Escape Has No Destination

The frigid water encapsulated my frail body as it slowly crept up my shoulders. Melancholy hues invaded under the thin flesh and the sanguine, swollen cuts appeared superficial, however, physically penetrated through the layers of skin in the midst of creating numerous cracks within my meek physique. My lack of breath simulated suffocation as I was pulled up by my hair and shoved back down into the tub of numbing ice water. The crystalline chunks slowly melted into my bare flesh, moreover, quickly heightening my body temperature. The pain devitalized my muscles, and the coldness that streamed through my system felt like paralysis.

Just when I thought I could barely crawl my way back to life, suddenly grabbed by my neck, I was thrown to the floor. My clothes were drenched with water and dragged down my already weak physique. Despite previously being indulged into the water, I sunk into the feeling of a dirty, abandoned child, thrown into the filthy alleys.

A large figure leered over me, dominant and condescending, “You lowly peasant! Do you think anyone’s going to listen to your begging? You better not jeopardize your father and I’s reputation.” A word to the public about the unilateral violence that goes around this prison on my behalf would be controversial. The public audience would find it simply incredulous. Even if I try, it’s manifestly futile. I’d have to pray for benediction to escape this hazardous misery.

The slim, pale figure, my mother, once again aggressively seized me by my shirt, lifting only my upper half torso, and her perilous and merciless eyes pierced through my caliber. She dropped me down to give me one more slap. “Clean yourself up for dinner,” slowly turning her head to glare at me, “You don’t want them to know, do you now?”

I was too scared to speak a word. My body had no more physical strength left to do anything. I curled up into the fetal position, eyes fixed into darkness. The pain continued to throb as if pins and needles were rooted within my skin. Nevertheless, my miserable agony was far from over. Caught in the midst of her steps, she turned back around from the doorway as she attempted to refrain her boisterous stomping. She snatched my head by the hair and dragged me over to the sink counter-top. Tightening her grasp on my skull, she vigorously pounded my head against the corner of the counter.

“What did I say? HUH?!”

I continued to stay silent while she continued to raise her voice, “ANSWER ME!”

Blood started to flood out from the opened wound covering my forehead. Weakly looking up at her, I grit my teeth and mouthed “no”.

The corners of her lips tugged into a malicious smirk. Her malevolent eyes reflected the defenseless, feeble body she had previously lacerated. Her slender fingers, stained with her child’s blood, slipped down under my chin. She released her grip on my skull to retreat to place pressure against the quarter-sized wound on my forehead.

Darkness loomed over me as she whispered into my ear, “You better be able to conceal that.” Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, it encrypted into my empty, torn mind. Mother let go of me and walked to the mirror, fixed her appearance and quickly left the gory scene. All that was left was a body emitting blood head to toe and malfeasance and secrets that are sewn under a feigned smile.

She’s not the only one who beats me... my father does as well. There’s always one reminder after every beating: the interdiction of exposure that could potentially damage their well-built reputation in their monolithic company’s hierarchy. In their reality of the world, ranking is everything to them. Obtaining dominance over the majority and intimidating the weak. However, having a child, much less a daughter, blemished the greatness of how they viewed themselves. People around town believe it’s great to finally have an heir to their company. Still, corrupted by wealth and greed, their perfect life suddenly disappeared once my existence became known. At first, they began to raise me to become a quintessential, proper heir to their business, however, as I got older, pointing out my flaws became a hobby of theirs. They then decided I wasn’t the ideal candidate to take over the company, and so began the abusive relationship once I turned the ripe old age of seven.

In terms of “abuse”, it started as a slap to the face when I made a mistake during the lessons they forced me through to become a proper “lady” and quickly escalated to cuts and scrapes that littered my body. I was oblivious and ignorant of their resentful attitude towards me at such a young age. Denial encapsulated the abuse and in my innocent mind, I thought that the cause of my “punishments” was because I wasn’t the ideal child and instead just a mere neophyte in my parent’s world. However, it didn’t take me much longer to realize what was actually going on. It’s quite unfortunate that I was born their child.

That night, I didn’t attend dinner. That night, my existence slipped from their minds. They’ll wake up to another morning, however, they’ll find themselves nonplussed, discovering no trace of the “beloved” daughter. In their vast, elegant mansion, will sit an empty room with only blood staining the walls. To an unknown destination, I escaped onto a train.