A Tear to Another

Chapter One

Ticktockticktockticktock. That's the sound of the classic made by oak wood clock right beside me. It must be fake. The expensive, real and classic clocks have that sound that screams luxury. Like the one my father has in his office. He always tells me to admire it from afar and never dare to touch that well taken care wood of its, that I still don't know the name of.

As the cheap ticktock sound continues to play in my head, I hear her, call my name. And it feels like the earth has left my feet. There's so much anger in her words and that's what makes them sound terryfying as hell. "Eleonor you little whore", she says. That makes a tear of mine fall. Imagine the person who actually gave you life to call you something as horrible as this.              "From the moment you came to this fucking world nothing goes well". That's a second tear falling, going to meet the other one but something stops it. Something sharp. Something that causes me to lose my balance as well as a lot of pain and shock. She slapped me. My own mother slapped me. That makes the tear not being able to meet the first one laying on my cheek. Then, I close my eyes and start falling deep into my thoughts. I can't hear her anymore. I suppose that she still curses me and I'm glad I cannot hear her. I'm pretty sure that if I do manage to hear her, I'll start crying which will cause me to tremple, and if I do cry, she will hit me, again. But this time, she's not going to use her hand. She'll choose my father's expensive, leather, and hard as rock belt and I'm afraid I won't be able to hide my bruces anymore if she actually does. That's when a figure comes in and takes my mother away while she keeps cursing me as she gets carried away to her room, probably and hopefully. I don't dare to move my head and see who the person saving me is.

                                                                                  .           .            .

It's been a couple of hours. She was taken to her room as I hoped. The person taking her, was once again my father who came in just in time again. I don't want to know what would happen if he didn't come in time everytime this happened out of nowhere. My mother's doctor just left our house looking glad he finally did. I can't blame him. He had to help a crazy woman known all over the kingdom for doing witchcraft. A woman who likes the sound her hand makes if she crosses it to someone's face. And it's most of the reason why she doesn't go out anymore. Ever since she was diagnosed with schyzophrenia she was never the same again across anyone. Especially me. She was blaming me for it. It was somehow stuck in her head that I was responsible for anything bad and that I hated her and that I wanted to ruin her life piece by piece. It all started when I was at the age of 5, I had to get used to be called in such words from a very young age. I know, cruel. I now am soon to become  16 years old and hearing those words for eleven fucking years cut deeper than a knife could ever reach.