Bombshells ~ Complete

Chapter One: Blackberries

Not gonna lie, I've never done this before. And by this I mean write down my whole life story. My life hasn't been something i'm proud of, by any means, but it did make me into the person I am today and i'm sorta proud of that.

My name is Ariel James. Rather plain, I know. I've heard it my whole life. And yes, I know i'm also named after a Disney Princess. It was my proudest achievement when I was seven. Then again, my name was all I really had that wouldn't hurt me.

I think I should just go ahead and give this a whirl.

Present Day:

  "Ariel!"

I groaned and rolled over in bed, pulling my sheet with me. I lowered the blanket enough to look at the clock with sleepy, half closed eyes. When I looked at the blindingly red numbers, my heart shot up to my throat and I jumped from my twin sized bed. I started running around my room, which was the tiny, way too hot attic.

Within seconds, I was dressed for the day and thanking God that I had showered the night before, after brushing my teeth. A pair of ripped, worn skinny jeans, a too big, cream sweater, and my dusty pair of white Keds later, and I was sprinting out of my room. As I ran I brushed my hair and put some deodorant on, though I knew it was probably going to be for naught.

When I made it down the stairs, I skidded to a stop in front of the kitchen. I brushed off my pants and shirt, trying to please him. And then I opened the door, which squeaked upon my arrival.

  "I ask you to do some very simple things in this house. Clean so i'm not embarrassed to bring people over. Cook, so that my already tired feet don't have to go about serving you. Don't talk to people, because God only knows what you would say to ruin me. And get up on time and have breakfast ready, because I can't be late to the office," My father smiled gently, grabbing my wrist and bringing me closer to him.

I gulped and tried to back away. He chuckled at my futile escape attempts. My stubby, well bitten nails clawed at his wrist. I knew that look in his eyes. I felt like a mouse, being played with by a cat who was now getting ready to pounce. My father smiled and brought me into a hug.

I had no clue what was going on.

  "Ariel, would you like to tell me what made you late this morning?" He asked, running a soothing hand down my hair. I thought about it, and then came up with the answer.

  "My alarm clock... It didn't go off," I said shakily. My father nodded, his chin rubbing against the top of my head as he did so. I could already tell my raven black hair was going to be a mess when he got done nodding. It easily went into frizz-ball mode. But that was the last thing I had to worry about.

The hand on the back of my hair suddenly stopped, and then yanked my head back with a vise like grip on my hair. I whimpered at the look in his eyes.

  "I tell you to do certain things. I expect them to be done," My father growled, before slapping me across the face. The hit sent me to the ground, and caused those frantically racing black dots to appear in my line of vision. I knew those dots all too well.

His foot landed in my gut, making all the air in my lungs come out of my nose and throat with a burn of air. It took a couple of minutes before I could regain my breath. In the middle of taking my first breath, my father's foot found its way into the area right below my ribs again. A strangled gasp escaped my mouth this time.

There was no talking or yelling, only the familiar thud of his foot hitting my stomach, and eventually any part of my body he could connect with. My legs, my back, my stomach, my shoulders, and my face were all victims of his assault.

There wouldn't be any school today. And he wondered why I was falling behind so much, but perhaps that was just another reason to leave me lying in a puddle of my own blood on the floor. I would never understand the way his mind worked when he was doing things like that.

  "Now, apologize," My father commanded. I didn't even think that I had nothing to be sorry for. I was ten minutes late. I just, somehow, instantly knew it was my fault.

It was always my fault.

  "I'm sorry, father. It won't happen again," Without hesitation, I uttered the small sentence. I knew it would make him happy for me to sound so weak and so small.

  "You're right. It won't," He agreed, sweeping hair off his sweaty forehead in one elegant stroke. I shuddered at the thought of his hands anywhere near me in the future.

He went to work, whistling a jolly tune. He would give a dollar to the homeless man down the street, say 'hi' to Sarah as she opened her amazing coffee shop, and then go to his office, chatting with co-workers along the way. Acting like he hadn't just beaten his daughter twenty minutes earlier.

He always walked. Said cars were too confining. I laid on the floor, numb to everything except the hatred I had. But not for my father, no. But for myself, for doing something wrong in the first place.

It wasn't easy getting up and fixing the food he had every Monday night, with me patiently leaning against the wall behind him, waiting till he spoke to me to talk. He told me the night before to make extra, so I was doing everything I could not to get beaten. Twelve steaks, well done, with mashed potatoes and gravy. The green beans were lightly salted, half a teaspoon into the pot where they boiled. I reached into our fridge for the final thing to fix, mom's homemade blackberry cobbler. Only to find, no blackberries.

I was so dead.

I turned off the stove, grabbed my purse, my phone, and an emergency twenty from the jar I kept safely hidden in my room. I found money every now and then and stuffed it in the jar for occasions like this. When I couldn't afford another beating.

I walked the entire way to a market that we had in the center of our small town, and saw a woman getting out of her white luxury car. Her nose turned up at the heat the second she stepped out of the car. I almost smiled, but then dropped my eyes and continued into the store.

Blackberries, blackberries, there they were!

With shaking fingers I reached out to grab a box, located on a shelf next to the strawberries, when a hand reached for the same box. I jumped back, surprised by the person. But my fingers had already been gripping the box, and so the box came to the ground. And the one beside it, and the one on top of that. Pretty soon, the entire fruit shelf was on the floor surrounding me.

I only had twenty dollars. How was I going to pay for all of this?

I looked up to see who caused my ungraceful fall and gulped when I saw her.