Protecting Cecilia

Cecilia

Song: When she cries by Britt Nicole

Warning: This book does contain Triggers for some with absuse and self harm. You have been warned ahead of time. Please enjoy and thank you for taking the time out to read my story.

I have never known what it's like to fit in. To be someone. I could die at any given moment and no one would give a shit. No one would miss me, not even my own parents.

I was a mistake; I was never meant to be. My mother was to never have me. Unlike the rest of her miscarriages that my father made sure she had, I on the other hand survived. Don't ask me how but it happened and now I'm their burden, the piece of shit that never does anything right no matter how many times I try.

When I was little I tried to please them, wanting them to accept me, to love me. It took me thirteen years to realize there was no point in trying. I will always be a useless pain in the ass.

My father is an alcoholic. He will never admit to it though. He can never hold a job and the reason why we live somewhere just long enough till we get kicked out again.

My mother, she puts up with his shit. I don't know why any woman would, but she does. I know I will never be involved with a guy like that. She has probably worked at every restaurant in town, waitressing long hours, minimum wage and crappy ass tips. Some have been nice enough though to let her bring food home, which was nice when we didn't have anything in the cabinets or the fridge for that matter. Even on those nights, I got the left over's whatever they didn't want, like the hard stale fries and burnt bread, even the left over pizza crust that they left behind.

I hated going to school, but at least there I got to eat. Thankfully our schools have free meals otherwise I wouldn't be eating there either. No way in hell they would give me money for that. There have been plenty of times that I stashed away food in my worn out backpack to bring home for later at night just so my stomach will stay calm enough so I could think about sleeping and not my empty stomach.

Believe me; I don't fit in there either. Rich stuck up kids stare at me because while they wear their fancy named brand shit, I wear Goodwill and sometimes if I'm lucky clothes from cheap ass yard sales.

Every school is the same. I have moved so much over the years that I lost count and switching schools is like a game. I will never make friends. I will never fit in so why even bother trying.

One more year and I am gone. One more year and I am walking out that door and never coming back. I would already be gone but apparently my parents get money from the state because of me and because I'm not eighteen yet. Whatever that means, it's not like I have ever seen a dime of that money and I know that I never will.

It's a cold winter night in early December when he comes storming into my bedroom, kicking the mattress.

"Get the hell up, were moving." He yells and then walks back out.

It's not the first time and it won't be the last. He is behind on rent by a month. He likes to skip out in the middle of the night. Of course I don't have time to pack and it's not like I really have anything to begin with.

I pull myself up out of bed and drag out my worn broken suitcase. I fold my clothes, trying to get in as much as possible because I know I can only bring the one.

We pile up in the beat up piece of shit Pontiac and the only thing I have to my name is this suitcase full of ratty ass clothes. He drives into the dark night along the streets until he finds a place to park and that's where we stay the night. Yep, cramped up in a car, in the freezing cold. I don't know what would be better in the hot summer sweating to death or like now freezing so bad that my fingers are going numb. Even when I breath out, I can see my breath in the air.

Well this is my life I should be use to it by now, I guess it could be worse so why complain.