Untitled chapter
Wake up World
By Chloe Covington
I wake up in the house that brings me fear, my house with the dark clouds surrounding me trying to trick me into thinking that the day is yet over but it isn’t. So, I get dressed, put makeup on, do my hair, cover the bruises and scratches, go downstairs to eat breakfast, leave the house, walk to the bus, catch the bus, go to school, go home, do homework, go to sleep and repeat it all over again the next day; This is life or my life at the very least. What is the point?, you may ask. Why keep living, you’re wondering. How do you cope?, you might quietly think to yourself. Your face screams out what you really think. Why complain? You have money, you have everything you could ever want. Yeah, a few punches and being thrown across the room might hurt, but you have everything you could ever want or need, so why complain? It’s all everyone thinks society is: so, screwed up that we think it’s ok if abuse is occurring, if the income is steady we tell ourselves, if the bills are paid, if we fit the social norm, and as long as we get the things we want, it’s all ok!
Catching that bus to school each morning is terrifying. I tug my sleeve each morning to hide the etchings of the words that have managed to burn and cut themselves onto my skin. I become ashamed of the background that I come from. Everyone else is right, it’s unfair to complain about what I go through. I have everything I could ever want, everything, that is except, for a happy family- at least that’s what you think and say.
My dad’s always at work, and my mum sits at home sleeping around with whatever businessman she can find hoping that in her attempted efforts one day she will make us enough to get away from this hell hole. My ultimate mission is to see my mum happy, is to see my family as picture perfect, is to not need money to escape, and to get rid of this addiction, of the pain that runs through my arm, as I release what everyone says from my skin and make it permanent.
Constantly being asked how my body is so perfect, constantly being envied as I continuously paint my face with a mask of makeup, looking in the mirror and seeing myself as imperfect and flawed, with the scars catching the sun and glinting in the corner of my eye, almost blinding me. These are the tally marks of how many times I have been too weak and given up.
But everyone else sees a perfect body, to them my ribs sticking out indicates I could be a model and the long clothes I wear are always suiting the trend.
Dad came home last night and his terrifying hand swung at Mum’s flawless face. As the words left his mouth in a fury that felt like it dragged on in the slurred speech, that had been seen one too many times, the fury of someone who smelt like a bar and second- hand smoke. The scream continuously echoed throughout the house, feeling as if the sound would never end, the tears that ran down her face leaving a black trail of makeup done to impress, a constant reminder that things would never be different. He noticed me and my heart had stopped.
In his raged state, he flew across the room, picked me up and slammed my frail body against the wall. The only thoughts circulating through my head I was adding to my collection of tally marks and flaws. My throat felt like it couldn’t inhale air as his hand closed around it, I am begging myself to pass out. This was just everyday life for me, I went to sleep every night wondering what a normal life would be like. I didn’t have the same fairy-tale dream as everyone else, a normal life, A life where afternoon was sitting on the table ready to eat and a mum there for you when you needed her.
I woke up this morning and took the bandage from next to my bed out of the drawer, I wrapped it around my arm covering the etchings of a knife hitting skin, caused by words of hate and envy. I went downstairs and smiled putting the mask on that I’m used to putting on saying a friendly hello, waiting for the apology that I receive every morning from my dad as he realises what he did. I had a new plan today a plan that would save me from it all. Now all I had to do was put it into action.
I went on the bus to school everyone constantly looking at me as usual. I felt my face for something on it, looked into my phone camera, had I not used enough foundation, did I not hide the bruises caused by anger enough?
So that afternoon I ran, and I didn’t come back.
