The Full Moon's Lost Princess

I was late.

I knew it and with the way my hands trembled, my bruised body knew it too; we were going to get more purple bruises again.

I'd been in detention for not paying attention during class and I couldn't tell Mr. Spencer it was because I was thinking about my mom, how if she hadn't tried to go the extra mile for me to get that special cake I loved, she wouldn't be dead now.

I stood there, unable to say a word, as he kept asking me questions and took it as a sign of disrespect.

Then he sent me to detention.

I walked faster than I have ever walked and even though I was eating up the distance fast, I knew tonight would not be pleasant for me.

I got home and quickly rushed to the kitchen, bringing out the ingredients for lasagna and hoping to God and whoever listened to prayers in the universe to delay him.

I knew it was a waste of time praying, there was no answer when I prayed, nay, begged for my mom to live, to not abandon me to this miserable life but instead of answering my pleas, I lost her to the cold hands of death.

I remembered the way she squeezed my hand and how her hold gradually loosened, and her arm tossed off the bed, lifeless.

I remembered the way I screamed, shaking her body while the doctor and nurses tried to drag me away.

Since my father died, it has been just the two of us. She worked so hard to give me a good life and it was going well until –

“Cassandra!”

Yeah, think of the devil and he comes screaming down at you because dinner is not ready.

“I'm nearly done Sir,” I replied, my voice shaky.

I knew it was of no use, he hated excuses and would never let go of an opportunity to make a map of bruises on my back.

Or my neck. Legs.

Anywhere but my face, he was never too drunk for that.

I had tried running several times but each time, my mother's only mistake somehow ended up catching me and punishing me.

I still can't figure out what she saw in him.

I heard him open the main door angrily and the annoyance at him manhandling this house that my mother had suffered so much to pay off the mortgage, filled my mind but that feeling didn't stay.

Nothing else but fear remained.

He never hit me immediately, no he'd wait, taunt me with the idea that I might go scot-free this time, and when I least expected it, he'd come down ferociously, hitting me with whatever he could.

When he walked in, that stench hit harder than ever, it was overwhelming and disturbing.

He was drunk.

At the beginning, when her loss was still fresh, he only drank once a week. He'd be kind to me the rest of the week and only unleash the devilish side of him after getting drunk.

But slowly and gradually, the real stepfather that I'd known and tried to love because my mom loved him began to disappear, leaving behind this monster that was approaching me.

“Why is dinner not ready Cassandra?” He growled, his hand going to his belt.

“It's almost ready sir,” I sniffled, pointing to the oven.

“It's almost?” He sneered, approaching closer and closer as I took steps backwards, and even though I've felt this crippling fear so many times in the past year, it still resonated through me.

“I had to.. I was..” I scrambled to explain but even my own mouth knew there was no point to it.

“You think you're such a special thing huh? Feeding off of me like a leech, and yet you can't even do as you're told! It seems like I've not been thorough with my explanations,” he snarled, his voice a low, terrifying threat.

“I'm sorry–” I began before I heard the swiping sound of his belt in the air before it landed on my back.

I was still wearing the turtleneck I wore to school, but as thick as it was, it did nothing to quell the pain that instantly spread through my body.

I screamed, something he hated so much yet I couldn't stop doing.

“You better shut the hell up right now or I'll rip out your tongue and feed it to the birds!” He snarled as another bout of the belt swooped down on my back, the thing curling around my arm and bruising me further.

I couldn't stop screaming, my body was shaking, my head and throat hurt but for the life of me, I couldn't stop screaming.

My mother died around this time last year. I should be allowed to mourn, to feel miserable for myself, and not have to take care of the man she fell in love with.

But instead, all I got was pain and more torture, all for his satisfaction.

He began kicking my stomach, each grunt of his ending with his foot connecting with my ribs. Then he bent down and yelled words that amplified it all.

“It's your fault she's gone!”

He followed up with more kicks and punches, blood flowing from different parts of my body, creating more bruises for me to try to cover up the next day.

Seeing that my screams weren't stopping and fearing that for the first time, neighbours might actually hear me screaming, he rushed towards me on the ground, getting on his knees and grabbing my mouth.

“Shut that shit hole in your face!” he snarled. “What makes you think you can make noise, huh? Your mother is in the grave because of you, do you think she's able to scream?! When you sent her out to buy you your special cake, the one you'll die if you don't eat it, and she was caught up in that accident and died, DID SHE SCREAM?!”

His words, more than the beating and torture cut through me like a sharp knife.

“SHUT UP!” He screamed again, shoving me hard against the stove top, making the water I was boiling pour all over my hand.

I screamed.

Loud.

For the first time, an emotion that wasn't hate or rage passed through his face and he stalked away, turning around at the door to look at me.

“Have dinner out in the next five minutes,” he grunted before walking away, leaving me drenched in pain and regretting ever being born.

At least my mother would still be alive and wouldn't leave me alone with this monster.

I stood up, still crying but knowing his five minutes actually meant four and if he didn't get his food when he asked for it again, he might actually kill me this time.