***Nine years ago***
Estrella POV: age 10.
They were supposed to be home at five. They were always home at five.
They were home at four.
Dinner wasn't cooked, the trash wasn't taken out, the folded laundry wasn't put away yet.
I heard their car in the driveway and panicked.
Last time dinner wasn't ready when they were home... things got bad.
Bad for me at least.
There was nothing I could do, so I stood in the corner with my head bowed.
That was one of my rules; keep your head down. Vivian said it was because it made Mom and Dad upset to see such an ugly face. I didn't particularly think my face was ugly, but it must be true since she said it.
Mom and Dad said Vivian was always right.
I heard their playful chatter outside and a deep feeling of pain and confusion settled in my ten year old heart.
Why couldn't I be a part of it? Was I that unpleasant?
I heard the door open and they made their way from the foyer into the large kitchen that they use when they didn't have guests over.
They have a separate room for that.
I felt their gazes on me and I felt my cheeks heat up. I never liked being the center of attention.
That was Vivian's job.
"Where's the food, bitch?" My dad slightly slurred.
Great. He had been drinking. It's never good when he'd been drinking.
"Aye, fatass, your father is talking to you." My mother screeched at me.
My throat constricted and I couldn't breathe. I tried to part my cracked lips to answer, but I couldn't. Pure fear was coursing through my body.
Vivian walked over to me with a malicious glint in her eyes.
"I don't think she knows how to speak," she poked my forehead with her perfectly manicured hand, "Pigs usually don't."
My Mom and Dad erupted in laughter.
Tears stung my eyes, begging to be cried. Yet, I couldn't cry, it would only make it worse.
"Yeah it seems this pig also can't cook dinner on time like she's supposed to." My Mom said, stalking closer to me, until she stopped right in-front of me.
Her brand new Gucci boots and my dirty bare feet did not look right next to each other on the marble floor.
"She can't even bathe herself correctly. She truly is a pig." Vivian stated, mocking my dirty appearance.
I couldn't help it. They wouldn't allow me to shower and waste their money. The only time I got "clean" was when my punishments involved water.
They were usually the worst.
"Maybe we should teach her how?" Dad suggested, and I wondered if this was normal.
Did kids everywhere get treated like this?
It didn't feel right, and Vivian got treated like the princesses in the stories Mrs. Marina used to tell me when I was little.
I guess I would never know.
Mom and Dad said I wouldn't leave the house until I went to heaven.
Actually, they said hell, but I knew God and I knew where I was going.
Nevertheless, my body involuntarily began to tremble at the thought.
Last time they did something they called "water boarding" and it was not a sport where you ride on water with a board. Not in the slightest.
I snapped my head up to meet my mothers cold gaze, immediately regretting it.
She slapped me across the face.
It stung, almost as bad as when Dad did it.
My cheek flushed as I grabbed it, as if somehow holding it would make the pain go away.
It didn't.
It never did.
Now, the tears from before were amplified, and the barrier broke. The dam broke, and there was no fixing it any time soon.
The tears spilled onto my cheeks and I couldn't help but look into the eyes of the person who cause them.
They showed no remorse. Only pure amusement.
It was at this moment when I understood I did not have a regular family dynamic. I just didn't realize to what extent.
"Whatever. I'm just hungry. Let's just go to a steakhouse or something and let the pig wallow in her own filth." Vivian sneered, and for once I was thankful for her obnoxiousness and lack of patience.
It got them out of the house.
I rushed to my "room". It was basically just a cell, but I didn't know that.
It was in the west wing of the house, on the fourth and final floor.
Vivian and my parents slept in the north wing.
It was a very small room, the size of a typical closet, with two worn out dresses and a blanket inside, all of which the colors were faded. I had had them since birth, I think.
Not the dresses obviously, but I've had those for years too.
It had a room attached to it, with a toilet. No sink. Again, I wasn't worthy of water.
I would usually just sneak down into the south wing to use a staff bathroom to brush my teeth and wipe myself down.
It wasn't much, but at least I had a window. For that I was grateful.
I shut the door behind me for the night and crawled into the opposite corner, darkness consuming the room, except for the little light that came from the window since it was nearing dark.
The room didn't have a light, and the door automatically closed when I let go of it so I couldn't use the light from the hallway. The door was locked at night and whenever I acted up anyways, so it's not like I could sleep in the hallway.
The tears were finally coming to an end, hours later, when I heard footsteps outside my room.
I knew who's footsteps those were.
When you live in constant fear, you start to pay attention to the little things. The things like the sound of footsteps and even the breathing of others.
I suppose it's a survival mechanism.
The doorknob turned, and moms face appeared, droopy with her lipstick smeared, followed by Dads.
Ew.
I dropped my head and tried to blend in with the darkness, shuffling back into the corner as far as I possibly could.
It was no use.
"We told you we'd be back. To teach you, remember?"
I honestly don't know who said that. All I could focus on was the object behind them.
A pressure washer.
My ears rang and my face morphed into one of terror.
Who could do this to a child?
"We're here to help you get clean." Mom, I think, said with fake enthusiasm, as if she was taunting me.
They turned on the switch, the mechanical whirring filling the air as terror swallowed me whole.
Dad picked up the hose handle, and proceeded to hold it out to mom.
"You do the honors."
"Of course."
She pressed the button and all I could feel was
immense pain.
Everywhere.
That's how I lost my last baby tooth.
That's how my nightmares were created.
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Sorry for the late update. I'll try to get back on schedule.
How are y'all liking the book? Any ideas, questions, comments?
Happy reading,
Ann.