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Written by Buttshovingmonster
Chapter 3Heavy pile of books in bag… Check
Heavy pile of books in hand … Check
A helping hand to take some of the weight of her back… Who was she kidding?
Stepping out the school building, she hurried to the bus stop, desperately wanting to be relieved of the load she was carrying. She was nearly there; it was just round the corner when something wet landed on her arm. She looked down at her sleeve, and then looked up. Two similar raindrops fell straight into her eyes.
“AAAARGH SHIT… MY BLOODY FREAKING EYES!”
Books fell onto the floor in a great heap. The sky was silent as if pondering whether they should spare the mortal below or just let loose and have a little fun, be it at the expense of a little girl…
A second bout of swearing ensued, more colorful and expansive then the first.
Aaaah… How could anyone resist torturing someone who was so amusing when provoked?
“Sodding sky… couldn’t you just have waited till I was under… shelter maybe? And now my damn books are ruined… RUINED! Wet, cold, heavy books… day doesn’t get any better for me does it?” Isabelle grumbled under her breath.
“Why not?”
Isabelle whirled around. There was no one. She closed her eyes. Shit, am I hearing voices in my head now? Do you really hate me that much? What’s next? Send me to a mental institution?
“Isabelle?”
The voice does not exist. Does NOT exist. Isabelle just ignore it! Don’t acknowle-Slowly she opened her eyes.
Only the pattering of rain hitting the cement pavement met her vision. She was just about to tear her hair out in frustration when she heard it again.
“You might want to look in front and not behind the next time.”
For the second time, Isabelle turned and gasped.
It was he. The one she had kicked then disappeared. Wait… How did he know her name?
“How do you know my name?”
He smirked. He SMIRKED! Why that cocky arrogant git with the brains of a –
“When a red haired girl screams the name Isabelle in the corridors, you don’t tend to forget the name.” Cue smirk. “My name’s Chad. Chad Donohue. Nice to meet you Isabelle…?”
She looked at him for a while as though in contemplation. Then she looked behind him and the corner of her lips tugged up. It was her turn to smirk.
“Well, that was definitely a nice introduction Chad Donohue, But I best be going now. My ride’s here. Tata!” Two doors automatically opened and Isabelle quickly boarded the bus, leaving a speechless Chad behind.
Empty.
YES!
Wait. A PDA sat pompously on her mother’s dressing table as though daring her to rejoice, reminding her that she was a silly child. Of course her mother was in.
Andrea Higgins never left the house without her PDA. True to the words, Mrs Higgins exited the toilet and proceeded to the kitchen. She never did acknowledge her daughter standing at her door nor notice the expression that clouded her eyes at that moment.
Isabelle stood at the threshold of the master bedroom. Her eyes were closed, her hands fisted. Jaw tightened. Her expression was unreadable. Then slowly the tightness dissipated and fingers unclenched. She opened her eyes but there was nothing. Nothing in them but swirls of chocolate with flecks of black like twin scoops of ice cream dusted with chocolate rice. She had perfected this blank look to the T. No one could read her face because it was impossible to read a mask.
She went to her room.
Switched the computer on and flopped onto her bed, waiting for the computer to start. Her mind immediately began sorting out schoolwork, projects and due dates then setting a timetable of sorts for her to go by. No wonder she was a straight As student that everyone envied and admired. Everyone except for the one who gave birth to her.
Who gave Isabelle her name.
Who taught her right from wrongs.
Who kicked her out of the room when she was only six and could not remember her three times table.
Who locked her in the bathroom when she made her unhappy.
Who caned her when she scored a 35 out of 50 for her class test till she had black and blue marks decorating her legs and buttocks and could hardly walk to school the next day.
Who forbid her to cry because it proved to her how pathetic she was and that nobody will care anyway even if she did cry.
She did not want to remember anymore but oh how long the list stretched…
She could feel the ache beginning at her heart. The ache that never subsided. She may not feel it but it was always there, just waiting to be released.
She pulled herself together. She was not the type to wallow in self-pity.
She went to the computer. It was her solace, one of her means of escapes from reality, from her troubled mind, from her mother. She logged on to her online journal and began to type.
Monday, 2 November 2005
I’m in your eyes
I’m in your blood
I’m in the color of your skin
I’m you
You don’t want to see me
You don’t need to want me
But you’re forgetting something vital
I’m you
I’m a part of you
You don’t seem to understand
Understand that I need love
Love that you can’t seem to give
Giving and nurturing,
Aren’t that what mothers are for?
The storks gave mine the baby
But left these words unsaid
I
don’t know mother dear,
Of what I did that was wrong.
Was it the way I try to live up to your dreams?
Or trying to be a daughter that you might long?Why mommy, why?
Why don’t I get the hug
Or the kisses that they get?
Why mommy why?
Why do I get the cane
Or the belt you sometimes use?
Mommy,
I want to
Love you.
But you,
Make it
So hard.