The Bracelet with the Bow

I never wanted this to happen. I never thought it could be possible. But it is, and it did happen. I gripped the little green charm on my wrist, wanting all of them back. Wanting it all to go back to the way it used to be, before That day. I wish it never happened. But at the same time, I wouldn't have it any other way. Allow me to tell you a story that could change the way you think about people.

See, I never had fancy jewelry or nice clothes or even a phone like most teenagers. No, all I had was tattered clothing and broken bones. The basement with a cold stone floor and concrete walls was the place I called a bedroom. For the longest time it was the nicest thing I had gotten. After you got past the bloodstains, it wasn't so bad. Only when my father or brother came in with a bat or a crowbar was it terrible. Anything that happened to me was always worse in the summer, because of school. Even then it still sucked. It never used to be this way, you know. My brother used to be my best and only friend and my father used to sing me lullabies at night. But everything changed to my hair being matted from all the blood and my waist skinnier than a toothpick from being underfed.

You're probably wondering why its like this. What changed my family to be like this monstrosity? I guess it started with my mom. We had gone into the city to go shopping one day and she bought me this beautiful glass bird. We went back to the car when I dropped the box that contained the figure and it had fallen out, revealing the bird unharmed. I remember everything being so fast yet so slow. I remember running out into the street to grab the glass bird, then my mother practically throwing me to the sidewalk. As I hit the ground, the bird had fallen out of my hand and shattered into a million unfixable pieces.

All that happened when I was seven. "Mommy?" I remember shaking her trying to get her to wake up. "Mommy wake up please," I remember crying and police officers pulling me away. For over eight years Ive been going through this tortured life. The truck driver didnt stop because he was on his phone trying to check his ratings. But my father was stricken by grief and vendetta. In doing so, he took it all out on me. To make things worse, he turned my older brother, Callum against me. Why wouldn't I run? Where would I go? I lived in the middle of nowhere. I guess thats Indiana for you. I had no friends because of how scared I was of what they thought of me. Not even the teachers could help me. I was trapped. At least thats what I thought come my sixteenth birthday.

"Hope you learn your lesson soon," Eric Briair, my father spat holding a bat loosely in his hand. I had just gone through another beating. Everything hurt as if I was made out of pain itself. So naturally, I couldnt move an inch. Oh man I wished I could just take a shower. I was so caked in blood I was practically made of it too. Lying there, I only thought of one thing; I just wanted to die.

With every bit of effort I looked up at my father and brother. My fathers look was unsurprising, pure hatred and anger mixed with joy and satisfaction. My brother though, the look still hurt. His arms were crossed with his slim figure leaning against the bland concrete walls. But his eyes, unlike our fathers, his, were never satisfied. They always held nothing but hatred. Pure, cold relentless hatred. It hurt more than any crowbar or bat my father used. My father knew that. Thats why he brought him down to watch.

The drunken man turned away from me and had begun walking towards the door. Callum only blinked. Otherwise, he hadn't moved an inch. I didnt say anything, but only stared into his light brown eyes, silently pleading for him to help me. He seemed to have gotten the idea because his eyes narrowed more than I had thought possible.

"If you really think that Im going to help you out of this," he began. "You're sorely mistaken."

I thought that would be the end of it. That he would then leave and allow me to take care of my newly made wounds. Boy was I wrong.