Laura's Story

Laura's Story (working title)

Laura's Story (Working Progress)

“Laura, get down here!”

My eyes flutter open, and I can’t believe I’m not awake already. Bright light is flooding through my bedroom window, and I can hear everyone jabbering, crying, whinging and yelling downstairs. The T.V is blaring noisily. With all this noise, it’s a wonder I’ve slept in this late.

 I sit up in bed, and stare blankly around the room. The door creaks open and Kelly pokes her small head into the room.

“Laura, Daddy says you have to get up now. He has to get to work quickly or he’ll be in deep trouble!” she says, her goody-two shoes piggy tails bouncing as she talks. She comes in closer, and tugs at my hair.

“Hurry up, Laura! Daddy’s getting angry!” she warns. I groan, and slip my feet out of the bed. When Dane get’s angry, he spares no one.

You see, Dane isn’t even my dad, so if you ask me he has no right to get angry at me, let alone hit me. Of course, his hits never hurt. Neither do his punches, kicks or scratches. Or so he says. My mum met Dane years ago, when I was only eight. I’m fifteen now, and I’ve decided that nothing he says or does will ever get to me. It’s different for Mum though. Every abuse seems to make her weaker, and now she just stays holed up in bed most of the time, not talking to anyone. If you didn’t know she was there, you’d think she was dead or something. Mum first started ignoring us just two years ago, when she discovered she was pregnant with Jay, my little brother. He’s over one year old now, but nothing much has changed. I was sympathetic with her at the start, but now I’m angry, furious, frustrated. She leaves me to do all the dirty work.

“LAURA, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING UP THERE???” calls out Dane, and I know I have to get a move on. Kelly gives me a look, and slinks out of the room. I stand up, and pull my cardigan on over my fading blue pyjamas. They’ve lost all their elasticity, and they’re more a pale grey than blue, but I’m not about to complain. I’ve got far more pressing worries on my mind. I hurry out of my bedroom and jog down the grotty carpeted stairs. Dane’s sitting on the cracked leather sofa, smoking a cigarette. Or it might be worse, I’d have no idea. I frown at him.

“Dane, don’t smoke near Jay; it’s bad for him!” I say, trying my hardest to be polite but failing miserably.

“Don’t tell me what to do, kid,” he mutters. “Jeez, what ever happened to respect your elders, eh?”

I ignore him, and lift Jay up off the dirty rug where he was sitting, playing with Dane’s empty morning beer can. I fish it out of his mouth and toss it on the floor.

“Come on, Jay. Brekky time.” I say, and we head off into the kitchen.

Seven year old Kelly is eating Special K out of the box, and five year old Mathew is sitting on the kitchen bench, swishing the dirty water in the sink around. Sarah, who’s eleven, is sitting on the floor, searching for something in her school bag and three year old Luke is balling his eyes out because he doesn’t want cereal.

“Oh my god, hasn’t anyone had breakfast yet?” I ask, already knowing what the answer is.

“Well, how do you expect me to eat anything when Kelly’s on the loose? She’s an absolute bloody pig!” Sarah exclaims. Kelly bursts into tears and chucks the box of cereal at Sarah. The flakes of Special K spill everywhere, and Kelly pours the milk on top for good measure. Sarah squeals, and I grab Kelly by the wrist and fling her out of the room. The boys watch, transfixed as I sponge Sarah off. I quickly spread butter on six pieces of bread, with Jay still on one hip, Luke fighting with Mathew and Kelly crying on Dane’s lap.

I hear her sneak off into Mum’s room, even though she knows she’s not meant to. She comes out crying minutes later, and I know Mum has told her to get out and leave her alone. I sigh, and hand Mathew and Luke their bread. I give a slice to Jay, who squishes it up in his hand. Ignoring this, I head back into the lounge room and give Kelly her slice. She’s curled up on the couch, crying.