Chapter 2 Belle’s POV

If I could at least stand up for myself, then I would.

But I couldn’t.

My mouth opened some days to actually voice something and nothing came out. 

So technically, I was one badass in the ‘take all the shit’ game.

It was all I felt was enough to describe me. I remembered saying “I’m sorry” many times instead of telling people “fuck you” in their faces.

Giving them exactly what they dished out.

That was so not me.

The belief that your roots shaped who you became was correct. Mine left me flinching anytime a door slammed.

I felt like they warped my mind and the way I act around people. 

There was no escaping this shithole of a life, all thanks to them.

Tracing my forefinger over the uncompleted tattoo on my ankle, I fought to keep the welling tears at bay. 

I should have done something, shouted at him. 

Just anything. Not sit there like a nodding moron that I had shown I was.

He had only started filling the bottle tattoo he sketched with ink before his girlfriend came in; the unpainted part of the bottle without even a cover revealed my pale skin.

I had taken a bus to the other side of town for an incomplete tattoo. 

My ankle still stung. 

The more anger I felt towards myself, the more my hatred for that damned tattooist increased.

We had been in Malibu for two weeks, at one of my father’s beach houses. According to them, it was a vacation that would change things for us.

I hadn’t seen that happen in the two weeks we stayed.

It was the same constant fights and arguments, mostly after an alcohol night out, which happened almost every night now.

I could really use a sibling at this point.

Some nights when the voices got loud and things flew back and forth across the room, I’d pull my duvet over my head and bite my lip until I tasted copper.

Not like it made me feel any better.

My head started to hurt, so I pressed my palms on either side of my temple. Thinking about them always did this.

I stood up from where I was sitting slumped on the floor of my room to the mirror and just stared at my reflection. 

Then I looked for anything that might have made him call me bronze.

My hair was a peppery stick-out type of hair, and black…nowhere close to brown. 

My eyes, on the other hand, were green. Not them either.

I couldn’t point out why he called me what he did; mistakes do happen, I guess.

“Belle,” I heard my mom call, and I froze.

Surprised?

Yeah, I froze.

Taking two steps at a time, I rushed downstairs to the kitchen where she was making dinner. Dad was nowhere in sight and I couldn’t be happier than I was about that.

I bet you’re asking why.

You see. I really loved my mom, so much that sometimes I never wish I had a dad so my mom will love me back.

Now don’t get me twisted, it wasn’t like I didn’t love my dad or anything close to that.

I did love him. And the way he always had my back whenever mom was anything but nice showed me he loved me too.

But I’d still choose mom’s cold plate over dad’s warm portion anytime.

Weird right?

Her coldness always sent chills down my spine, but she was my mom.

Which made me think about the saying; you get drawn to people whose love you can’t reach, those ones aloft are always the ones we love harder.

Bet you agree with me.

“Hey mom” I said standing at the kitchen door.

“Hey. How are you doing, and how did your day go?” She asked me and I felt this urge to tell her about how my day went, everything that happened.

But I knew too well that it was just a facade, she did that a lot when she didn’t want me to feel bad.

“It was okay” I said and moved to help with washing the dishes in the sink.

“No that’s fine, just help me arrange the table…your dad will be home any moment now” she said and I left the dishes to do as she said.

Dad came home just as I was finishing up and we sat down to eat.

It was the same old tradition, nothing new.

Everyone with their plates in front of them…while the awkward silence rang with each munch of food each of us took.

“I was called this morning for a contract I can’t afford to miss“ Dad broke the silence and dropped his fork “We’ll be leaving in three days,please pack your bags.”

And that was it. Nothing else.

We all nodded. 

Nodding was a normal thing for us the Blerks…especially when we were together like now.

Mom stood up first, then Dad.

I finished last and cleaned the whole place up, before retreating to my room.

I had only climbed my bed when I heard it.

Voices trying hard not to be loud at first, then something fell. A vase I assume, the one on their nightstand.

And then it started.

The screaming and the insults.

I curled onto my side and felt a tear drop. Might be from the constant emotional stress I go through from them fighting all the time, but these days it takes me just a minute before I break down.

I always felt like a part of me was being torn apart anytime I heard those heated arguments at night.

It went on for a while before it stopped. Shortly after that, I heard someone open the door and flopped on the couch.

I didn’t know who it was though, it could be either of them.

I’d seen both of them end up there after their fights before.

It was all too normal to me now, so I didn’t bother checking. 

I just pulled my duvet over my body and slowly drifted off to sleep.

That night, I dreamt about deep blue eyes and a bird.