The Boarding School

Chapter 1

            “Vicky? Honey, are you okay? You were screaming.”

You’d think by now Aunt Chloe would be used to the screams. I have the same nightmare every night. And it always ends the same way, no more mommy... Then I wake up screaming. Ever since my mom died, and Aunt Chloe took me to live with her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my dad would come back for me.

“Vicky?”

Right. Aunt Chloe.

“Yeah? Sorry... Just spacing out.”

More like visiting un-pleasant memory lane. I thought to myself.

“Bad dream again?”

I always think it’s funny when she asks this, I mean, what else could it be?

“Yeah, but it was sort of different this time. Almost like I was being watched.”

And that’s actually new. I never feel like I’m being watched. Just that I’m going to wake up to my dad hitting me. But I felt like I was being watched, and that freaks me out even more. Because what if it’s my dad coming to take me away? Even though that’s probably not very likely, it still scares the hell out of me.

“Well I’m sure no one was there, Vick.”

She says reassuringly.

 “So do you still have plans with Millian today?”

Ah yes. Millian. She was a slim, curly brown haired and brown eyed girl. She was also my self-absorbed friend. Who I really only hung out with to keep Aunt Chloe off of my back about me being, “anti-social”.

“Yeah we’re going to the mall.”

That should be fun. Hearing Millian talk about how gorgeous she looks while admiring herself in all the shiny things she walks by.

“Okay, well I hope you girls have fun.”

Because having fun with her is a possibility. Well, I should probably get ready.

What shall I wear today? Blue and black flannel shirt, ripped dark jeans, and my black cowboy boots, or a black tank top with a camo jacket, dark jeans, and my black cowboy boots? Option 2 please. Let’s see how it looks. Not too bad. I just wish I didn’t have the DD Victoria’s Secret Angel boobs, with the body of a 1st grader with the average height of 4”9’. Not really what a 15 year old girl wants. Well, maybe a lot of 15 year old girl’s want it. But it makes me stand out a little too much, if you ask me. My porcelain skin was nice though. I didn’t have to worry about zits like the other teens did. But I did have a facial blemish. A scar on my lower lip, from where my dad got me with a knife. I remember it like it was yesterday.

“So you want to act like you’re tough? Make your friends think you’re cool?”

My dad shouted at me. He was swaying slightly (he was drunk),  holding his hand behind his back. 

“I-I-I-“

I didn’t know what to say. I was only four. I didn’t know what to do.

“Let me help you with being a tough little four year old. Come here Tori.”

He grabbed me, and when I tried to pull away, he slapped me.

“Hold still!”

He was screaming at me, laughing as the tears poured down my face. He took his hand out from behind his back, and he had a knife in it. He pushed me to the ground and held me there, with one knee on my stomach. He pulled my face towards him, by yanking my hair. He lowered the knife and put the tip on my lower lip.