♜Aphrodite Xan /d i s t r i c t f o u r/ ♜ fin~

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♜Aphrodite Xan /d i s t r i c t f o u r/ ♜ fin~ Feb 27, 2014 2:38:07 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Feb 27, 2014 2:38:07 GMT -5

N a m e ~ Dove

A g e~ Seventeen

G e n d e r~ Female

D i s t r i c t~ Four

♜

P a l e t t e ~ cloudy emotions

s o n g ~ The boys I kiss don’t know my name,
The tears I cry all taste of blame

♜

P l o t ~ they called us divine

C o d e ~ odair it is

Last Edit: Mar 19, 2014 5:19:49 GMT -5 by ᴥ

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

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♜Aphrodite Xan /d i s t r i c t f o u r/ ♜ fin~ Feb 27, 2014 4:13:01 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Feb 27, 2014 4:13:01 GMT -5

Aphrodite Xan

(Day One)
He beat her today. I could hear her screams through the door he seems to think is soundproof. I buried my head under so many blankets I could barely breath, the sobs ripped from my throat causing my head to spin in such a frightening manner. I'm glad he couldn't hear them, stifled by thick wool. Perhaps he would have hurt me too.

When mother stumbled out of the room the thick black paint around her eyes ran to the corners of her mouth, which were turned up in a smile when saw me. Oh honey, me and Dash were just... playing. Her voice shakes, but with such a jubilant tone I could almost believe it.

If I didn't know.

(Day Three)
I turn fourteen in exactly four days. Mother promised I could dye my hair whatever color I wanted. (I think I'm going to stain it a bright blue. How I love the color.) Money isn't a problem lately, despite our middle class standing. Dash's "apologies" usually include copious amounts of riches he gets from swindling dumbfucks as he so eloquently put it.

Maybe one day he'll mean it. Maybe one day mother won't have to smile through her tears.

(Day Seven)
No one came. I invited everyone I knew, and told them to where to go. I drew the cards myself and cut them out, using all of the maroon ribbon father had given me. But I'm alone. Even mother is locked up in her bedroom once more. Her screams have quieted by now, turned into heavy sighs as he allows her to recover.

Today, I share her pain.

Why have I been abandoned? Am I fat, like mother so often complains she is. Have I caught it, like some disease spread through the air by a careless sneeze.

Am I hated?

(Day Twelve)
Mother dyed my hair today. Her painted nails clawing at my scalp, ensuring the ginger strands would be stained a deep teal. Her palms caressed my face, wiping away the tears which had fallen every night since the day I turned fourteen. (I will not call it my birthday as that usually implied a celebration).

Her bruises are so well hidden, beneath layers of powders and cream. But it's her smile which completes the disguise. So free and innocent, like a child which has witnessed a miracle.

I wish I could believe it.

I'm glad my hair is blue now, a stark difference from hers. I want to be nothing like this woman, as much as she means to me. I never want to be hurt.

(Day Fourteen)
The scale says I'm fat. It's numbers dancing across a screen like a tantalizing screech. They told me, the girls which I had once called my friends, what number I should be.

And my number is ugly. I am ugly.

I refuse to show my face until the scale tells me I'm beautiful.

(Day Thirty-two)
My number hasn't gotten any smaller, no matter how hard I try I can't be beautiful. Mother forced me to go to school weeks ago, telling me she wouldn't have a daughter who was a retard. I can't bring myself to talk to the others. It's as if my lips have been sewn shut. Countless days have passed in utter silence. The white plaster of the lunch room a stark reminder of my insignificance. As my skin has grown so pale I could nearly blend in.

A part of me wants to.

Perhaps, if I am invisible he will never hurt me. The man who mother claims to love. He has begun to shout outside of closed doors, spit flying from his reddened face as he screams at my mother. How I wish to say something to him. To stop him. But I'm scared he'll hit me too.

(Day Thirty-five)
My hair's color has begun to fade. Mother promises to buy the dye once more, and something else a little special for me. She's scared I'll tell my teachers what's been going on. Scared I'll show them the bruise blossoming upon my lower thigh.

She says it's my fault. That if I had had kept my "fat ass" out of his way that none of this would have happened. If I had let him hit her.

But he was going to kill her. Her eyes overflowing with dark crystals, staining the pillow in which her ginger hair lay. Her skin was marked by trails of crimson, where sharp rings would cut the skin as his fists bore down upon her. I couldn't stop the scream that erupted from small lungs. Couldn't stop myself jumping on the man nearly 5 times my size. Couldn't stop when his fists turned to me. I couldn't stop him as it landed upon my leg, with repeated malice. My mother didn't even try to stop him.

But one things for sure. He will never hit me again.

(Day Forty-Seven)
He bought me a necklace. One made of precious medals and a shiny gem in the middle. I'm so sorry baby. It won't happen again. And I believe him. It's not the empty words he spews to mother. Because he knows I won't let him. Because I can end everything.

The golden chain hangs around my neck, the pendant falling upon my chest. A constant reminder of what he did to me. And motivation to never let it happen again.

(Day One hundred-seven)
The scale finally says I am beautiful. The girls who once called me ugly tell me the same.

Boys who's attention I have yearned for for so long, tell me I'm beautiful.

I couldn't care less that mom still lets that monster beat her. I don't care about the bruises and gashed that renew themselves nightly. She isn't all I have. She's stupid. Useless.

She's a whore. A whore that could die for all I care.

Fuck her. Fuck Dash. Fuck this entire fucking family.

(Day One hundred twenty-three)
They hate me again. All of them. The girls call me fake, the boys call me a prude. They gave me bitter drinks I refused to swallow. They gave me small white pills I refused to take. And therefore I'm ugly. It doesn't matter what the scale tells me, or what I see when I look in the mirror. If others hate me, so do I. But... I can't make myself take the things which make Dash hit my mother. As much as I despise the both of them, I will do nothing to be anything like the man that ruined my life.

And so I am doomed to be ugly.

(Day three-hundred sixty-five)
I hate this loneliness. This deep hollow pit which churns within my gut. My life is worth nothing. And neither am I. It's dark and cold. Not even death would be an escape.

I don't deserve this hell.

(Day Three-hundred Seventy-two)
The clothes I wear don't cover much, that I will admit. But his stare's make me uncomfortable. The teacher who wears big glasses and has such greasy hair. I have long since shed my birth name, instead going by simply Dove. Yet he refuses to call me such. Always using my full name in a low, slow tone. His eyes lingering on the spots that my clothes do not cover. I have decided that perhaps a sweater would be a better option. After all, I have only just turned 15. And this man makes my skin crawl.

Last Edit: Mar 19, 2014 3:41:32 GMT -5 by ᴥ

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♜Aphrodite Xan /d i s t r i c t f o u r/ ♜ fin~ Mar 5, 2014 17:50:32 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Mar 5, 2014 17:50:32 GMT -5

Aphrodite Xan

The old journal falls from limp hands, landing on the floor with a clatter. I'm a second from tears and even closer to breaking down. I was so wrong, about so many things. Reading such benign entries from a girl much different than I is enough to kill me. I choke down the sobs which press against my throat, my knees buckling beneath me. Three years ago was where it had all began. The second I turned fourteen my world begun to rip apart at the seams.

The shit hit the fan when I met that monster. Just the thought of him sends shivers down my spine. You're in violation of the dress code my ass. What I wore back then was nothing compared to the garments ~~or lack thereof~~ which brace the much more womanly form I have come to love.

And what he did, I've never recovered from.

As if I wasn't already broken right?

I cannot hold them back any longer, the pain which plagued me so long ago once pummeling me like his fists so often did. Tears fall like diamonds, and i don't even try to stop them. It went on for a while, you know. Eventually, another girl was brought into his sick little detention. A girl, whom I care for now more than that of myself. She represents the innocence which I lost the day I decided to wear those shorts with that shirt. It's always been my fault.

And I am so, so sorry.

She's dead too. The mother I so carelessly berated in those pages. It wasn't her fault. I swear to god it wasn't. That man was the same species of that god awful teacher.

Long story short, I live with my father now. He tries so hard, and unlike most, he truly cares. I'd feel bad... if I could feel anything at all. I sure as hell wasn't an angel in the pages which now lay scattered upon tile floor, I'm even less of one now.

I'm a dealer, of some sorts. And the boys whom I supply willing addicts. It's a less than wholesome business, and no emotional attachment is allowed. I don't kiss, and no cuddling after. You give me what I want, and you get what you want. Don't let the door hit your on the way out.

I'm no whore. But I'm damn close.

It'd kill me too. If what I did wasn't the closest I've ever got to feeling anything in three years.

I hiccup, a loud, messy one that brings me out of my reminiscing. The makeup, nearly two inches deep upon my eyes and deeper everywhere else, has begun to run. I swear loudly, the foul words reverberating around the empty house. ~~My father is forced to work two jobs to support us.~~ Somehow, I gather the strength to push myself upwards, shoving the journal beneath the suede couch which has sat dormant for nearly a year. ~~Good riddance.~~

Heels, nearly two inches high, create a much too merry tune against hard floors as I make my way to the bathroom. Harsh chemicals remove the makeup so skillfully piled upon my brow. I dared not look at my face without its cover.

There are far too many flaws

It's almost funny, how I appear to others. A cool, collected bitch, skilled in comebacks and snide comments. Whose hair is still a bright turquoise and wears clothes barely street legal. She has it all. She's perfect.

And in a way I am.

I'm perfectly fucked up.

Last Edit: Mar 19, 2014 3:41:53 GMT -5 by ᴥ

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

ᴥ Head RP Tutor 4,554 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen May 20, 2024 21:55:05 GMT -5 oof	♜Aphrodite Xan /d i s t r i c t f o u r/ ♜ fin~ Mar 19, 2014 3:42:20 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ᴥ on Mar 19, 2014 3:42:20 GMT -5 I /think/ she's finally done?
	the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] Retired Staff 6,346 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen Nov 17, 2023 15:15:56 GMT -5 cozy, queer af	♜Aphrodite Xan /d i s t r i c t f o u r/ ♜ fin~ Mar 19, 2014 9:26:52 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Mar 19, 2014 9:26:52 GMT -5 Accepted!
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