branwen // d9. fin

Black and Blue.

Two colors that I've grown accustomed to over the years. Days and nights I would spend in fear, wondering if one wrong word, one wrong step would earn me another mark. Some people are proud of their bruises, but not me.

They represent helplessness.

They represent weakness.

My mother won't leave him, she's too scared. Afraid of what he might do to the others. Her marks are worse than mine. And sometimes I wish with all my might that I could do something for her, that I would be able to stand up, to protect. But I am too weak.

Instead I protect my sisters. Making sure that I always take the front of it, always taking the blame, no matter what it is. Though the thought of what he might do once he gets bored of me creeps back into my mind. What happens when I am no longer fun to kick around? Is it on to the next.

I pray that when this day comes I will be strong enough, that I will not be weak.

But I am fragile, I am just a girl.

I am just a girl who has been covered in bruises from the day she was born.