Page 1 of Beautifully Wounded

1

“Let me out!” My fists pummel my bedroom door, the timber rattling under each blow as I scream. “You can’t do this!”

I’m about to bash my fist again when a loud hum stays my hand mid swing, and it takes me a moment to recognise the sound. A loud sob escapes me as I spin to face my window, blinking to clear the wet blur of my tears.

“No!”

I stumble towards the window, testing the lock, already knowing it’s secure.

It’s always fastened, just to ensure I can never escape.

Spinning on my heel, I spot my chair at my desk and run for it.

“You can’t do this!” I scream again, my voice barely sounding like my own, having taken on an animalistic rasp.

Gripping my chair, I hoist it up to my chest before darting back towards the window, desperate to escape this prison my parents have forced on me.

I need to get out.

I need to get out, now.

As the hum continues and the setting summer sun gradually disappears from the lowering security shutter, I force another animalistic scream, and launch the chair towards the window.

The shattering of glass and the crash of the chair are loud as it breaks through and skims the lowering shutter, landing on the path outside my window. A glimmer of relief rushes through me at feeling the gentle evening breeze flow in and hit my sweat-soaked skin, teasing me with hope.

Hope that I can escape before it’s too late.

Hope that I can disappear and never be found again by these people.

My family.

The shutter is closing faster than I’d like, which kicks me into action, and despite the shards of glass protruding around the framed edges and the fact I know I’m going to get cut, I leap for the opening.

I have to get free. I can’t stay here anymore.

Rough hands grab me from behind, tugging me away from my only escape.

“No!”

“You can’t stop this from happening, Abigail!”

The screech of my mother is loud and menacing as she and my dad drag me kicking away from the opening as I watch, as if in slow motion, as the shutter finally seals shut, locking me in.

“Maggie, get the pills from the kitchen!” my mother demands of my sixteen-year-old younger sister as Mum and Dad wrestle me to my knees.

“No! No pills! Please!” I plead, my arms burning under my parents’ tight grips as they try to force me to stay still.

I don’t, and I won’t ever stop fighting them. Not now. This isn’t right. They can’t do this.

“I’ll get them, Mum,” Maggie calls enthusiastically, dashing from the room as I plead with her.

“No Maggie. Stop. You know this isn’t right!”

“Maggie, no!” my littlest sister, Tahli cries, her voice trailing off as she chases after Maggie.

Damn it. I don’t want Tahli going against my parents. She’s only twelve, and so much like me. I fear what they might do to her if she’s seen to be siding with me.

But Maggie, they love her. She’s their favourite. She never does anything wrong in their eyes. If only she’d talk to them. Try to get through to them on my behalf, I may have a chance of getting out of this unscathed.

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