TRIGGER WARNINGS: NON-GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF ABUSE
CONTENT WARNINGS (CWs): Description of an injury
A/N: This is my first novella! I wrote this back in late 2020/early 2021, but it has gone through major edits. I've decided to start posting it here. I'll be updating every other week. The Prologue does involve a non-graphic description of physical abuse, so you are free to skip it if you feel uncomfortable. Enjoy the story!
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, my heart thudding.
"Be careful, Arwen!" I slapped a hand over my mouth before I could say anything else out loud.
You need to be quiet. You'll wake Alvah, and she'll make your life even more miserable than it already is!
I gasped. It was the first time I'd actually called myself by my real name in all eight years of my life. Normally, I went by my pet name, Wenny. But, since I was being mature—or maybe stupid—enough to run away, I couldn't use my nickname any longer. It was too childish. I padded to the front door, a pair of worn sneakers in hand. I'd learned the hard way that my foster mom, Alvah Drake, was a light sleeper when I tried to head out the door to stargaze for my fifth birthday. One heavier-than-usual stomp with my shoes, and Alvah had rushed out wielding a belt, which she furiously applied to my back. And that wasn't even the first time she'd hurt me.
That woman proved to be an absolute monster. I still have scars from the years of abuse under her "care."
I needed to find the truth about my folks' deaths. And just sittin' around and gettin' whipped for every misbehavior wasn't gonna get me any closer to my goal.
I opened the door just a crack, hoping it wouldn't creak. It didn't. Trembling, I squirmed out the door and into the yard, pausing to put on my shoes. Then I was out into the pitch-black night, free from my foster mother's cruelty and tyranny.