the girls in my family have the inverted triangle face shape, which works well for us. Her green eyes bore into my purple ones. "Such strange eyes you have." She never missed a chance to point out how much she and everyone else dislikes my eye color. It is never going to stop, will it?

    "Goodbye, have a nice rest of the day, Grandmother."

    "Begone." She acknowledged me with a curt nod.

    I walked out as fast as I could, and there he sat in the living room, my Grandpa. The best man that I know.

    "Hey Sunshine, how are you holding up against your Grandmother?" He said while ruffling my hair.

    Grandpa was sick, and it was not natural. We all know Grandmother has been poisoning him for a while now, and there was nothing I can do as he became weaker every day.

    "All is well on her front," I answer so that he can how tough I am.

    "She simply had me sitting on a hard chair for hours on end," I mentioned. "But enough about me, how are you feeling?" I ask

  "I'm fine don't worry." He waved off my concern.

    I'm worried. Grandpa has been noticeably getting sicker. He doesn't don't know how much time he has left. I know how much Grandpa dislikes that I get worried, but I can not help it. He's my Grandpa, and I don't want him to go.

    "I have to go home, Grandpa. See you next time!"

    "Bye Sunshine." Waving goodbye from the front.

    Heading home is always a frightening challenge. And sometimes with dire consequences. If I get home late, my parents will beat me black and blue. Plus, running through New York when it's almost night-time is a dangerous game. I find the nearest subway station and hopped on the one going to 72nd street. Getting off the subway, I ran as fast as my feet will take me, but even then. It was not enough. I knew I did not make it home in time. My only hope is that my parents drank themselves into a stupor and would not notice me walking in. Opening the door of my home, I can immediately tell that today is truly not my day. 

    "Well, well, well, if it isn't my abominable child Zara." My mother said from somewhere in the dark house. "THOUGHT YOU COULD COME INTO MY HOUSE LATE AND GET AWAY WITH IT." She screams full of rage. Now I know she's drunk. And that means my father is probably coming soon with his t*rture weapons. "Come here!" She spits out before gripping my arm with her hand sinking her long acrylic nails into my skin, drawing blood. "Iago," she screamed for my father. "Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence."

    "I guess she felt that this morning's punishment was too soft. Maybe we should go next level. What do you say, Reagan? Want to make the little witch pay?" I cannot even see them, but I can tell there are cruel smiles on their faces, and I know what happens next. My parents are going to take me to the t*rture chamber. We live on the Upper West Side of New York. So the penthouse we live in is enormous. With four bedrooms and four bathrooms, the house cost $48,000,000. My parents never sleep together, so that leaves us with one empty room. They turned it into a t*rture chamber, and that is where I am heading.

    My mother, still gripping my arm. Drags me into the room, raising my head from the floor. I see the whip, knives, and burning hot irons that I have never seen before. Seeing my expression of confusion at the iron, my father cracked a wicked smirk. "Didn't I tell I was going next level?" He moved out of my line of vision, but I can hear his booming laugh.

    "MOVE." My mother said, her voice hitting like ice as she threw me across the room. My back hit the wall, and I can see dots in my vision. I can hear the clacking of her heels against the cold marble floor. I look up and truly take in her appearance. She is wearing the Willa High Neck Midi Dress Grandpa got her for her birthday last year. It cost a lot of money with premium Japanese fabric, a soft high neckline, a floaty high-low hemline, and a waist tie to cinch in the waistline. The pistachio color of the dress suited her tan skin perfectly.

    While the dress was beautiful, her makeup and shoe choice shows how drunk she is. Bright red mascara, dark blue eyeliner. With the added touch of black eyeshadow. My mothers' foundation is not blended at all, and to add insult to the injury. Her purple lipstick is nowhere close to her lips.

    Hanging right over me was a mirror and the moment I heard her scream. I know she saw herself. 

    "This is your fault. ALL OF THIS!" My mother screamed, kicking me in the stomach with her pink heels. She didn't stop until I was spitting blood from my mouth.

    "Iago, give me the whip." She orders. My father hands it to her from somewhere in the dimly lit room. "Stand up facing me," She commands, and I follow. "turn around and kneel." I do so without hesitation. I already know what happens, so I take off my dress. And she strikes me with the whip on the wounds from this morning. "I will not cry, I will not cry," I tell myself repeatedly. 

    "Here it is!" My father said gleefully, walking toward us with a hot branding iron in his gloved hands. My mother moved out of the way so my father could stand in the light. I share with the same light blond hair, button nose, and pale skin. 

    "Turn her over." He commands my mother, f*rced onto my back by my mother. My father slowly brings the iron close to my skin as I struggle and squirm to getaway. "This is for being alive." He says as the burning hot iron is on my skin.

    "NO, NO PLEASE STOP!" I cry out, but no one cares.

    Teardrops streaming down my face, the iron is finally lifted. Looking at my stomach, I can see smoke rising. 

    "Why won't you just die?" My mother says, "You have caused us so much trouble." She states my body too weak to reply. She grabs my neck, hoping to kill me. With my mother squeezing my neck and already being out of breath from the branding, I could not help but give in to the warm, welcoming darkness.