Free-Falling
Please note that this story is completely fiction. Nothing in here has happened, to my knowledge. The places are all made up as well as the characters. Thank you.
Introduction
You don't know me. It feels to me, like no one ever did know me, from the start. If you're looking for a happy story for little toddlers, I suggest you keep moving on. You're about to hear my story. My birth name is Zeta Greene. You may get a little confused as I tell you my story, considering I go by multiple identities through-out.
I'm fifteen years old. I have long blonde hair that reaches just above my hips. My eyes are a soft blue-green. Some call me an Amary. I'm 5'4 and I weigh approximately 110. I have a scar right above my eyebrow from a fight with my dad years ago.
My fathers name is James Greene. He's a tall guy, maybe 6'2? He's got a large beer-belly clung to him. I doubt he's able to see his toes. His hair is a dirty looking brown color. He always has grease covering his nails, a drunken stinch following him everywhere. He's not a very nice man but he hadn't always been a no-good drunk. Not until my mother left us.
I was nine when my mother took off. Neither my father or I had expected her to take off with her boss, Mr. Gregory Lee. They'd been in a 'heist' together, as my father had called it. Mr. Lee had ran a small bank on the edge of Kirkswater town. They'd both cleared it out within the night and that was that. Alexia Greene fell off the face of the earth.
Alexia wasn't much taller than I am now, she was maybe 5'6 at most. She kept her beautiful blonde hair cropped into a pixie cut. Her eyes were the softest blue I'd ever seen. Thought some-what tall and skinny, she was a very petite woman. Frail all through. I remember that she always had a scent to her -- always. She smelt of lilacs blossoming in the summer. Her teeth so white that they reminded me of pearls. She was, all together, a beautfiul woman. I was afterall a spitting image, beside the hint of green to my eyes.
I think that is what made it so hard for my father to look at me. That I looked exactly like the woman who betrayed him. He'd given her his heart and what did she do? Threw it on the ground and stopped on it. I was the offspring of the woman who he now resented so much. This was the solemn reason my father hated me.
Chapter 1
Each day seems to get longer. I watch my father drink away his sorrows. I listen to his shaky voice shouting across the room at me, telling me I'm worthless and a liar. So many other names flood from his cracking lips. I watch as he sways, tears flowing slowly from his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. Every night seems to be a repeat, only getting worse. If he's drunk enough, I even get slapped around a little.
Tonight, he holds his Whiskey bottle in his left hand, shouting, with his right hand on the chair next to him to keep him standing. I could already tell from the look in his eyes he'd lost reality once more. To him, I was my mother for a night. He could say what he wanted, do what he wanted, what he felt like he should do if Alexia ever returned.
His breaths were short, no tears flowing tonight. "You're worthless! How could you leave me -- and OUR daughter behind? All for some rich scam-artist?" His anger bubbled in his voice, causing it to crack occasionaly. I already knew tonight I would take a hefty beating. I prepared myself.
"Alexia, get over here!" He hollered, his voice booming through-out the entire house. It wasn't very big and we definatly didn't live in a very good part of Kirkswater. I approached with my hands held to my sides, nervously. I never knew how hard the first hit would be. His first hit marked how the rest of the night would go. If it was a light hit, he'd end up on the floor crying, begging for me, 'Alexia', to forgive him and come back. If it was a hard hit, I would wake not remembering how the night really went, bruises all over.
I was surprised as I came face-to-face with my father. He did not hit me as his usual routine consisted of. He merely gave me a wicked grin. For the first time in years, I was scared. Never had he looked at me with such fire burning in his eyes, such an sinister grin, the light glinting off his rotting teeth. What did he have planned?
It hit me as soon as he reached out, his hand groping my buttocks. With his other hand, he traced from between my breasts down to my navel, a wicked laugh errupting. I was scared. Never been had I fought back, really fought back, but did I have a choice now? This man -- the man who should have loved me unconditionally, never want a boy to touch me, was going to try and take the only innocence I had to me. I shrieked as he curled my long hair around his enclosed hand, scowling. "I wasn't man enough, Alexia? We'll see about that! I'll show you, you filthy slut."
I kicked me feet and screamed, pleading for help from anybody. I knew my screaming was futile, that the only way out was to fight back. I cringed, feeling my hair strain against my scalp as he dragged me. Tears flooded down my cheeks like a steady waterfall. Before I could do much, I was thrown onto his bed. I knew I needed to get away.
He began to rip at my clothing, tearing the thin straps of my tank-top, clawing at my night-pants. He was like a dog, not about to back down. I had to get free. I felt a stinging on my cheek and knew from the loud clapping sound that I'd just been slapped. Everything felt so hazy. I didn't even know what I was doing when I reached out to grab the vase on the inn-table, by the bed. I heard the vase crack and my father fell off the bed, limply. I lay there panting, having only my under-clothes left. My torn tank-top was tossed off to the side, my night-pants kicked off the end of the bed from my struggle.
I listened. No movements and shallow breathing. At that moment, I didn't care whether he died or not. Through the cruel beatings, the harsh names, the dirty looks, I stood strong. He didn't know reality anymore, I couldn't stay. I climbed out of bed, tip-toeing as a habit. I made my way to my own room, gathering a bag of clothing. He was no longer the man I had been raised by, the one who was there for me when mother left. He was only the stranger who resented me for my resemblence to a woman he once loved. I was merely a punching-bag to this once wonderful man.
I dressed quickly, staring at myself in the mirror. He'd hit me more than I remembered. My eye was blackening, a bruise forming on my cheek-bone. My hair was matted and messy from him dragging me. My nose and eyes were red from crying. This would be the end of my fear towards him. The spot I'd always kept dull for loving him, the man who treated me so poorly, was empty. I had no feelings left for the cruelty of my abuser. The Zeta Greene he knew was changing and he wouldn't be there to see it.
It was dark so getting out the front door with-out being seen wasn't hard. No one ever looked towards the house on the corner of King Street. Everyone in Kirksville knew what happened in that home, the abusing of a young girl. None of them had ever dared to help. That's when I realized it. I didn't need help from anyone, ever again. I couldn't rely on others to save me from my troubles. I had to save myself.
I heard the trains whistle approaching Kirksville, meaning they had some items to drop off. I would hitch a free ride on one of the carts. The cool air gave me goose-bumps as I ran with my back-pack secured tightly. I couldn't miss my one way out of Kirksville. If I stayed, they would easily find me, and it would only become worse.
Once I made it to the train station I stayed low, watching the train-assistants unload whatever were in the carts. As they finished and made their way back onto the train, I clambered into the back cart. I slid the big door shut. Everything went dark.
I would be free.
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