A Smile

18. Twisted

Twisted

The steady beeping of medical equiptment was the only thing I could hear when I woke, and though my eyes were heavily shut, the smell of blood was still strong and my lower back was still burning where the scar was. I could feel my leg was elevated and my arm in a sling.

Despite the blood, I could still smell the disinfectant and the aroma of bleach that surrounded me- I knew I was in a hospital- safe, but It didn't comfort me. They would of seen my other scars, the cigarette burns, the cuts, the brusies- just how damaged I really was.

They could see them all they want, but they could never understand the mental ones, the emotional one. The ones that don't go away unike a bruise.

The steady beeping started to get quicker as I thought about him, Travis, how he beat me, used me to substitute for mother's death- did he abuse mum too? Is that how she died? Then there was Frank, he knew about everything, they said he was in the police station. Is he? Do they know what he did to me?

My breathing was eratic now, but no air seemed to be getting to my lungs, like when I was held under the water. Chocking on an invisable substance, my head thrashed from side to side.

Faintly, I heard a door crash open, which allowed my eyes to sharply open and seeing the eyes that loomed over me, caging me in just like he did. Holding me down like he did. They injected me with something, my attempts to free the human barrier became futile and the blackness took over

This happened a few times, I would wake up, panic and start yelling or thrashing around. It was around the fifth I woke up when my brain started to process the events... I was safe? Yes safe.

My eyes lingered on the ceiling, the dull grey squares. I must of counted them a thousand times, but never remembered the answer. But I knew my memory was fine, I knew who I was:

Myra Louise Clay.

16 years of age.

Female- obviously.

I work for a gym to pay for the house.

I have a brother called Marcus.

Friends.

I've been abused since I can remember by my pathetic excuse of a father and his oh, so loyal friend.

My mother is dead.

I have now over twelve scars on my back.

My hair is ginger.

My eyes are blue.

But none of that is important, all I can focus on is the perfect image of Blake's face in my mind. His beautiful brown hair and green eyes, that in the right light shine a thousand shades of emerald... I hope he was okay, he didn't look so good when we talked before the ambulance came. Blake better be okay! oh God... "Blake..." I finally mumbled, the first word I've spoken since a few blackouts ago "Blake."

After a few minuets of me mumbling his name, a nurse finally walked in holding a clip borad under her arm, a warming smile on her face though it did nothing but damper my feelings, she wasn't Blake. A long white coat hung from her shoulders to mid thigh, her brown hair puled back into a ponytail and her glasses perched on the bridge on her noes

"Hello, Miss Clay." she announced formally "I'm Caitlin"

I quickly scanned my injuries, everything hurt but my leg felt like it was on fire. Pain spreading from my ankle and up to my knee making it impossible to move- possibly broken. My arm faintly hurt, but with all the medicine I'm drugged on, its probably sprained... Nothing else seems to be out of the ordinary