Belle

Chapter 1 - What A Gentleman You Are

"Belle!" I hear a furious voice yell from the hallway. My entire body shakes and I pull my knees closer to my chest. With each step I hear him take the shaking becomes more and more uncontrollable. I shut my eyes and snuggle closer to the back, left wall of my closet, hoping with everything I have that he will go away. My bedroom door squeaks open and slams into the wall. I imagine the dent that it will leave behind, just the same as behind almost every other door in our home.

"I know you're in here," he whispers, but loud enough for me to hear. A tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away quickly.

"You can hide from me all you want, but I will find you," he says and I imagine him gritting his teeth and rubbing his chin as he always does when he's angry.

The closet doors fling open and in a second my father already has me pulled off the floor by the collar of my shirt. He drags me out of the closet and shoves me to the ground harshly. I fall on my elbow and hear a crack, wincing in pain. He ignores it and kicks me in the gut pausing only to say, "You're trash, that's all you'll ever be." He has a very defined scowl spread across his face and he returns to kicking me.

"I'm not... I'm not trash!" I scream between kicks. Now he lifts me off the ground and swings his fist forward, connecting with my cheek bone.

"You are! You're trash!" I shout as he punches me again, but my words come out in a jumbled mess considering he just punched me in the jaw.

He let's go of his strong hold on my arm and I fall to the ground. He walks out of the room shaking the blood off his hand. It splatters onto my carpet in small beads and soon the carpet absorbs the liquid. No tears fall from my eyes as I lay on the ground. All that surrounds me is silence, and it's somewhat peaceful. I lift my head up a little off the ground, ignoring the pain pounding in my head and pull my shirt up to reveal black and blue bruises all over. My ribs are bruised purple, and my stomach bruised blue. I lower my shirt and sigh, trying to pull myself off the ground. My cheek tingles and burns from where he punched me, but I limp over to my dresser and try to disregard the pain.

I quickly grab a long, baggy sweatshirt and a pair of leggings before running to the bathroom. My ribs and stomach ache worse than ever and I shut the door quietly and lock it. I know very well that locking the door does no good against my father but for some reason it makes me feel safer. I shimmy out of my clothing, being careful not to touch my wounds too much. The pain is excruciating but I try my best to ignore it as I pull the hoodie over my head and slide into the leggings before unlocking the door and going back to my bedroom. I lay down in the quiet and wait for a few minutes. I listen carefully to the noise downstairs. I can hear the TV playing a show and my father's drunken snores. I stand up carefully and walk as quietly possible down the hall. The floor squeaks a little and I cringe with each step but luckily he does not wake up. I slip on my shoes and sneak out the door, shutting it very slowly hoping not to make too much noise. The door closes and I let out a deep breath then breathe in the chilly, nighttime air.

I jog out of my neighborhood and slow my pace once I am a few streets away from my home. My wounds sting and I slow down before I eventually stop at a little bench. The bench belongs to a small family in the house right next to it, but I figure they are either asleep or won't mind. I had talked to them once and they had explained that although they owned it, they liked to call it a 'public' bench. I sigh and try to think of some place to go. I can't go back home to my father and so called 'step-mom'. My father technically is not married to Janice, but they like to pretend they are married... Well, at least when they aren't at each other's throats.

I think of all my friends from school who I barely know; Emery, Zella, Jay— but I just don't feel comfortable around them. And then there's Lucas, who's a whole different story. Lucas and I have been best friends since second grade. We've always been really close, yet somehow sort of weird around each other. He has been the best friend I could have ever asked for, and it's been that way for a while now. Ever since eighth grade when I told him what was going on at home things changed. He became even more sympathetic towards me, and a closer friend. I would go to his house but there's one small problem... Christina.