This is a sneak peek at my novel, "Living The Game." Hope you enjoy it!
CHAPTER
1
OLIVIA
I
don’t belong here on earth. For as long as I can remember, I’ve
felt that way; like I wasn’t meant to be born. I was a mistake, as
my mom often reminded me.
My
parents were young when I was conceived, barely out of high school.
My Grandpa, Mom’s dad, threatened my dad with his life if he didn’t
marry his pregnant girlfriend. Neither she nor he wanted to get
married, but they were scared not to. I was born, seven months later.
For
nine years, I was told I wasn’t wanted. My dad left us two years
after they married, and my mom blamed me for that right from the
start. She began to hit me, starting with a simple slap in the face,
and ending with me in the hospital.
It
happened when I was nearly ten years old. I had been late getting
home from school because I was held in detention after class that
day. When I got home, I tried to explain to my mom why I was late,
but she would hear nothing of it. She grabbed my arm so tightly that
I screamed in pain. She took me over to the stove, turned it on, and
forced my hand on the front element. I screamed and tried to get
away, but she held my hand down. The burn was instantaneous. It
surged through my hand causing pain as I’ve never felt it before;
still, I refused to show her how much it hurt. After about thirty
seconds, I was able to punch her in the stomach with my free hand.
She doubled over, and I pushed her down. My left hand, now removed
from the hot element, was red, and white blisters were forming all
over my palm. Before I could get to the sink, Mom had gotten up, and
called me something I had only heard on television. I ran to the
front door, my hand searing in pain. It was now twice its size and
blisters were now fully formed; some of them were open, and white
liquid was coming out of them. I ran out the door and made my way
across the street, forcing a driver to slam on his breaks. I didn’t
care. I almost wished he had hit me.
I
ran up to my friend Lina’s house and barged in. Mrs. Baker, Lina’s
mother, was sitting in her favourite rocking chair, knitting. She
took one look at me, grabbed my arm and led me to the sink where she
proceeded to run cold water over my hand. I was silent as sweet
relief filled my head. After a couple of minutes, Mrs. Baker asked
what had happened.
I
had never told anyone about the abuse I suffered from my Mom. I was
too ashamed to admit that I needed help. But, Mrs. Baker was a kind
woman, and within minutes, I had poured out my entire story to her.
I cried, feeling helpless. Mrs. Baker hugged me. I felt safe for the
first time in my life.
She
took a look at my hand. “We need to get you to the hospital, Honey,
and have a doctor look at this,” she said. She grabbed her car
keys, told her husband and kids she would be back soon, and opened
the car door for me. Lina wanted to come with us, but Mrs. Baker
shook her head. I didn’t understand at the time, and was quite
upset with the older woman.
As
we drove to the hospital, I stared at Mrs. Baker. She was older than
my mom, but prettier. She had short, brown hair that had the
beginnings of grey thrown in. She was short, a little plump, and had
a beautiful smile. My mom never smiled, unless she was mocking me.
Mrs. Baker had a natural smile, one that lit up a room when it came.
It came a lot, as the Baker’s house was always full of laughter and
good natured teasing. I loved spending time at their home, and often
slept over there. Lina was my best friend, but even she didn’t know
of the terror I lived with every day of my life with my mother. I had
been punched, kicked, and now burned. I didn’t know it, but Mrs.
Baker had plans to protect me. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always
end up how you plan it.
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