Chapter 3

"And why on Earth would I consent to that?" I heard the semi annoyed voice of my step father inquire. 

I was bombshell shocked; so she came all the way from San Francisco, just to ask my step father's permission to have me marry her son? But why me? After all these years of losing contact with each other... Why did she need to pick me for such a thing? 

I wasn't even sure I knew how Simon looked like anymore, talk less of having feelings for him. This was just insane. 

Aunt Tara sighed heavily, before turning to look at the man in a black suit and sun glasses, that had a serious expression on tiredly, yet still very kindly. 

"Timothy, could you please leave us alone for a few moments?" 

Before she had even finished her sentence, I was racing up the stairs as quietly as possible, in a bid to go unseen by every single person in the house. I could not handle another round of beatings or the... Yeah, I couldn't just handle it. Immediatly after the man whom I was guessing was either her body guard, or security, left the living room, the door was closed behind him by my step father. 

So much for trying to find out what was going on. 

There was no use standing at the head of the staircase, and trying to listen if I'll hear what they said in the living room; it was soundproof. This meant that whatever they were talking about, would only remain between the both of them, and the four walls that made up the living room. 

As I walked slowly towards my bedroom, all form of energy that I had before evaporated into thin air, leaving me to feel like a tired shell of a person. There was a very strange feeling that had settled itself at the pit of my stomach; a mixture of worry, fear, and excitement. 

This meant that I indirectly had a ticket to finally leave this hell hole, once and for all. But at the same time, I was worried. 

I was worried because I didn't want to get married to someone whom I haven't seen for over a decade. I didn't even know how he looked! 

Marriage wasn't a game to me. I wanted a marriage that would be like my mother and real father's own was. Something that would last for a lifetime, something that was foundationed by love, and not some sort of an arrangement. 

I wanted to get married to someone I picked. Someone who would wake me up every morning with cute kisses, someone who I was sure would still love me even when I got old, and my hair turned grey. Someone who would tell me that I was aging like fine wine; better with the years. I doubted heavily that I would get such a thing from Simon.

The fear on the other hand, opposed every other emotion that I felt. The fear made me want to jump at the opportunity and grip it with everything in me. But what if my step father disagreed? What if he refused Aunt Tara's request? Would he even allow me to ever get married? 

As I cleaned my face with my hands from a strange wetness that kept on coming, my hand was painted a dark shade of crimson. Bloody hell, I was Still bleeding. I woke up from where I sat by the my room door, and slowly walked into my bathroom. 

I turned on the tap, staring down at the sink in a bid to avoid my reflection in the mirror before me. I couldn't bare to see myself; I hadn't taken a proper glimpse at myself in the mirror, since I turned thirteen.

I forced my mind not to travel down memory lane, splashing water on my face over and over again just to keep myself sane. 

Unfortunately, my mind was out of my control. It played the scene anyway, paying no heed to my protests and pleas. 

I could still remember it like it was just yesterday. I had tried my best to forget about it, but nothing worked. It was like a constant reminder, of how I lost my virginity so brutally and shamefully. 

It was three months after my mother had died from leukemia. My step father had gotten so depressed, that he had started drinking and doing drugs. He found his solace at the bottom of the bottle and the smoke in his lungs, while I found mine in painting and dancing. 

I had just gotten back from school that day; I was still in highschool, my sophomore year. That day was my birthday. 

I hadn't heard when he came back from the bar, I was still in shower. 

He was terribly drunk. Scenes of how he bursted into my room, calling my name hysterically replayed in my head over and over again.

I shut my eyes tight, biting my lip so hard that I was sure to draw out blood soon. 

I took my head up. My eyes connected with that of my reflection's. All hell broke loose. 

I could see the face of my younger self, begging him to stop. 

I could hear my cries, as he hit my head on the tiled floor multiple times.

I could see red. The same red that colored my face right now, all around me. 

I begged myself to take my eyes off the girl in front of me, her face reminding me of all the nights I had cried myself to sleep. 

The bruises on her skin reminded me of everything I tried to forget. 

The hand prints on my neck, a clear reminder of the rough feel of his hands on me. 

"No! Please! Stop!" I cried, covering my ears in a bid to silence the voices I heard, but it was to no avail. 

They only got louder and louder, enjoying my hysterical sobs of pain. 

I slid down to the floor, the energy and will in me, crumbling as each scene replayed in my head over and over again. 

When was I going to get out of here?...