FORGOTTEN - Book 1 (Despising Love)

CHAPTER 1

{Song: When She Cries by Britt Nicole}

If you could read my mind, you would be in tears;

If you could feel what I feel, you would be in pain;

If you could see what I see, you would want to be blind;

If you had a heart just like mine, you would wish

Forever and a day,

To never be born into this world of grey.

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ASHLEY

"No please. N-no...." and the 'good' man screams again as the 'bad' man hits him with the baseball bat, directly aiming for his head. The 'bad' man then walks over to a woman and a boy of around the age of thirteen, who have been tied up on the wall, with a knife in his hand. All these people look oddly familiar, although I fail to recognise them.

"Ahhh....." I hear a loud, ear piercing scream from the woman as the 'bad' man slides the knife deeper into her cheek. He continues his assault further by digging the knife in her thigh, then on the palm of her left hand and again over her already torn cheek. He then walks over to the boy, after picking up a whip and smirks on seeing fear flicker through the boy's eyes.

Without second thoughts, the 'bad' man starts hitting the boy and all I can hear is the boy's horrendous screams and the 'bad' man's malicious and evil laughter. Suddenly, the man turns around and stares directly at me and then his eyes flicker over to the 'good' man. "No, s-she is... s-s-she is just a nine-year o-ol-old. Leave her o-out of th-this..." The 'bad' man, with a grin on his face, starts walking towards me and after two long strides, he is standing directly in front of me staring deep into the depths of my soul with only a burning passion of hatred.

He then hits me with the baseball bat, but as if my mouth has been sealed shut, I don't scream nor do I move. I wait for the pain to come, but all I feel is a wave of numbness wash over me. I have a weird feeling like I have known this place but I don't know where it is. It's as if I am at home but not safe.

And BAM, the scene suddenly changes, but this time again I am at the same place that I have been dreaming of for the past few years.

I'm stuck in the same spiral staircase again, where I have been for years. No matter if I go upstairs or down, I keep coming back to the same spot. A light bulb shines brightly overhead, and it's the only light in the whole place. If I just put a foot on a step of the stairs, it immediately gets turned off and I left in utter darkness. Then I only have two choice - to get back to my place or walk to the next floor in this darkness only to find myself in the same spot again.

After thousands of attempts at escaping this place, I've finally chosen the wiser way - to stand still under that light and wait for this nightmare to be over. I don't know how I know this is a nightmare, but every time I have it, I know that it's not reality. I take a few deep breaths trying to make myself comfortable in there while I wait to wake up.

The light slowly moves, from me, to a door a few feet to my right. They step out and slowly walk towards me. They would just be some strangers, if they hadn't shown up before in my other nightmares, or in my hallucinations, or even in my life as my 'family'. I step on the stairs and the light goes out immediately, and I hope they can't get me as long as that light doesn't get me.

"You're a good soldier

choosing your battles

pick yourself up

And dust yourself off

Get back in the saddle...."

Shakira's Waka-Waka wakes me up from my seemingly surreal nightmare. I have the same dream. Every night, without fail. It is several moments before it clears and my eyes are really open; I can really see. There is a tenseness in my muscles that makes me feel more like a mannequin on this mattress than a girl of flesh and bone. I want, so much, to melt onto the foam of the mattress, wrapped in eider-down, and drift into the world of dreams. Yet my brain is a violent whirl of stupidity, trying to organize the chaos in my life.

"You're on the front line

everyone's watching

You know it's serious

We're getting closer

This isn't over..."

Throwing off the duvet, I get up and shut off my blaring alarm. The door is suddenly thrown open and my 'mother' barges into the room - "Slut, you have another twenty minutes to get ready and come down to prepare breakfast for us, if you wish not to attend the first day of your senior year with a cast around your leg." She leaves the room immediately, but not before making me feel petrified and disgusted with her smirk.

My brain seeks to discover a way to control the capriciousness of my family, to acquiesce and please them so that our encounters are softer, less draining. Of course, the task is pointless, life is far too random for a my brain to take the billions of factors that come together to form just one day for one person. Though my conscious brain knows all this, my subconscious remains stubborn in its attempts to protect me, to ensure my survival.

I stand up and make my way to the attached bathroom, after picking up some clothes from the closet. I pick out a black crop top, a high waisted denim shorts and a long grey cardigan, just to satisfy my mother's appetite of wearing "fashionable clothes". As soon as I strip off, I turn on the shower and let the hot-water trickle down my hair and bare back. I stare intently at the bubbles floating up from the lather of the body wash, as I rinse myself thoroughly.

These are one of those uncommon moments where I relax and dream of a time where the stars and planets will line up for me, showing me a path; letting me know what the future holds

These are one of those uncommon moments where I relax and dream of a time where the stars and planets will line up for me, showing me a path; letting me know what the future holds. In a state where slumber and life only meet for a moment to kiss my wet nose, I breath in the smell of cold water, smooth and somewhat aromatic, bringing me back to life.

Soon, my mind wanders off to yesterday night's events – Rebecca, Axel, my 'dad' and Jade, my 'brother' had beaten me as a punishment for not cooking the dinner on time. Yay, my life! This is not what I had expected my life to become – no parents to love me, no brother to be over-protective over me nor a true friend to share my secrets with. And the scariest part of this isn't dying as the person I have become – like a shattered glass - but it is living like this, in fear and anxiety, forever.

Do they ever stop to listen to the boom of my heart beat, or contemplate how slowly my lungs breathe in oxygen, trying to sustain my body? Don't they understand that this physical and emotional torture is slowly making my lungs implode, leaving me breathless? Lifeless in their arms, I heavily gasp for air, hungry for something to fuel my empty soul with. They lay me to rest in my coffin of broken dreams; and then lower me into the ground; as I lay there hypoxic. And alone. Dying.

All these years of verbal and physical abuse, has exhausted me – psychologically and physically. As a ten-year-old, I always thought of a fairy tale ending for my life; I always believed in love. But as time passed and I grew up, my tale taught me that fairy tales don't exist; love only hurts. The realization dawned on me that I am not a love story or fairy tale waiting to be written; I am a cowardly romantic with morning glory who is a bad case of playing the victim.

After I finish my shower, I finish up showering, wrap a towel around me and step out of the bathroom. I wear my clothes and walk towards the full-length mirror near the other side of my bedroom. I wear the clothes and shudder in disgust on seeing my reflection. People think a 'soulmate' is your perfect fit, your other half; and that is what everyone wants. But I believe a true soulmate is a mirror – it shows you everything that is holding you back; it brings you to your own attention, so you can change your life. As you look directly into it, you feel something inside of you stir – at that moment, the mirror has shaken you up, torn apart your ego a little bit, shown you your obstacles and inhibitions, broken your heart open so a new light can get in and then made you so desperate and out of control that you had the feeling to transform your life and unleash yourself to you hidden potential.

As I apply a little bit of foundation and stroke the eyeliner's tip on my eyelids, I don't fail to notice myself. The thing that frightens me the most isn't the evil in the world, but the person that I see in the mirror – there's so much of me that's still a mystery to me. After suffering from amnesia, due to me being involved in a car accident at the age of nine, I don't remember anything about my childhood. But the people whom I now call my 'family' don't seem as familiar as the ones in my nightmare. I don't know why but I feel as if I have a special connection to them.

Thinking of family brings tears to my eyes, but I blink my eyes furiously to stop them from falling down because I have realized that growing up means not crying in front of those who make you weak. My own thoughts always seem to betray me; they brutalize my body and cut deep into my heart; the strings that hold my life together are snipping one by one. I don't know what I have done and I am clueless to the consequences; my worth has been carved away and the product has left me speechless. I am watching myself falling down with the same chasm as I had before and this time there is no safety net.

Family. I now consider this word a wildfire flame that burns my dreams, like the forest fire. Ashes flying in every direction; my life torn down as quick as it was built up, flickering somewhere in the distance

Family. Light, warm and destructive; it is the only metaphor I ever need to compare to this disastrous damnation I call 'life'.

With thoughts such as these I am soon in the kitchen preparing breakfast for my family and setting up the table. Soon, they gather around the table and start eating the breakfast. I see them and my insides curdle like milk with lemon. They are the acid in what otherwise would be so heavenly; they revolt me. The sight of them makes me sick from the ends of my hair to the nails on my toes. I never want to look on them again. I will never whisper words of love for them ever again. Never ever. I am never allowed to eat breakfast with them, so I grab a granola bar and make my way towards the garage. I grab my backpack from my room on the way, tie up my white sneakers and go to the garage to wait for Jade arrive and drive me to school in his Range Rover.

As soon as Jade is outside, we both get into the car and start the ride towards our destination, the air pregnant with heavy silence, except for the sound of Jade humming to some random tune. Silence is the most fluent language fostering on the rim of my tongue, these days. These days, my mind is only monochrome montage of A4 sheets dipped in ink that read of song lyrics. It wanders into dungeons that sound like clumsy shouts in the void; into empty metro compartments that have barely seen passengers. This is the goddamn worry – my mind wanders, and I don't know what to do about it.

I glance outside the window to stop my thoughts from becoming a jumbled mess. I have started to look out of the window a bit too much these days, I must say; places, people, plants – like it is the last time I am here, like I am never coming back – like this is a one-way ticket to my destination that I am still struggling to locate. Someday, I will stop and know what it is like to have reason; someday, I will know where to stop and the sky wouldn't be breaking apart.

But these days, I digress.

I halt my thoughts mid-way as lyrics start to fill up my head....

No matter what we breed

We still are made of greed

This is my kingdom come

This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat

Look into my eyes

It's where my demons hide

It's where my demons hide

Don't get too close

It's dark inside

It's where my demons hide

It's where my demons hide......

Soon we reach school and Jade is parking the car besides Aliana's car, my so-called 'Best Friend'. I look out to see all his, I mean 'our' friends, hanging around in the parking lot, waiting for our arrival. He drives me every day to and from school and all the 'friends' that I have are all based on his approval. All the sluts and jocks that belong the 'popular' clique are his friends and so I am forced to bear their tantrums too.

One thing that you would like to know about Aliana is that she is what all those cliché love stories call – THE 'Queen Bee' of Rosewood High. She is the rich, snobby, stuck up girl who has had s*x with almost the whole male population of the town. Her face is always caked up with make up; she always resembles a walking colour book. She is also the head cheerleader and the head bully of our school.

The 'Rawr' of the engine is put off when Jade pulls out the key from the ignition and gets out of the car and goes straight towards Aliana who is already making her way towards us in clothes, that look more like a napkin, covering very little of her chest and butt region. And soon enough the two are in a heated, full-on make-out session. Only the sight of them eating up each other's face makes me want to puke my guts out. And so, without sparing them another glance I go straight inside the school towards my locker to get my books for my first lecture – English Literature.

Books have always been my escape, my solace, my safe haven - my only Best Friend. So to escape this cruel reality called 'Life', I bury my head deeper into my books like I am digging my own grave. I love to read the compelling story hiding behind the lines of alphabetical mystery, romance and drama; I love to live vicariously through the protagonist's tale. Being a Bibliophile, I grab a book only to know what happens when I turn the page. I read with vigor, hoping that, maybe - just maybe - there will be an alternate ending. But most importantly, I read, just so to think that my story could change too.

After reading, I developed a hobby of writing. Everything I wrote had started to give me relief, because I put pain in my words and emotions through the ink. I always wanted someone with whom I could share my secrets and that's when writing helped me. My teacher, Mrs. Moore likes my writings a lot and what she says has had a major impact on my life. But the only thought that made me start reading and writing was – No one is a born writer but becomes one when destiny collaborates with creativity.

As I start walking towards my class I see Aliana calling out my name with a rather grumpy look on her face. I crane my head a little more towards the left to see Chase Matthews glaring at her furiously. I come to the conclusion that the grumpy look on her face is because of Chase's umpteenth rejection of her. If you all couldn't guess, Aliana has been obsessed with Chase since sophomore year, and this senior year she has pledged to date him because he was the only single guy, who has not caved in to her 'beauty'.

Chase's eyes dart towards me and he stares down at me with an even more deadly glare. I don't know why it hurts, after all I am used to this kind of nuisance at home. I mask my face with an emotionless expression and spare him another last few milliseconds of my glance, before looking back at Aliana, as she rants about her life while going to our class.

Chase, Luke, Ryan and Rue are the people that everyone in our school adores. All of them, but Chase, are famous A-listers of the city and their parents are the co-owners of the same company – THE Stevenson Group of Companies, a family that died some years ago in an accident.

The three had been best of friends since childhood and Chase was added to their group in Grade Eight. Out of the four, Ryan and Rue have been dating each other for the past one and a half year and are madly-in-love. Even Luke is rumoured to be dating a girl called Madison whom he asked out five months ago, after several dates.

And, the last is Chase Matthews. He's not particularly special looking, but to me, he stands out from the all the other guys. There's something about Chase, a slight confidence and inflated ego, that has me muddling my words and blushing uncontrollably, internally, whenever he's around. Even with that angry look on his face, he looks like sunshine.

No one feature makes Chase appear so handsome to me, though his eyes come close. His rich chocolate coloured hair had that tousled griminess, which promised finesse. He had strong arched brows and thick eyelashes. His high, distinct cheekbones and angular jaw accentuated his face and his pale skin made him look devilishly handsome. Then there are his eyes- deep and catastrophic, a vivid, pure black colour that softly melted into a milky green, with flecks of silver in them, or maybe that was just my imagination.

He walks like his soul is playing soft jazz and he has the confidence of a baller, just without any trace of arrogance. Through these four years I had observed him become more striking, as a silver-fox. There was softness in the eyes and gentleness in his smile. Everything about him is beautiful, but it extends to the way he smiles and holds his body. Perhaps this is what is meant by a gentleman, not one of weakness or trite politeness, but one of great spirit and noble ways. What he is, what is beautiful about him, comes from deep within; it makes me want to feel how his lips move in a kiss, how his hands follow the curves of my body.

He was like the Sun. He had people orbiting around him; some were so close it burned them, some were so far, they were the coldest they could be. The lucky ones were in the perfect distance to feel his warmness and live with him peacefully. To me, in one way or another all the people that met him felt attracted to him. He was the brightest person you could ever meet. And me? Well, in his little System, I was Pluto: a strange, little cold planet that no one wanted around the Sun, but who oddly was spinning around him in circles, in the opposite direction as everyone else. And how would the Sun notice Pluto if everyone else just said to that little planet that it would never be big enough or close enough to form part of his System?

How I wish we were close. Yes, it is official - Chase Matthews, is my first and only crush! No one knows about this stupid crush, except for me and my diary.

And as I reach the class and take my seat beside Aliana on the last bench of the middle row, the bell rings marking the start of my wonderful senior year with Aliana going on and on about her recent one-night stands, although she has a so-called boyfriend, and new fashion stores and with the teachers monotonously speaking about their subject. This senior year will be the same as any other.

But little did I know, how wrong I would be!

Oh my, this is going to be one hell of a ride!

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"She has scars not on her body, but on her heart."