(Edited)

Autumn's POV

The bitter tang of blood filled my mouth, leaving an iron-taste in its wake. I touched my tender cheek only to wince in pain, realizing that only an hour had passed since he slapped me, but I had a feeling that the pain would be around for a few more days. I couldn't wrap my head around why he felt the need to slap me. It was not like I went around asking for pain. Honestly, who does he think he is?

"Your Foster dad that's who"; my subconscious popped in.

Everyone has that annoying voice in the back of their head that helps them through rough times, helps them make important decisions, and shows up when it is needed. Unfortunately, mine just so happened to never leave me alone. That little voice had become so prominent in my life that I gave it a name: Lilly. I always imagined this tiny human being walking around in my mind and having an opinion on every aspect of my life. This current situation included. I know the whole thing sounded insane, and I probably should be in a mental institution, but the things people do for companionship, to not feel alone, could bring anyone to the brink of insanity.

I sat in my favourite corner down in the basement; old and musty, but quite comfortable. The sun shed a faint light across the room, revealing the fact that the sun was setting. As I sat in the poorly lit basement, I thought about my past and what brought me to this moment. About two years ago I was transferred here, to New Orleans from my previous foster placement in Australia. After the wife got pregnant, they didn't want me around anymore, so they sent me back into the system. How I ended up on the other side of the world was the million-dollar question, but someone messed up big-time. 

"Australia probably got tired of you", Lilly-chimed in.

The feeling of abandonment wasn't something new to me, I've been to twenty-four different foster homes since I was four years old. The how's and why's behind that was a story for another time, besides I had to keep a few secrets to myself. My new foster parents had anger issues, and unfortunately for me, I had to find it out the hard way. The most ironic aspect was that when most people think about abusers, they think of them as drunk, high, or somehow intoxicated, but that is not the case for them. They decided to go against what was considered normal and abused me while sober. What an absolute joy. Well, I had to keep looking at the bright side; they could have been complete psychos that beat me up on an everyday basis. Luckily for me, it was only when they felt like it. People say that 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me' Well they obviously haven't met my foster parents; their words honestly made you want to die. The entire experience only made me stronger. I don't know how often I have to repeat that to myself until I believe it.

The only good thing about them was that when the next day came around, they pretended that I didn't exist, which worked great for all of us. They only spoke to me when the social worker came around or when they spit insults at me. When I first arrived, the beatings were so bad that I cried myself to sleep, every night. I was terrified that they would return a second time and repeat everything. I got used to it, not the pain, that's something you can't get used to, but the entire situation got easier to handle. I fell into a routine; I made sure to prepare myself mentally for anything that they would throw my way. I even taught myself how to apply makeup, so I could hide all the bruises. Not that it was necessary because I didn't have any friends who actually paid attention to me, but better safe than sorry. The only thing that kept me hanging-on was the fact that I would be seventeen in a few weeks, and then I only had one more year before I could leave this dump. Well, it wasn't a complete dump once you left the basement. Who was I trying to kid, this entire place was horrible, from the furniture to the people.I looked up and realized that I was still crouched against the wall. I slowly stood up, regretting it instantaneously, when a fire-like, burning pain shot through the left side of my ribcage. My entire body felt like it was twitching, leaving me slightly frozen in panic. An electric shock pulled me out of my panic-state and all I could do was stand still and hold onto my sides for dear life. My ribs ached from too much movement; breathing included. I took a few steps forward, ignoring the burning pain that lit-up my entire left side and focused on my surroundings to try and ground myself.

The basement was a cream-white colour, giving the room a hospital-type vibe. Luckily for me, it didn't smell like a hospital usually did, like chemicals and death. The basement smelled like aged wine and the reason for that was because this room used to be a wine cellar and was now newly renovated into my own personal torture chamber.On the left-hand side corner stood a single bed, covered in a lilac duvet. Next to it was a small, brown table with a discoloured lamp; covered in flowers. Across the bed, on the other side of the room; was a toilet and a washbowl to freshen up. These people thought of everything, didn't they? According to them, the basement was used as a guest room for when they had visitors, but in the meantime, they used it to keep me in and make sure that no one ever heard my screams; the room was soundproof for a reason. I should stop complaining, the room had everything one person could need, what more could I ask for?

"How about actual human beings for caretakers?" Lilly suggested.
I rolled my eyes and decided to ignore her. Instead of answering her, I walked up the stairs; avoiding any sudden movements that came from the kitchen. I didn't have the strength in me to pretend like my life was as sweet as cotton candy, I just wanted to go to bed and sleep; hopefully, I would forget everything. I entered my purple-painted bedroom, locked the door behind me and shoved a chair against the handle for good measure. You could never be too careful; besides, I would rather be safe than sorry. The chair was simply a way to protect myself, some people had guns I had a chair. It was a bit childish, but I couldn't fall asleep if the chair wasn't under the doorknob. It made me feel like I would be safe as long as the chair stayed there.
"Keep telling yourself that", Lilly commented, dryly.
"Leave me alone, Lilly," I whispered and started removing my clothes and replacing them with pyjamas.
When I was done, I walked over to my full-length mirror and stared at myself. A skinny, beaten-up girl looked back at me, with long strawberry blond hair that framed her face and dark, lifeless, greyish, blue eyes that once sparkled brighter than a star. I was once known as an attractive girl, who knew that abuse could kill every aspect that ever made me beautiful. Hopefully, one day I will be able to move on with my life and I will see someone else in the mirror.

Before walking over to my bed, I looked at myself once more in the mirror and ran my fingers lightly over my red, swollen cheek. I climbed inside my bed and reached over to grab the painkillers and my bottle of water that was on the nightstand. I gulped the pills and water down and put everything back, turning-off the bed lamp. Sanguinely, the pills would work, and I could get a few hours of sleep before school tomorrow. I tucked myself deeper into the covers and realized; Lilly was quiet for the first time today and relief washed over me. I couldn't be happier.

**********

The dictionary meaning for dreaming: a sleeping state where the mind wanders, where unexpected images flow into your thoughts, where things happen unconsciously. It can be a nightmare or a great dream. It can be something uncontrollable; your deepest fears or your greatest desires, or anything random in-between. My definition of dreaming was quite different; it was my way of getting away, to sleep through my troubles. So, I could forget the things that I couldn't run away from. You know when people go to a monastery to become monks and find peace within themselves. They find a quiet place to meditate and to release all the bad energies into the universe; well, that was more or less what dreaming did for me. Beep, beep, beep. "Ugh." I moaned with dissatisfaction. I pulled my arm out of the warm and soft silky blanket and smacked the nightstand like a crazy person to turn-off the alarm-clock. The last time I threw it against the wall, so I would say I made progress. The alarm clock flickered, Monday, 5:45.

"Remind me again why the heck we wake up so early?" The annoying voice in my head asked.
"Because I don't want to run into them downstairs," I answered.

If people could see me now, they would send me to an asylum and throw away the key; I was having a conversation with myself. I guess it was a coping mechanism for me because there was no one I could talk to, and I'd rather talk to myself than to some stranger who would only judge me. While I was pondering on every bad thing in my life, I took a shower. After five minutes of cleaning everything that was necessary, I ran back to my room and looked for clothes. I would usually look for my outfit the evening prior, but I got a bit side-tracked, who knew getting beaten up messes with your schedule?

The easiest outfit I could find was one of my favourites, black skinny jeans, a black tank top and a red long-sleeved checked shirt. Completing-off my outfit, I pulled my black combat boots from under my bed and put them on. Moving on to the harder job; covering up my bruise. I walked over to my run-down vanity and pulled-out my make-up kit. I took the base and applied it to my face to hide the bluish mark on my cheek from yesterday's adventure. I hated make-up more than life itself, but I would rather deal with it than have people find out about my life and then there would be much more where this blue cheek came from. Taking one last look in the mirror, I decided that this would have to do. I looked casual but guarded; this way people would think twice before approaching me.

I walked over to my bed and grabbed my bag but stopped in the middle of the room and looked around, admiring what I had. I had a single bed with a nightstand standing on each side in the middle of the room. Across from the bed, I had an entire open-wall space where I drew my art. My vanity was in the left corner, facing toward the door and my built-in closet in the right corner, facing the vanity. This left my drawing right in the middle. The room was light purple, and my art stood heavily out against it because it was much darker, deeper even. I kept changing my art according to my mood and that never stayed the same for too long. At the moment my art was somewhat depressing because that was how I was feeling. 

The drawing was a combination of black and white colour schemes. A little girl was standing in front of a mirror, her figure outlined with black and on the inside, it was completely white. Her reflection was entirely opposite; it was outlined with white to create her figure and on the inside, it was purely black. She's pointing a revolver at her reflection and her reflection was holding the gun against her own head. The rest of the area around the girl was filled with different shades of black. This was how I expressed myself, through art. If I didn't have art, I would have been dead the first week that I arrived here and believe me, I had tried before. My watch beeped, pulling me out of my wondering state. I looked around the room one last time and pulled my long hair out of my messy bun, shaking my hair out. I locked the door behind me and head-off to school.

It took me about twenty minutes to walk to school from the house. We lived in a quiet neighbourhood. Thirty minutes away from the suburbs, where all the rich and spoiled people lived and thirty minutes away from all the poverty. So, we lived right in the middle of the two. That kind of classified my foster parents as moderately rich, not that you would see it at first glance because they walked around like they own the freaking place. Meanwhile, they only had enough to be members- and not actually enter- at those fancy golf clubs where the rich gather and have lunch. When I finally arrived at school, I stood in front of the entrance and admired my surroundings while playing with my gold locket. The golden locket was the only thing I had from my real family. On the inside of the locket against the one side, was a silver ring forged against it with engravings on it. On the other side, my full name was engraved onto it. Kira Autumn.

The entrance to my school was quite fancy, painted entirely white. There was a big, white pillar on each side of the double doors connecting at the top by a book statue that laid open on top of them. The statue signified that the school was all about academics and making sure that the students had a good future after high school. Everything else around me, except the parking-lot, was entirely green and filled with nicely cut grass. I was currently standing in the parking-lot, which was widely spaced for all the students' cars and on the far-left corner, the teachers. The only reason this school was so beautifully structured was because of all the funds that the rich people sponsored for the school. Taking one look at the cars around me, I could surely point out which of the student's parents were sponsors. There were three cars in a row, six cars over to my right from where I was standing. On the right was a black Mustang, in the middle was a red Lamborghini and on the left side of the Lambo a blue Jaguar which belonged to the two most annoying brothers on school grounds. Those four boys were the richest people around here and they made sure everyone knew it. And you know what they say, where there are rich boys, their companions follow. One of those companions was none other than Tiffany Weatherspoon; the most obnoxious, two-faced snake I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She owned a silver Lamborghini and let's just say that just like her car, she was useless and overbearing. I took one more look at their cars and rolled my eyes, entering the halls of Cliffwood High, I walked towards the library. 

*****
Hey lovely's!
This chapter is completely edited! If you find any mistake (and you might, cause I'm human) please let me know!
Thanks, lots of hugs!