Converse ·· Luke Brooks

Chapter 52

Chapter 52

You know what’s worse than actually being beaten? It’s showing the injuries afterwards, leaving people to wonder how you had gotten them. People stare at your bruised shoulders. People talk about your injured back. People whisper about your beaten face. It’s not fun. It sucks having everyone’s eyes on you as they talk about it. They wonder what happened to you, while you’re trying your hardest to keep everything. All those tears are building up, stinging the back of your eyes. You feel like you want to scream, to let everything out. But you won’t. Because you know it would only make it worse.

You don’t want people to know what happened to you. You don’t want them to know that you’re being beaten by your own Father. You don’t want their sympathy. People here at the academy, they don’t even talk to me here. They make fun about me. They talk about me behind my back. They don’t like me. And to have their sympathy because they’ve found out I’m being beaten, it’s something I don’t want. They don’t actually feel sorry for me, they just want it too look like they are doing the right thing. They show sympathy for themselves, not me.

What sucks even more, is when you walk out the academy, dressed in a new dress that costs hundreds of dollars, with your face covered in foundation trying to cover the bruises up. It didn’t work though. You could still see the bruises. It was like they were screaming out to people to stare. I hated it. I hated how my parents were making me go out like this. They always want to go out for dinner, so it looks like they’re being good parents by taking out their ‘perfect’ daughter out to dinner. Well, I hate it. They don’t about care me. They just want to make themselves look good. But, how can they make themselves look good if I look like this?

My makeup was caked on, trying to cover up my purple face. It wasn’t done very well and I hated the feel of having so much foundation on my face. It took me hours trying to cover it up, yet it did nothing. So, as I walking to the restaurant, I wiped it off. What’s the point in hiding up my bruises? It will only make people think I’m ashamed of them. And I am. But, I don’t want to hide them from my Father. I wanted him to know what he had caused. And so, I only wore mascara, making my eyelashes more noticeable. My hair was half up, half down. It was curled once again, by Natalie. She knew more about dressing up than I did, and so, I let her get me ready. My hair was perfectly curled and I liked it. It looked pretty. Then, I had on my expensive new dress that my parents had bought me for tonight. It was a light shade of blue that went mid-thigh. It was strapless as well, with small silver beads covering the breasts part. It was tight around the boobs, but then it flowed down so I could twirl around in it. It was poofy as well, with several layers of different shades of blue to make it stand out. To compliment the dress, Natalie had let me borrow a pair of silver and blue heels. They were blue but were silver and had sparkles on the actual heel.

Soon enough, I walked into the restaurant, pushing open the large transparent doors, letting myself in. My ears were instantly filled with a hush tune which I quickly recognized as a piano. My nose gushed in the smell of expensive perfumes and food coming from the back. It was fancy here. White pillars stood in the middle of the place, which were clearly made of marble. It wasn’t noisy in here, with only the few conversations on elder people talking business. It was expensive here. Too expensive for families. There was no crying from young children or loud talking from teenages. Everything was settled and proper.

I walked up to the counter, my heels clicking against the white polished tiles. I ignored the stares the guy gave me as he quickly ushered me to my table where my parents were already seated. Both of them had a glass of red wine in front of them, my Mother slowly sipping on hers. Red wine stained her lips as she put the glass back down. I took a seat opposite of them, trying not to look afraid of them. It was fancy here and I had tried my hardest so I would fit in, but I couldn’t help but feel out of place. This isn’t where I belonged.