Prologue: The Beginning

Freya’s P.O.V

I stared at my reflection in horror; at the fresh bruise on my left cheek; watching the skin swell…the dark bruise standing out like a sore thumb. But the instant I touched my finger to the contusion, I yelped in pain, gripping the counter with my fingers so tightly that they turned white.

My lips trembled; tears welled in my eyes as a scream caught in my throat, begging for an escape. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even scream; I couldn’t even cry.

I couldn’t let him know…I thought to myself. I couldn’t scare him!

Breathing through my mouth in short bursts, I tried to will the tears away. I had to be strong, not for myself, but for him. I was the only one he had and if he saw me like this, as the broken shell of the person I used to be…no! I couldn’t let that happen.

But avoiding the bruise wasn’t an option. I had to make the swelling go away, before he woke up.

So I balled up a few pieces of paper towels and placed the lump inside my mouth. The texture of the paper dried out the moisture inside my mouth immediately, making me want to gag, but I didn’t give it time. I took the ice pack and placed it against my cheek immediately.

This time, my scream of pain was muffled by the paper towels and I instantly forgot the dryness. Trembling, I leaned my back against the bathroom door, closing my eyes shut tightly as I worked through the agony.

‘You little whore!’ My father’s voice sounded in my ears like a carnival drum, loud and grating as he held an empty bottle of whisky in his hands, ready to strike. ‘Where is the money? I know you work at that stupid restaurant! Give me the money!’

Trembling in fear, I had told him that I didn’t have any, and I hadn’t been lying. I didn’t have the money he was looking for; the money I had earned after gruelling hours of hard work. But that hadn’t stopped him from rudely searching my pockets; from going into my room to look under the mattress, not caring about invading my privacy.

He had found it there, a total of thirty five dollars that I had gotten as tip from the restaurant after hours of standing on my feet. I had it hidden away inside the mattress cover, but it had fallen out when he had thrown everything on the floor.

‘You fucking liar!’ I hadn’t seen the bottle coming down on me, as I had shut my eyes tightly, fear making me freeze in place. But I had felt the impact of the glass on my cheek; heard it shatter on contact. But all I could do, as my mind went numb from the pain and black spots danced in front of my vision, was hope that it would’ve been the end of the torture…at least for tonight.

And thankfully, it had been.

My father, had thrown the half broken bottle on the floor next to me, making me flinch away; and then he ha d strode out of the house, not even bothering to close the door behind him as he took my week’s worth of savings with him.

Scrambling to my feet, I paused for a second as the whole world spun in front of my eyes. And then I rushed to the front door, tripping over my own feet before reaching the door, shutting it tight and locking it securely. Our neighbourhood wasn’t ideal. It was located at the edge of the woods and was filled with people who would love to get their hands on a seventeen year old virgin. However, nowadays it felt like danger lived inside the house itself.

I miss mom…I would give anything to have her back! I wish she had taken me with her when she died…

There was once a time when I wasn’t this afraid to live inside my own house. Back when my mother had been alive; back when my dad used to be a wonderful person who had taught me to dance on his feet in the living room and had cooked lunch for me and my mom on Sundays or taken us out to the Amusement Park. But that felt like ages ago. Mom was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer, right after she found out she was pregnant with my little brother. And everything changed overnight.

Her treatment cost my dad a fortune and he ended up in thousands of dollars in debt. But in the end, nothing had been able to save my mother. She died six years ago, and my once joyful father became a complete stranger overnight. He started gambling to pay off his debt; lost his job and became even more addicted to alcohol and gambling.

Now, he has nothing but a pile of addictions to deal with and debt collectors knocking at our door every other day. But they find him, because he rarely comes home anymore, and even if he does, he comes for money. And if he doesn’t get any money, then he takes all his frustration out on me, leaving me wishing for death every time.

Why doesn’t he just end it? Why not just end me and be done with it?

But the only reason I endured everything; the only reason I stop myself from ending my life once and for all… is because of my little brother, my only ray of hope in this hell hole. Julian is only five years old and twelve years younger than me but he is the dearest person in the world to me. We only have each other and that was the reason why I was holding on to my sanity with sheer strength of will.

I needed to make sure he was old enough to fend for himself before I ended it all. Because I knew that the time would come one day when I would have crossed all my limits or my father would go a step too far…and Julian would have to learn to defend himself from our father’s wrath, because I wouldn’t be here to take the blow for him anymore.