ALETHEIA [ON GOING]

1. Fire and Ash

Every chapter, I'll put a song at the top that I think matches it.

For this chapter, I recommend playing 'No Rest for the Wicked' by Lykke Li (until it gets to the next song, but you'll know when)

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I've always felt as if my heart were split in two, the other half missing.

Since I was young, I was always misfortunate. If anything could go wrong, it would.

When I was only four years old, my aunt Rosie told me my parents were killed in a car crash by a drunk driver.

She took me in, and our relationship wasn't exactly normal. I was taught to cook and clean, and as soon as I could do those things on my own, I was alone.

Its been that way since I could remember. I didn't mind though, since she was never home.

I barely saw her, and when I did, I was cooking and cleaning for her. When you're alone and have the world's weight on your shoudlers, you learn to grow up. Fast.

She had never hit me or verbally abused me until I was eight, when she met Jake. Jake was your typical deadbeat. He was an abusive asshole, and would go out of his way to make my life hell.

Of course, she fell in love with him, and he moved in. The first time he hit me was when I had spilt his drink. He had sat on the couch, watching the TV and motioned for me to get him another drink.

I stopped cleaning the countertops, and went to the fridge, pulling a beer out as I walked back into the living room. As I was handing it to him, I tripped over his leg, causing me to drop the glass bottle.

He started shouting, and threw the broken glass bottle at the wall beside me, shards slicing into my skin, dark red blood spouting from the little cuts all over my right arm, dripping onto the carpet below.

I was sent to my room, and Rosie came in half an hour later when Jake was asleep and bandaged the large wound on my upper arm.

I tried to thank her, but she only cursed. "This wasn't for you, child. If you died, I would go to jail."

She left shortly after, and when I woke up the next day, I found cleaning supplies on the kitchen counter along with a note, 'Clean up the mess.'

It took me an hour and a half to get the blood out of the carpet, and when they both got home, he slapped me when he saw I had not yet cleaned the rest of the house.

Days of torture turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned to years.

When I turned 16, I walked into the living room where Rosie and Jake were sitting, and asked, "Can I please go to my friend's house for the afternoon? They planned me a party today for my 16th birthday."

Jake, placing his beer on the table beside him, stood from the couch and walked over to me, stopping mere inches away and towered over me, my head just reaching his chest.

"Really? Would you like a present?" He smiled, but it wasn't one of warmth. I shook my head, but it was too late.

"N-no thank you" I said quietly, and stepped away, only for him to lean forwards and grab my upper arm.