In the Mafia

Chapter 4

PLEASE DONT JUDGE TO HARSHLY AND IF U THNK IT IS OK SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT MY STORY..........................

AND SO SORRY IF IT IS TOO SHORT........................

'The scars you can't see are the hardest to heal.' -Unknown

I wake up groaning, my head aching. I slowly get up amd grip my head, laying it in  my lap. i look at the digital clock beside my bed and it reads 8:05. Merda! I slept late and are due at that stupid academy at 8:30. I quickly get and reach into my draws pulling out a black bra and matching under wear. I strip out of my pj's and place them both on before pulling out a long sleaved top with MISFIT written in big, bold, gothic white letters across the chest, and then wriggle myself into a pair of black skinny jeans after pulling the tag off. I bought a while ago but have never worn them till now. Also brand-new I pull on my AllSaints black leather biker jacket.

After fishtailing my dark brown hair i pull on my  black military autumn combat boots, but I leave my face visible. For nine years I have kept my face hidden, not even my mother looked upon it in the end; only ever HER. But now thanks to him i realise what he said is almost right, my scars simply mean i was strong enough to survive Him inflicting them upon me. Thats probably why i got Survivor written i bold cursive letters above my right eyebrow three years ago. But my voice; i dont know if i ever will speak again, only SHE heard me in the end and now she is gone too, I dont think anyone will ever hear it again. I might save it only for HER. I finger the necklace on my neck as i think of HER, it was HER necklace.

I look at the clock again but this time it says 8:15. Dannazione! I jump up and throw open my doors before leaping down the stairs. Padre isn't here, he went to work last night and won't return until sataurday now; he is a detective in london. So he had to leave early to catch his flight.

I close the front door and lock it. Turning around, i start walking down the street at a fast pace when a young mother with her daughter rushes out of their house and starts walking towards me; head down fumbling with her bag. As she gets closer to me she looks up and see's me, she gasps, hand flying to her mouth, before pulling her daughter to her, sheilding her view of me before pulling her across to the other side of the street.

Because of me.

I quickly run back to my house, up to my room and take off my jacket and top before putting on my favourite black hoodie and pull up my hood, if a nearly grown women will react to me like that, how will others?  I dont need any attention, I hate it, i dont deserve it. I come out of my house locking it again; i clench my fists and run down the street towards my new school.

7 YEARS AGO......

Pain. My father once said that we must saccrifice something dear to us and our only reward would be pain. Pain is everlasting, it is always there and is a hard earned gift. I was a child i did not understand but i do now. He saccrificed his wife and children; his hapiness, and became a demon in return. I saccrificed my mind, my heart: my soul. I gave up my only light in the darkness and now forever stay in the darkness as a monster lurks within me.; waiting to destroy the last peice of me. My will to live. My last shred of humanity that without it i fear that i will be the demon my father was.

I wait for the pain to come, for to feel the blow of his hand. But i don't. Slowly i raise my cowering form from sheilding my little angel, and lookup.
My father stands there fists clenched, nostrils flaring and yet eyes closed. As if he is trying to contain his anger. "Papà,  per favore fare non male me o angelo!" I beg my throat sore from barely talking, still standing protectively over Angel; i only talk when i know it is talk or death but i mainly save my voice for my little angel. He looks at me for a moment before bending dowm to my levl and stoking my cheek gently, which my eyes widen to. "Bambino, io solo male mio perché esso è mio sacrificio." (Child, I alone hurt because it is my sacrifice.) He tells me softly, still stroking my cheek. "But why?" I ask, silent tears running down my face, in english. My father tuts and stills his hand on my cheek before leaning down and placing his lips next to my ear. "Because only those who feel pain can truly see the world, and only then are we free of this hell." He says in english before moving his hand to my hair and he wrenches it back; gripping it in a steel grip.
I muffle a scream, I suppose i should be used to this pain, but is this a type of thing one could ever get used to.
And then the torture begins, the knives and hands pressing against my body, but i don't scream. Wont scream, it only gives him pleasure to hear the beautiful melody of my pain. as he put it once. Instead i bite through my lip, just adding more blood to the pool already on the floor. All i can do is make sure Angel has a different fate to mine.