Up On My Tip-Toes

Chapter Two: Juliette

>>>>Juliette<<<

Chapter Two

I stare at my body in my full length mirror, but I step away to check my drapes. When I am certain no one can see in, I step back in front of the mirror. I'm not fat. Not in the slightest. But I'm not skinny. My torso is covered in scares from belts and glass. There are scars on my amrs and legs similar to my torso. The marks on my neck I can cover with makeup. My cheek is brusiised, and my lower lip is split again. It was already scarred in that place, so it'll just close and stay scarred.

I'm disgusting. I quickly slide some long, fuzzy pyjama pants on and a T-shirt I bought at a football game last year.

Walking almost completely silently, I tip toe into the hallway and listen. I hear my dad snoring downstairs. I sigh. Then, quickly I rush to the kitchen, grab two peach lemonade Arnold Palmers, and a box of strawberry poptarts. Then, I dart back to my room. I haven't eaten since last night.

I walk to my room's window seat after securing all the locks on my door. I open the drapes and stare out at the sky. Since I live in Boston, nights like this aren't uncommon. The stars are abundant above my condominium bedroom.

I remember being very young, around the time I was 5, my mother would sing me lullabies on this window seat. Sometimes they were songs from the Sound of Music, or lullabies about water-colored horses. I barely remember my mother. 10 years is a long time. I know I have her auburn hair. My dad says I look more and more like her everyday. Well, he does when he isn't drunk and beating me.

I remember I once asked him why he beat me. "It's your fault," my dad told me. "It's your fault my Belinda is gone!"

Belinda was my mom's name. For some stupid, drunken reason, he blames me for my mother's leaving.

My small, Blackberry phone buzzes, announcing a call. I reach from the seat to my bed and answer it without checking the caller ID. "This is Juliette,"

"Hey! Jules, are you alright?" my best and only friend, Thatcher, asks worriedly. Thatcher is actually a freshman in college, but he is my age. He skipped a grade.

"He didn't...touch me..." I struggle to get the words out.

"Juliette please, just go to the cops! Run away! Please!"

"I can't. He's the only family I haven. Besides, when the school year ends, I'm off to the UK."

"Jules...please be safe. Okay?"

"Yes, mom."

"Funny. I need to study, so is it alright if I let you go?"

"Of course! 'Night, Thatch."

"Good night, Jules." and he's gone. Thatcher has always been my friend. We were in the same kindergarten class. U was wearing a sparkly pink top, black shorts, and sparkly pink converse. A boy who ended up moving away pushed me into some mud, ruining my shirt during recess. His reason? I had cooties. Thatcher approached me and told me, "I don't think you have cooties."

"Obviously," I said with a slight lisp I would loose in a few years.

Thatcher's mom had packed him an extra sshirt in the case that he got dirty. Instead, he gave that shirt to me. It was black with a white dinosaur on it, and it was a little too big. The same boy laughed at me in class, and Thatcher punched him in the nose for that.

Best friends since,

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my hand, but in a different pattern, hinting that I recived an email. I quickly open it, but pale in the face

>From:mlakiparkr@gmail.com<

>To: private<

>Subject: Wrong email ATG<

Dear A Terrified Girl,

A simple slip of the finger sent your email to me instead of "Makaila".

First off, what the effing hell is wrong with you? Why haven't you called the futhermucking police on your dad?! He's not even acting like a father! A father would help his young girl with her homework, and praise her when she aced tests. He would give her money for dates, and give that boy a hard time when he came to pick her up! When she was old enough, he would walk her down the isle, then start crying a few months later when he learns that she's going to name her child after him.

This man beats you and brings you down. You may be able to leave in nine months, but you need to go now.

Please be smart and run. It only takes three easy steps.

1) Walk out the door.

2) Don't stop walking.

3) Don't look back.

Sincerely, Malakai Parker

PS- Do you have a name?

I quickly turn off my hone in horror. I then re-open it and call Thatcher. "What?" he answers.

"Remember that email I told you I sent?"

"Yeah?"

"I...uh...accidentally sent it to the hottest guy at school."