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CHAPTER1
HOPE
10 yearsold
"Someone please help me, ANYONE!" I shout. I have no idea how long I've been crying, but my throat is burning. I need water, food, I need something. I know I shouldn't shout, he will yell at me again, I don't want him to yell at me, he scares me. But I want someone to save me.
I jump and run to the corner as I hear the creaking on the handle behind me.
"You keep screaming like a little bitch, I'll have to come back in there and sort you out." He roars at me, and I fall to the floor, pulling my knees close to me, as I begin to rock back and forth.
I lost my family in a fire; I was at a friend’s house for a sleepover. My very first sleepover, I was the happiest eight-year-old in the world when Dad said I could go. My friend only lived three doors away from us, but I didn’t care, I was about to be a big girl.
My friend's mom woke me early the next morning, and when we came down the stairs, she held me close. I could feel that something was wrong. How could I tell? I'm not sure, I just knew. Then they told me what had happened. They told me that I would be safe and family was coming to get me. I cried, and I cried to the point my eyes were sore.
Then Uncle Jack got me; Dad's brother. I never saw him before that day, and I wish I never did.
He’s a mean man; a man that hurts me; a man that wants me out of his life. But I’m scared of what he’s got planned for me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here now. I’ve worked out it must be about two years, as I’ve heard the Happy Birthday song four times now; twice for Adam his son and twice for Claire his daughter, which makes me ten now.
I know the longer I stay, the worse he'll get and the more he shouts. I can sometimes hear the radio if he turns it up loud enough. One night I closed my eyes and heard the words, ‘Where there is no vision, there is hope,' and now I sit in my corner and mutter these words to myself, just waiting for my piece of hope.
I lean my head on the wall, wishing to hear something, anything. Some music or even the TV. I long to have some friends my own age. I remembered meeting Uncle Jack’s kids when I got here. They looked to be around my age. They seemed nice too.
"Hi, I'm Adam, and this is my little sister Claire. I hope that we can play later," the boy said to me. Uncle Jack had told me in the car that I couldn't look at his kids as my eyes were so red they might get worried. So, I looked at the floor.
Aunt Helen knelt in front of me. “Hope, we have to get going for the weekend, but as soon as I get back we can look at some things to put in your bedroom.” I nodded slightly.
I heard the door close behind me, and Uncle Jack said, "When they come back you won't be here." He gestured for me to follow him down the stairs and after wiping away my tears I did as instructed. "This is your room until I find someone to take you." He unlocked a black door and pushed me in. "You make a noise, and you'll be in trouble. If my children think that you're still here, you'll be in trouble, and I'm about to show you what will happen." The door slammed shut behind him as I watched him unfasten his belt.
I screamed, I fought him, I kicked him, but no one heard me. The more I cried the more he hit me with the belt and the harder he hit, the more my tears fell.
Just remembering that first day in here makes me cry. He used to come and hit me if I made too much noise, but as I got older, it got worse. Even if I stayed quiet, he still comes for more.
I start saying the only thing I know to help me forget. "There is hope, there is hope, there is hope, there is…"
Bang, bang, bang.
* * *
Present Day
Opening my eyes, I look at the dirty, cream-colored, cracked wall in front of me.
Bang, bang, bang.
Getting up I look over at the door as the banging continues. I grab my oversized sweater which is tearing to the point I’m going to have to find a new one soon; the rough fabric scrapes the skin on my arms. The door doesn’t even open a centimeter before I hear his hand slapping the door open and it’s removed from my grip.
"Rent!" the landlord shouts. He's a big guy. I stay out of his way and never make eye contact. I couldn't even tell you what he looks like as I've never actually looked at him. I've learned from an early age never to look at any man. The only reason I know he's big is because I can only see his chest when he stands close enough to me.
Taking my pay from last night off the side table, I hand it over to him. I make enough money to pay the rent and a little food, and that's all I need. I don't need the fancy things; fancy things mean you have control and I don’t want to control anyone, nor do I want money.
Snatching the cash from my hands, he walks away from me. I slowly close the door and walk over to the window, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. To anyone else, it would be too cold, but to me cold is normal. Cold is the only thing I know.
I sit on the floor, looking out of the window. I never watch the people, why would I? I don’t know them, what advantage would I get by watching them? None.
I watch the bright star lights; the multi-colored stop signs, street lights, and cars that cast a warm glow on the road. The lights were all I had for company when I was a child. They would shine through the tiny windows of my basement prison and I would be mesmerized by them. They brought hope to me in that very dark place. Hope that there was something beyond the four walls surrounding me. And that one day the light would fight through the thick cloud of darkness around my soul. But the darkness always seems to win.
