Older Brothers | ✓

7 | Painting

The rest of the school passed swiftly without any drama. When I reached home, there was no one. Even Xander and Xavier disappeared after dropping me off.

When I went to my room, my gaze fell on something familiar kept on my desk. I looked carefully to see that they were art supplies- a sketchbook and different types of paints.

Why?

I guess they remembered that I used to paint. It used to be my favourite hobby. My escape from reality.

But they probably don't know that I don't paint now. And they definitely don't know the reason behind it. As to what happened a month before I ran away from my home.

"What is this?" John yelled looking at the sketch I had made.

"N-nothing." I stepped back.

It was a drawing of a little girl crying while a man was standing beside her, laughing. I wanted to tell someone about John but since I couldn't, I made this sketch. Unfortunately John saw it today even though I hid it.

"Nothing? Why in hell would you make such shit? Were you planning to tell someone?"

"I-I-I don't know. I'm sorry."

"I guess it's time to teach the princess a lesson."

"N-N-No please no." I begged but in vain.

He unbuckled his belt and hit my right arm with it, hard. I was crying and begging but he kept on hitting me. He stopped after there was not a single place he hadn't hit at least twice.

"You know what will happen if you'll tell someone? The punishment will be harder next time. Is it clear princess?"

I nodded.

After he left, I locked myself in my room and cried myself to sleep. The next time I woke up with terrible ache killing me.

I couldn't tolerate it any longer. So I went to my mother.

"Do you want something Lila?"

"My hand, its aching. I fell in the bathroom." I added the last part so that she doesn't suspect something. Not like she cared.

She just gave me some painkiller and said it will get better.

It had been a week and there was no difference in the pain. Every time I told my mother, all she would say was 'it will get better' and hand me a painkiller.

I was sitting having dinner while Patrick and mom were busy discussing something when a terrible pain shot in my right hand. It was nothing like what I had been experiencing the past week, instead it was much worse.

I couldn't help but scream. It was intolerable. It felt as if my whole hand has gone numb. My eyes were drooping and then suddenly everything blacked out.

The next time I woke up in a hospital. My hand was bandaged. There was no one in the room but I could hear faint whispers from outside.

"I'm sorry ma'am but we really can't do anything." It was an unfamiliar voice, probably of the doctor.

"So what now?" It was my mom.

"She should learn to use her left hand. She won't be able to use her right hand much now. But if she wants to probably a rehab could help."

"She likes painting."

"I don't think she'll be able to do it anymore without proper rehab care."

"Okay." It was the last thing I heard before everything blacked out again.

That woman who called herself my 'mom' didn't even care to help me. I myself learned to use my other hand so I don't have to rely on anyone.

I wiped my tears that had involuntarily started flowing. Then suddenly it hit me.

I quickly took my schedule out from my backpack and started going through all my classes when I saw it.

They had enrolled me in an arts class? God No! I can't do it. I can't.

I immediately needed to do something about this.

~