Today was that day. The day I tried to weave my way back into the world. We just moved into the new house, been on the road for two years and finally decided it was safe. Dad, as always had money somewhere stashed away and bought a house.

It was the first day of school, high school. This is something I would have been excited for, back then when I had friends, sleepovers and even trips to the mall. But now.. it's all different. No more friends, no more sleepover and no shopping sprees.

 My father told me I could have friends, hang out with them but only if I followed certain rules: Never allow them in the house, Never ever mention the missing figure in both of our lives but most importantly, do not utter a word of our problems. One missed thought sound from my mouth, one wrong syllable that slips off my tongue would mean punishment. Something I don't want to endure or even think about, with all the things he's done to me more than a few things come to mind from that sentence, and that sentence alone. 

 But either way I wouldn't even think of opening my mouth an allowing sound to come out, speaking was something I gave up years ago. Its been so long I've probably forgotten how.

 I carefully slid out of my small bed and made my way to my closet. People would think everything was fine, nothing but a father and daughter moving into a new house in search of change. It wasn't as though he limited me, allowing me only a small living space with little cloths and accessories. No, he gave me everything a girl my age would need or want and more; I hated it.

 How he made it seem as though everything was fine; perfect even when it wasn't. Hiding the truth behind false smiles he's learn to perfect over the year. Fake charm he uses to convince people he's nothing but a concerned father whose doing the best that he can. Not mentioning the strict policies and consistently not being afraid to take matters into his own hands over the smallest of things. The laundry not folded right, coffee too hot or not hot enough. No matter what it was I was greatly punished for it.

 But he always made sure to avoid my face, not wanting to risk being found out. Something he made sure to do to keep from repeating unpleasant events. When he did he made sure I didn't leave the house until it was able to be easily hidden under layers of cover up or clothing. The scars and marks he given me were none that had that problem at the moment but that didn't mean there wasn't any.

 I pulled on a pair of washed out blue skinny jeans, a gray long sleeved turtle neck that reached from the top of my neck to the end of my wrists, slipping on a pair of gray ankle boots to finish off; both matching the color of my natural glassy gray eyes. I wasn't one for accessories, a pair of stud diamond earrings was all I ever really wore. I tied my hair up in a loose ponytail and made my way downstairs, not bothering with the loose strands.

 I had to be sure not to wake him, he was drinking last night and what's worse than him being drunk is him having a hangover. Being more open to delivering his so called discipline more than normally. 

 I bent down and grabbed my book bag that was placed besides the door, slightly wincing at the pain from the recent bruises on my ribs. I took a last glance in the hallway mirror before heading to school. My red hair ending just above my elbow, usually in waves that would slide over my shoulders. A pair of gray almond eyes.The paleness of my skin making the freckles along the bridge of my nose stand out even more. I stood at the height of 5'6, pretty short in my opinion. My body had curves in all the proper places, I've been told countless times of how lucky I was to be so pretty in past experiences.

 But to be completely and utterly honest I could care less. The old me would have been happy and maybe even flattered to be thought to be pretty. But that girl is gone, she died along with the terrors that occurred oh so many years ago.

 As time progressed I've learned to block out most of what had happened, pushing the emotions to the very back of my mind and saving them for a rainy day.

 Taking one last glance in the hallway mirror, feeling near disgusted with what I saw; I turned the front door handle and  made my way down the porch and onto the gravel covered ground, heading for school. I've never liked the bus but walking wasn't an option. My father chose a house that was a decent distance away to the nearest civilization.

 I stood outside, standing at the bottom of the porch while gripping the handles of my book bag. My head was tilted downward, staring aimlessly at the ground when the bus slowly pulled in front of my new home.

 The doors slowly clicked open, the bus driver looking as though the job was finally taking a toll on him after years of employment. I hastily walked up the stairs and took the nearest empty seat not even bothering to looking up from the ground below. 

 I could hear the distance chatter around me, whispering and interacting with friends. Today was going to be a long day.