A Crime of Passion

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a story that helps to briefly look into one girl's life as she struggles with her uncle's abuse.

Submitted: March 28, 2015

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Submitted: March 28, 2015

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~  I looked at myself staring back at me. The same long black hair and snow white skin. It didn't look any different from any other day. My hair was still black, my skin was still pale and my eyes were still green. Nothing outside changed either, the sky was still the same light blue as always. Basically, nothing changed. I put my hair up in a thick ponytail.
  I remember the day my mom taught me how to put it up for the first time. She said that, until the day I was born, she thought that only a doll could be this beautiful. I smiled. At the time I thought that she was just saying what every mom would say, but now, as I got older, I think she probably meant that. She was kind and spirited. Everyone loved her, especially me. Every time I put up my hair I think of her, except today. Today my mind wandered elsewhere. It wandered to my dark clothes and the white clouds that covered up the light blue sky. It wandered to the day all this started. It probably started with the drinking, vodka was the worst. With beer you probably get a nasty remark or maybe a slap, but with vodka you'd be lucky not to get thrown across the room. It probably happen to my brother probably over 10 times and me twice. It got worse after Aunt Andrea left. Twice as much vodka and four times as much beer. Sometimes he would just pass out afterwards, but a lot of times not. Maybe that's why it happened, maybe that's why we did it. One hit too many. I keep on thinking that maybe if I know the reason it would hurt less, but maybe it wasn't about the beatings at all.
  That day was like today. It looked the same, nothing was different. The sun rose like today, my hair was still thick and black and my skin was still pale. At the time I didn't know it would be different. There was no warning, there was nothing to say that it wouldn't be any ordinary beating… no warning at all. Uncle Peter was still drunk, Dereck still protected me and I still didn't know what to do. The only change was when Dereck got back up. I didn't know why he got back up. That morning he told me he was sick of it, sick of him always trying to hurt me. That wasn't any different though, Dereck was always sick of it. He said that everyday. He said it in bed every night and every day I bandaged his wounds. He was always sick of it, the only difference was the bottle in his hand that night. There was blood everywhere.
  My eyes were glued to it when my brother grabbed his keys and my hand. We left that night. I guess it was the nights after that changed everything. The hotels and the fear of getting caught. The fear probably had a hand in what happened too. We were alone and scared, we had no one but each other to count on. So when he first did it I didn't stop him. I didn't want to stop him, he felt safe. In a way, it even felt normal. I knew I should have stopped him, it would have hurt less if I did. But I didn't. I didn't stop him because I didn't want to. And god punished me for it, for all of it. He punished me with the black dress that I'm wearing and the big stomach under it. Without warning he punished me.

 


© Copyright 2020 scarlettrose. All rights reserved.

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