The Chains that Bind Us

Chapter One: If these Walls Could Scream

I looked in the mirror. I was not an "I'm so ugly Facebook status bitch." My nose is crooked, scars and bruises constantly cover my body (when I asked, I answer the cliche "Fell down the stairs, ran into a door, anything but my Mom needs to Stop drinking").

My eyes were too far apart. I have a-cup grape-raisin sized breasts. The glasses I wore weren't the cute nerdy ones, no they were thin framed, awkwardly bent, and some sort of ugly brown. Braces covered my teeth. I wasn't bullied for the sake of plot convenience, but because I'm ugly, speak in monotone (Yes I'm okay, no I don't need any help with my books, my day is fine), and I'm generally not pleasant to be around. I also smell pretty bad, due to a lack of deodorant in the house.

If these walls could scream, they'd tell stories of brutal beatings and fights, with needless pain and hurt. Selfish deeds including hiding in my closet as my mother threw a dog against the wall and snapped its neck, or slamming my dad into my wall until his head bled onto my wall. Whispers of  "Do the neighbors hear this? Is our day to be saved finally here?"

Our neighbors never listen. I bet they know and don't care. My wall of negativity and low hopes is going to crumble down on me some day. Broken bones of what I could have been if I hasn't become this and bloody wounds fill with the words help me.

I don't deserve a prince or princess. Happily ever after with Susy or Johnny Smith with a family of five as little footsteps ran down the hall. Pit, pat, pit, pat. I don't deserve any form of love. My mind has been warped so bad I don't think I deserve life or death. I'm locked in a state of purgatory that can't be broken. My mind is a locked box and my mother threw away the key.

My walls do not scream but share messages in subtle Morse code. I can pray and hope but I live in suburbia. No one can read Morse code here. If I ran my own psyche would find me.

I'm not even safe from her when I'm alone.

Sleep is the only time I feel safe because I feel as if maybe

Wheeze.

Wheeze.

Wheeze.

I need air. My lungs spell asthma out in a long drawn out breath. I search my room for my inhaler. Maybe my mom hid it from me. How cruel would that be? I scan the room to no avail and collapse onto my knees.

Wheeze.

Wheeze.

Wheeze.

Hack.

Cough.

Goddammit I can't find my inhaler. I knock my dresser down and there it was, underneath my favorite hat (well, my favorite hat when I was six.) I breathe deeply after the relief of my inhaler and collapse down. I didn't want to move. I held my throat for a minute, amazed to still be alive and disappointed at the same time.

I looked at my own hands and back at my wall.

"Why can't you scream?" I murmur. Another murmur fading into obscurity forever.