It was the morning that my mom was sending me off to my new school. She was currently braiding my wavy, dirty blond hair.
"Are you sure that people aren't going to see my back?" I asked, concerned about my beaten back. Two years of baseball bat abuse can really do a number on you.
Slashes, bruises, scars that refuse to heal, you name it. My mom always said that I got the worst of it, and to be honest, I can't disagree.
"Honey, you'll be fine. There are other kids like you there." I rolled my eyes. "Ya, sure. It's not like I've gotten the worst beatings, oh wait." My mom let out a sigh.
"Honey. Yes, you've gotten the worst of it. Yes, I know you're trying to put yourself back together. But I know you're going to be just fine." I sighed, put on a fake smile, and replied, "Of course mom."
But I knew this was going to end like everything else in my life.
Failure.