My Secret Admirer Is My Bully

Chapter 4

Rose

I had a blissful week off of school, of not seeing my dad. I got unlucky to still be alive. I woke up the Friday, blood was everywhere. I was so weak I couldn’t lift my head. My bladder got the better of me I had to crawl to the bathroom hoping I didn’t wet myself. The cuts on my wrists opening again, the blood what I had left in me seeping out. My head spinning, my vision tilting, my stomach rolling, wanting to be sick. But I made it and back to my closet.

I got unlucky the next day, he was home. I got another beating of my dad. He went to a poker game and blew all the money for shopping during the week and searched my room every day looking for money. When he found I had nothing, his anger built all week. No money, it was all my fault, I was useless, and I should have had money to pay for food this week. Not that I would have seen any food.

He grabbed me by the hair dragging me out of my room and threw me down the stairs. I think I may have broken my arm after I heard the snapping noise, the pain I had made me dry heave. If I had a broken bone, there was nothing I could do about it, our walk-in hospital would just turn me away telling me I was lying or phone my dad to say I was there.

The first time I went there, it was after the rumours of me and dad started. They phoned my dad saying I needed a parent with me, as I was underage. He came in and acted sober, acted as he cared about me, told them the blood on my face was from me acting up as I had lost my mum, so I kept smashing my head into the wall for attention. They believed every word. Not even bothering to look and see it was abuse. That day I lost all trust in adults. They are more of the monsters than the kids my age.

Now I am lucky to eat only one meal a day from the school canteen if I was lucky to have the dinner lady in. Even though she hated me and looked down at me handing the food over, she has saved me from starving to death. In our house my dad put all locks on the cupboards and fridge/freezer. He makes sure to always have the key on him.

After my dad beat me on Saturday he went out, I do not know where and I couldn’t care. As long as he was away from me.

I crawled up the stairs to be away from him if he came home, I wanted to be out of sight. Crawling into my bathroom burning pain all over and my arm the worst I made it to the shower. How I striped off my clothes I don’t know. I just sat on the floor of the shower, letting the water run over me to get rid of the blood.

Spotting the razor, the memory of me cutting into my wrists, and how it failed brought me to tears. Not the beating off my dad, that fact I was still alive, now probably more broken bones. Living with pain still. Going through the routine, get beaten, heal, beaten, heal, starve.

I woke up that Sunday and decided to stay in my closet. It was cramped in here, but it was safe. I was out of the way. My dad may be a drunk, but he knew how to move around the house quietly. The cuts on my wrists now starting to scab, seem to be shining bright under the little lamp I had on. Another reminder I failed. I still had blood stains on my bed mixing with the old blood of my beatings. I guess waking up it wasn’t my time yet.

I don’t know what made me get up and dressed, but I did. I had the house to myself, but I left in a hurry. My feet carried me to the local church. I had an urge to go in there and if God is real, have it out with him, ask why he lets me be tortured every day. Is it because I don’t follow him?

Walking through the doors I took a seat at the back, the peaceful feeling coming over me again. The church soon filled up and I listened to the service. When it ended, I stayed longer. As if my bum was glued to the seat I couldn’t get up. All I done was scream in my head shouting at God asking everything I have always bottled up.

When I finished my rant, I felt my body sag. I felt lighter getting it all off my chest. That is when I noticed the father sat just next to me looking forward, waiting for me to finish. I felt embarrassed seeing him sat next to me. I knew he had seen all my scars from pulling up my sleaves from it getting hot in here, the bruising on me where I never covered them up.

But that day, my life changed spiritually. I got a flicker of hope back in my heart. The father took his time waiting for me to speak. Let me open up when I was ready, he told me his story. He was the same as me. He was a survivor. That day I formed a bond, a friendship for the first time in I don’t know how long. The father and his wife never looked down on me, never pushed for information, they let me come to the church when I needed to get away. Help patch me up. Gave me the confidence to go to school tomorrow.

The next day when I made it to school I was sweating and shaking. Today the walk was too much to handle. I had to sit down on a bench outside to catch my breath. When I was ready, I made my way inside.

As usual Leo and his gang was standing at the lockers. No matter what time I leave they seem to always be there. As I went to walk past them a hand grabbed my arm, the one I think is broken. A blinding light went across my eyes, holding in the scream, I thought I was going to pass out with how tight the grip was, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths which didn’t help my ribs, the hand let go.

‘’What the f**k is wrong with you; I hardly even touched you.’’ Leo, shouted in my face. Of course it was him.

The difference today is they all seemed to freeze and loosen their grips on me. this gave me a chance to put my hoodie back into place and run. I had the ‘’I fell is all. ‘’ excuse lined up, but seemed I didn’t couldn’t say anything, just run.

All day I heard everyone saying I have hurt myself just to get attention, I must be lonely if I stoop to this level for attention. It hurt that people would say that, but as mum always taught me, people only see what they want to see. I don’t know why I bothered to come in today.

The first week my arm had got so bad I had to hold it up I just couldn’t move it and leaving it to flop made the pain worse. By Friday, I skipped school and took a bus two towns over, it took a while, but I reached a hospital there. Hoping they would be able to help me.

The nurse I had, broke down crying seeing the state of my body. I had to change into a gown for a full scan. The nurse had to help me change and see the damage I had. I didn’t trust her, I know it was all an act, all the adults couldn’t care.

I had to have stitches in my wrist as the scabs kept opening. My arm was fractured just under the elbow but not broken. I still had to have a cast to not move my arm. The nurse wanted to phone social services to get me out, I told her it would never work as they have already shut a case with us, they used to be involved. The look of horror on her face was enough for me to know I was right, what they done was wrong.

I begged her to not phone my dad, to not put this on record or if she does keep it hidden so my dad wouldn’t have access to it. She promised me and later discharged me after giving me some food. I had enough to take home as well so I slipped it in my bag when no one was looking. This would last me the weekend if I rationed it.