Ugly(3)

“You know, eventually one day you’ll have to tell me your name,” he said, walking with me toward home.

I looked at him sideways, trying to avoid his eyes, but they’re so big and brown I couldn’t help it. “What are you doing?” I ask as I looked around me, making sure Dad didn’t see him.

“I just want to know your name.” He tried to hand me the flower he was holding, but I shook my head and clutched my bag tighter to my chest. “I’d really like to give you this flower. It’s pretty, just like you.”

That statement made me laugh quite loudly. I knew Trent was just saying whatever he could because he wanted to use me. “Yeah, okay,” I said, no louder than a whisper.

“It’s true, I think you’re real pretty,” he said again.

But by this time I’d already switched off to his attempts to use me. “I’ve got to get home,” I said and ran the rest of the way. When I looked over my shoulder, I half expected Trent to be following me, but he was just standing on the corner, head tilted to the side watching me.

Now I’m sitting in my room, all of my homework done, and I’m just reading. My favorite book is a play called The Crucible. I’ve read it so many times that the spine is held together by tape and the pages are completely discolored and fragile.

My stomach rumbles with hunger. I try to ignore the fact I only had a piece of bread for breakfast. Dad doesn’t often bring home groceries. Only when he discovers for himself there’s nothing to eat, does he buy a few bags of groceries.

Once I told him there was nothing in the fridge or the cupboards and he gave me the back of his hand and told me it’s because I’m a greedy, ugly bitch who eats him out of house and home.

I get up from my bed and go into the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat. Anything, even a cracker would be better than nothing at all.

I open all the cupboards and find nothing. In the fridge there’s an orange, but it’s soft and on one side it’s got mold growing on it. I take it out of the fridge and take it over to the kitchen sink. I cut the moldy part off and look to see how the orange is inside. At least it’ll be something in my tummy.

I set the moldy part aside, because if Dad sees it in the trash, he will get angry that I didn’t eat it and say I’m wasting food. When I eat the half that seems okay, I’ll go bury the spoiled half in the back yard.

Bringing the orange up to my lips, I dart my tongue out to make sure it’s okay to eat. It smells okay, so I take a small nibble of a segment. It’s not great, but it’s something.

When I finish, I go down to the back of the yard and quickly dig a hole with my bare hands to bury the evidence before Dad gets home from work.

Once inside, I scrub and wash my hands, making sure there’s no evidence of what I did. I’ve done this a few times in the past and know how to eat, bury and wash up so Dad has no idea.

I go back to my room, sit on my bed and pick up my book.

My mind begins to wander to a time when women were considered dangerous, because they were witches. If I lived in those times, would I be considered a witch too, or would they leave me alone because I’m ugly and stupid?

“Lily!” I hear my Dad bellow as the front door shuts.

“Here, Dad,” I say as I come out of my bedroom and stand looking down at my toes.

“Make me something to eat,” he says, the slur in his speech only slight. “I’m hungry.”

“We don’t have anything. I looked earlier,” I say in a small voice.

I keep looking down, refusing to meet his gaze because I’m sure he’ll just yell at me. The seconds tick by, I’m so scared I hold my breath. I’m bracing myself for whatever’s going to happen. He hates being told there’s no food, and hates it even more when I talk.

“You fat, ugly bitch. Did you eat everything I bought?” I stay still, not moving, not wanting to be on the receiving end of Dad’s wrath. “You’re no good at anything. Spoilt bitch,” he spits before I hear the door slamming shut.

I let out the breath I was holding, and my heart starts to calm to a normal rate. No words tonight, and no fists either. I walk back into my room and sit on my bed, picking up my ragged copy of The Crucible and get lost in it.

It’s not until darkness starts to set in, and the temperature drops to a cool kiss on my cheek, I know Dad will return soon and I’d better be asleep. It’s nights like tonight I know the bruises will be on the outside, too.

I put on my old pajamas that are too small for me, and get under the thin blanket on my bed. Clutching my book to my chest, I close my eyes and pray Dad will leave me alone tonight.