Isabela Part 3
I open the gray box and grab one of the razors. I stare at my white wrists like the walls. I don’t allow myself to think, nor do I let my mind waver. Even the ghosts are silent at this moment, watching the girl who mutilates her own skin while screaming the phrase from her favorite book, alone in the middle of the night, in a bathroom that is gradually coloring scarlet.
“‘My name is’ Isabela Lenhard… ‘and I will not be afraid’” I repeat the mantra, each time making another deep and agonizing cut into my wrist. My eyes are burning. My heart is more torn than my arms. But I didn’t have the courage to make a cut in the exact position to take me to my father. I made six shallow cuts on my left arm, but powerful enough for my dress to be completely stained with my blood, just like the floor around me.
My soul is much more riddled than my arm. And it burns. It hurts. It feels like there are embers burning my skin. However, nothing, nothing will ever be stronger than the damn hole caused by a wrecking ball in my chest.
It hurts, but it still feels like the damn painkiller for my emotions. I know it’s wrong. I know I don’t deserve these cuts. But I’m so screwed... Damn! I’m destroyed.
I force myself to crawl to one of the drawers under the mirror and grab a medical kit. My mom scatters these things all over the house. I use a bunch of gauze to clean up the mess on my arm, but I know I won’t need stitches or anything. I also realize that I’ve let the ghosts loose and now they’re going to use their power to make me tear my skin every time I suffer.
I start preparing the dye, feeling like I’m going to vomit as I face my pathetic reflection in the mirror. My face is all swollen, my mouth is cut up. My eyes are as red as the skin around them. I look like the “bloody blonde,” covered in blood in my clothes. But screw it, soon I’ll be the redhead of the bathroom.
But as soon as I begin to mix the dye ingredients in a bowl, I hear the sound of the engine. It’s the bastard, coming back to take the reins of his kingdom of chaos and shadows. He’s come to beat me... or whatever else he’s planning.
So I don’t wait for him to come in here; I go to the living room door and greet him. When Marcos faces me, standing at the entrance with my mother trailing behind him, I see the deepest desire to hurt in his face. I think he’s going to hit me right away, but he turns and grabs my mother’s hair.
I think about throwing myself at him and punching him to make him let her go. I almost do it. But I want this beating. I want to erase everything. So, I don’t interfere, mimicking her behavior, who never defends me. I let my mother be the first to be punished by the bastard, but he just throws her to the floor of the office and closes the door, yelling at her not to come out. And since she’s the most disgusting mother in the world, I know she won’t come to rescue me.
I give a mocking smile to my stepfather. He circles me, wearing an ugly brown suit, with malice in his dark eyes.
“There’s plenty of reason to break your face today, sweetheart!” he says, circling my body like a predator, eager to sink his teeth into me and tear pieces off. “And it looks like you’ve already started punishing yourself,” he sneers, pointing with his chin at my cuts.
“That’s what I felt like doing when I remembered your ugly face. It makes me want to die…” I provoke, a victorious smile taking over my lips.
“You want to get beaten, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I can’t disappoint my little girl, can I?” he says, and just when I think he’s going to grab me by the hair because he’s standing behind me, I feel desperate.
Marcos pulls me against his body. My heart races, my breath shortens, my eyes water. I feel his disgusting, hard thing rubbing against the fabric of my dress, but I can’t move. I want to scream, punch, run, but I’m paralyzed. The only thing that moves is my vocal cords, which expand and vibrate with the deepest scream when his huge hand tightly squeezes the cuts on my wrist.
“Mommm!” I scream, desperate, knowing that wanting this beating was the dumbest thing in the world.
“She’s not going to help you, little whore!” he whispers in my ear, as he trips me, making me fall on my butt on the floor. “First, I’m going to smash your face for being a bitch, for hiding a relationship for months, and for being suspended from school and staining your record with that. Then, I’m finally going to take what I want.”
I feel a wave of vomit rising in my throat when the first kick hits my stomach. I try to scream, but I can only turn on my side and whimper. I’m hit with the hardest slap he’s ever given me, and I almost pass out. My head spins as the slaps rain down on my face. The world begins to drift away, the voices distort, and the sounds of slaps seem to not be hitting me at all.
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