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clock reads5:00am
It hurts, everything hurts, my arms, legs, neck, ribs, heart. I can't do it anymore. My own parents treat me like I'm nothing. I try so hard to do everything right, to be the best i can but it's never enough, it will never be enough. I can't move. It hurts so bad. The cold air flowing in from the window freezes me. I need to leave, but I'm scared. More scared of being alone than being with them.
"Bella, where are you? Where's my food?"
It's 5am and he makes me whip up breakfast. Then proceeded to hurt me, I was late this morning so it was my fault. When the clock hit 6:14am He left for work. I returned to my excuse of a room for the meantime. Mother still hadn't returned from her work trip, 5 days ago. I'm alone. I'm so alone. I just want this pain to stop. What did I do to deserve this. I've been the best daughter I can do. Why isn't it enough? I need to get out. Another day here and I'm going to die.
Limping into the bathroom, I grab essentials. Toothbrush, check. Toothpaste, check. First aid kit, a small one, check. Deodorant, check. Then I went into Mother and Fathers room. Praying they have money stashed somewhere. I need it to survive out there, Searching the dresser drawers, nothing. But underneath the bed were a few shoe boxes.
Opening them up to find many things. Drugs, knives, guns, and money. Where did this all come from? How could they have this. I quickly take two hundred dollar bills from each wad. There were 4. $800 should be enough for me to get a motel room, some food for the week. As i'm about to close up the last box I find papers with my name on them. Files, pictures, newspapers.
"Daughter of Abramo and Louisa Romano missing a few hours after birth." "Mirabella Romano was taken from her home less than 24 hours after she was born." "Police are still looking years later, she is still missing"
Attached below was a photo, one of a child around 4. It looked like me. She was in a park. "Mirabella Romano possibly sighted in Texas. Could the princess be brought home?"
Tears fall from my eyes as I continue reading the articles, I was taken? My parents aren't me parents?
"No. No no no no no. Oh my god! How?" Tears keep falling as I look at the photos of my true mother and father. I look just like them. My family. My true home
I gathered myself, wiping my tears as I grabbed the last box. Making sure the room looks the same as I had left it, I hurried as quickly as my body would let me into my room to pack my bag. Seeing as I'm weak as it is, I'm taking one backpack. 1 pairs of pants, 2 shirts, some undergarments and a brush. I decided to layer a pair of leggings under a sweatshirt and a tee shirt under a sweatshirt. It's chilly outside during March in New York so it's better. Plus it covers the bruises.
After cleaning and wrapping the fresh scars on my body I quickly change and grab my bag. Looking around the living room, I think of all the horror and pain I have endured here. I hope this is the last time I will ever have to step in this house, ever have to see these people. Im finally free.
