Blemished Heart

Prologue

She threw me into my bedroom and locked the wooden door from the outside. My hands and knees fell onto the wooden floorboards, thumping under my weight. She was shouting at me for being a naughty girl and how I should always be punished.

Punished for what? I asked myself. And I always got no answer in return. I didn't understand. How was I bad? I didn't mean to make her angry.

I stood up from my knees, not bothering to tend to the minor scrapes, and walked over to the mirror. It was titled on my dresser. As I sat down while keeping eye contact with my reflection, I sighed with sorrow. My head slowly hung down and my small shoulders hunched. I let a tear escape. Like always, I would cry myself into believing my mother. Step-mother. But I wanted to make her happy and proud of me. To like me. Not to despise me. Just once, call me ... her daughter. Be her good little girl, for a change, whom she would love forever.

But of course I was wrong, like always. Her love was never there for me.

Dad, on the hand, thought I was just being a nuisance and that I never tried enough to become a member of his family. His family, not ours, his. Nevertheless, he cared about me and loved me. But just wasn’t able to see the abuse I was going through. Mentally, more though.

I’m scared to go outside and face society. It was just too much. I wasn’t ever good with making friends. And no-body wanted to be friends with me. There was no way mother would have let me bring home a friend. I wasn’t allowed to own a mobile-phone anyway.

However, secretly, I really wished that I could have a secret friend. Someone to talk with. At least I could forget the worry of being scolded again.

Mother can be very intimidating when she wanted to, and when she was, nothing could calm her down. Except; me getting out of her sight. Yes, that was bliss to her. And when dad returned, she loved to be around me. Pretending to love me like my other step-siblings.

Why bother? I thought, and shuffled over to the window that looked over the backyard. The typical backyard of a terraced house in a town named Burnley. UK's weather was being friendly to me again; it had been raining for two days.

I would smile back it, wiping away at my watery, green eyes.