Chosen

Chapter Two

Emeraude Toubia as Monica

I knock on the door and look around, cautiously, I'm out in the open and I just want to go inside. The castle sends guards to patrol this area often. I don't know why, they don't patrol anywhere else this much. It's not a shady place, very safe and friendly, actually.
The door opens and Monica stands there, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She opens them to look at me and they widen as she quickly pulls me inside.
"Ara? What are you doing here? Are you alright?" I almost start crying when I hear my older sisters voice. She gasps when she sees my face, her eyes widening. "Ara, what happened to you?" She looks horrified. I don't want to tell her, it would crush her. She still remembers our father as the fun, loving dad he was before. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"It was dad." I look down, I don't want to see the look on her face.
"What?!" She sounds horrified and furious, filled with pain. "Why would he do that? Please tell me this hasn't happened before." I wish it hasn't. I sigh, looking down.
"Answer the questions, Arabella." Her voice is stern and stubborn, she won't stop until she gets answers. I sigh. I know she'll hate this. I look up, locking eyes with her.
"Ever since mom died, dad would get drunk. Very drunk. He'd started with yelling, saying things like I wasn't grateful enough for what he does for me. But then he started hitting me. The first time it happened he'd apologize and say it'd never happen again, but he just kept doing it." Monica gasps in horror, her hand flying to cover her gaping mouth. Our mother has been dead for three years.
"Oh, Ara, I'm so sorry! Why didn't you tell me sooner? I could've helped you." Tears are filling her eyes and mine are starting to water as well.
"I-I was scared to. You've always l-looked up to him. I didn't want to ruin that." I stutter. Monica's face falls, a frown marring her face.
"He's not the dad I knew. I still love that one. The new him, though, I can't stand. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. You're not going home, not anymore. We'll go get your things tomorrow, you can stay here." She leads me to the kitchen and has me sit as she gets the first-aid kit. "I'm so sorry that you had to go through this. Does it happen every day?" She's cleaning the cut on my face, and doing something to make the swelling go away. I sigh, closing my eyes.
"Usually. Sometimes he'll stay in his room. But it's the nights he gets really drunk that this happens, which is almost every night." I take a deep, shuddering breath. "He blames me for moms death." Monica inhales sharply, furious.
"How could he do that? Mom died of cancer, no one could have done anything to stop it." She says forcefully. I nod in agreement, sighing.
"I don't know, but he finds some way to blame me. Are you sure you're ok with me staying with you? I don't want to burden you. I can always ask to stay with someone." Monica immediately shakes her head.
"You're staying here. You'd never be a burden, you're family, I'm always here for you. Ok? Ok. You don't have to worry about him anymore, he's not getting anywhere near you." She says, putting her first-aid kit away. She takes my hand, leading me to one of their guest bedrooms. "What time do you need to go to work in the morning?"
"My shift starts at seven o'clock." She nods, smiling.
"Ok, perfect, I have to be at the office at seven. We'll go get your stuff, come and get ready, and then go to work. How does that sound?" I smile at her around the pain in my cheek.
"That sounds great. Thank you, Monica, for everything. You're the best sister I could ask for." I say, pulling her into a hug.
"Good, because I'm the only one you've got." I laugh, pulling away.
"Well I got a pretty good one. Sorry for waking you up, you can go back to bed." I say, walking to the door of my new room.
"It's alright, I'm glad you came. You needed to get away from that man a long time ago." She smiles, hugging me one more time before she goes back to her room. I open the door to mine and walk in, looking around. It's already better than the room I had before. My 'father' had sold almost all of my things to buy more alcohol; my bed, most of my clothes, my jewelry, my makeup, almost everything I own. The only thing I gotten to keep was concealer, to hide the bruises, and a locket my mother gave me, and that's only because I hid it from him. But no more, I finally got away from him. No more chores, no more bruises, no more abuse. I'm free.