Chapter 1: My Story
Life, I could have said, hasn't been fair to me. That was the conclusion I came to when I saw my mum lying in a pool of blood, a bottle in my father's hand. "That man just killed my mother," kept ringing in my head as hot tears streamed down my face.
Let me introduce myself. My name is Bella, and I am the only child of my "parents." I was just six years old when my uncle tried to molest me, and I remember vividly trying to tell my mother about it, but she and my father didn't believe me. Two years later, we were forced to leave my uncle's house because he couldn't... well, he couldn't control himself, and trust me, I was happy to finally escape from the clutches of that wicked man. My father, who was unemployed at the time, couldn't afford a new place for us, but my mother managed to pay the rent for our new home.
My father's daily struggle with alcoholism didn't go unnoticed by my mother, and they frequently fought about it. I often felt like a mere plus one in our house because no one really cared about me. My mother left for work very early in the morning, and my father would leave immediately after her, only to return very late at night. Sometimes, they forgot they had a child who might not have eaten anything all day, but did they care? I don't think so.
On this particular day, my parents were fighting again, as usual, and I curled up in a corner, watching them, assuring myself that this, too, would pass. But this fight escalated into something far more intense than usual. The next thing I knew, my drunk father smashed the bottle he was holding against my mother. Everything seemed to freeze in that moment as my mother slumped and died instantly. I was so shocked that my mind felt like it shut down. My father, now holding the broken pieces of the bottle, looked pale and suddenly sober. To his credit, he immediately called the police, who arrived quickly. I was standing there as the officers took my father away, and I knew that was the last time I would see either of my parents. That was the day I became an orphan.
At just eight years old, I started sleeping on the streets and fending for myself until I met my wonderful foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, who took me in and began caring for me as if I were their own. They were the nicest people I could have ever hoped for. I wasn't a talkative girl; I had barely spoken when I lived with my real parents. The Smiths had a sixteen-year-old son, Andrew, and I later learned that Mrs. Smith was only his stepmother, which explained their not-so-great relationship. However, Andrew took good care of me, ensuring that I was okay. I would say they were angels sent into my life after all that I had been through.
Living with Mr. and Mrs. Smith for ten years has brought out the brightest side of me. Andrew's special treatment has even led me to develop feelings for him, but I promised myself to take those feelings to my grave since he sees me as a sister and I should view him as a brother.
Tomorrow, I'll be moving to college, and I couldn't be more excited. I know this will be an opportunity for me to socialize and possibly develop a crush, since I realize my brother doesn't see me that way. My parents are thrilled to see their daughter going to college, although Andrew can't be there to see me off due to work commitments. He promised to make it up to me, and that alone has brightened my mood. I can't wait to finally go to college!