Blood Stained Past

Chapter 3

* Sorry it is so short! I'll write more next time!:)*

 I watched her eyes change. First to surprise, then confusion, and then anger.  She got up walked over to me and slapped me as hard as she could in the face. “ What was that for!” I screamed, touching the spot that her hand hit.

“ You will not make those kind of accusations in MY house!” She screamed, getting in my face.

“ It is not an accusation! It is a fact! Max hits me, and you just let him get away with it!” I yelled, telling her how it was.

“ Max has never hit you! You make up these crazy stories, to try to get him in trouble.  Your jealous because I don’t give you my 100% attention” she yelled, trying to make herself believe her lie.

“ Then how did I get these broken ribs? Or this big cut on my head? I obviously didn’t do it to myself.” I told her, trying to make her believe me.

 “ You’re a slut, some guy probably got sick of you trying to suck his dick, and beat the shit out of you, to teach you a lesson.” She told me, matter of factly.

I was horrified.  I was not a slut, I have never even had sex before, for god’s sake. I never even showed my cleavage. If anything I was a church girl. I can’t believe my own mother would say such awful things about me.

“ It takes one to know one” I said, just for kicks. I walked out of the kitchen and into the bedroom.  I laid on my bed, and  drifted off to sleep..

When I awoke the next morning, it felt like I had been hit by a train. The pain was 50 times worse, and I could barely move. I hobbled to the bathroom to freshen up. When I was done, I looked in the mirror, and saw the damages. The bruises were definitely darker, and the cut didn’t look as bad.

 I thought to myself. I’m going to have to do something, before he does some serious damage. Each time it’s getting worse. He usually only hits me where people can’t see… But this time, there's no hiding it.  I could call the police, and tell them. But they would never believe me. Everyone thinks Max is the nicest guy.              

 I need to get away. No one would miss me, and I’m not doing any good here. I’ll run away, I decided. I have to do it, or I could die. I can’t run now though. I am hurt, and I don’t have the supplies.  I’ll go where ever the road takes me. I’ll fend for myself, and get a job. This will be good for me.  I will give myself 2 weeks to heal, and get ready. But after that I am gone. Nothing is going to hold me back.