Healing - JATP Fanfic (Luke x OC)

Chapter 22

Trigger warnings: physical abuse, verbal abuse, cancer, death

Dear World,

My name is Gabriella Marianne Angelo, but most people call me Brielle. My sister calls me Bri, but I don't let anyone else call me that. Oh, and never call me Gabriella. I am sixteen years old, from the stunning City of Angels. Most of my life has been pretty insane, but I want to tell it all, so why don't we start from the beginning?

So, obviously, I was born in 2004, to my mother and father, Taylor and Perry Angelo. I'm the youngest of three kids, with an older sister and an older brother. My older sister, Aliyah, is twelve years older than I am and my older brother, Oliver, is two years older than I am. We had our fights, I ended up in timeout a few times, but we were a perfectly normal family for six years. Until my older sister moved away to somewhere I wasn't aware of, that ended up being New York City, and my parents became violent drunks.

What I didn't know, until just a few months ago, was why my sister left. The day my sister turned eighteen, she started seeing things. Things that nobody else could really see, and she was freaked out, too. But, I'll get to what that all means later. And, being a good kid, Aliyah told my parents what was going on, since she was really freaked out and they found someone who could explain why everything was happening, but Aliyah refused to go, so only my parents went. That's when they started becoming the violent drunks I knew them to be.

At the beginning, it wasn't all that bad. I mean, I was only six when this all happened, and my parents still pretty much acted like themselves. Occasionally, I'd have to clean up the floor after they vomited from too much alcohol or sweep up a broken beer bottle, but it was never that bad. Six months in is when it started to become terrible. The first day I remember it being horrible is what I would have considered a normal day at the time. I came home a few minutes late from school, because I was talking to one of my friends, and my dad was furious. I didn't have any other explanation other than I was talking to my friend, Julie Molina, and he punched my stomach. As a seven year old, I was terrified. My dad had never hit any of us before. I mean, I remember the exact words he said right after because it was so traumatizing.

"Just because you have friends doesn't mean you deserve them."

Those words stick with me now, even as a sixteen year old on my death bed. That day, my father came up with a set of rules: for every minute I'm late is one punch, and for every hour I'm late is one cut. The punches pretty much always caused bruises or worsened the ones I already had. I think on any given day I could count at least fifteen just on my arms and stomach. The cuts, although rare, we're even worse. Always at least six inches long on my forearms or my calves. After hearing how god-awful these rules were and experiencing the pain for myself, I never came home late, never talked with my friends, and felt like the world didn't want me anymore. That's when I turned to music. But, my sister was super into music, and it was all banned from being played in the house. Ever. But, at the early age of nine, I just hid in my room and listened to whatever music I could get my hands on, and enjoyed hearing how the sounds blended together to create a masterpiece.

So, once I turned eleven, I started writing my own songs. Songs about pain, grief, and feeling unwanted by my own parents. That's when Julie's mother found out about the battles I faced at home. Most days, when my parents didn't expect anything of me, Julie's mom offered up their music studio so I had somewhere safe to sleep at night. It was just a simple pullout couch, but after not getting more than a few hours of sleep each night out of fear, I was grateful for a full night's sleep for once. It was the first time I had slept for more than three hours straight in two years. I had so much energy the next day, it was as if I drank three espressos and a five-hour energy.