Charlotte's Scars

Chapter 20 - Charlotte

Chapter Twenty

Charlotte

I sat on the flimsy, worn out bed and stared absently at the wall across from me. The childcare worker and my soon to be "house parents" were babbling on about the different activities they offer here, but I wasn't listening. There was a dark, emptiness inside me and even though I was surrounded by people, I felt despairingly alone.

My mother was dead.

My father was in police custody awaiting trial, but the lawyers already admitted he had no chance. He would be sentenced to life in prison for the murder of my mother.

My heart was heavy, but everything else felt numb. I cried so much the past three days that I had no energy left – I was tired but I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother's beaten body and my dad being pulled away by the police. My body ached and my eyes were red and swollen.

Nothing seemed real.

"Charlotte?" the childcare worker crouched down in front of me. "I have to leave now, but Mrs and Mr O'Donnell will help you get settled in. I think you'll really like it here at Hillside House – it's a beautiful group home with a few kids around your age."

Without looking at her, I pushed my duffle bag off the bed and laid down. I knew she was trying to help, but I couldn't endure the way everyone was treating me like I was a victim who'd been saved. Maybe I was, but I still loved my parents, and the pain and loss was unbearable.

For the last three days, everyone smiled at me sympathetically, but when my back was turned, I still heard their whispers. "It's almost a blessing what happened," they'd say, "I can't believe anyone's parents could do something like that."

My parents weren't evil, they were sick. They had an addiction they tried hard to overcome but always failed in the end. I would give anything to go back to Monday after school when my parents were sober, when my mom sat with me on the couch and helped me study. I would never see her smile again or hear her contagious laughter, my dad would never make my favourite chilli, and neither of them would read to me. I reached for the old, tattered book sitting on the bed beside me and squeezed it to my chest.

"The Golden Book of Fairy Tales," the cover read. As a young child, my parents used to read it to me before bedtime. Maybe not every night, but every night they were sober which was more often back then. Sometimes they would even try to act the stories out together, which wasn't a good idea because their silly voices always made me hyper. And they would spend hours afterward trying to calm me down and put me to sleep.

This book was all I had left of my parents – the one item that could remind me of a time when I was happy, a time when the world wasn't so dark.

Mr. O'Donnell was whispering something to the childcare worker. I rolled over so I didn't have to see the pity written all over their faces, and pulled my knees up to my chest.

Mrs. O'Donnell whispered, "You're safe now," as she put a blanket over me.

My heart constricted and it felt like she punched me in the stomach with those words. I didn't care about my safety – I just wanted my parents back.

I wanted to go home.

"Dad, don't!"

He stood over my mother's lifeless body holding the frying pan above his head. He turned to look at me but his face was twisted – his eyes were dull and void and he had a malicious smile etched across his face. "I have to save you, sweetheart." His voice was low and lacked emotion.