"Hey Wela, good morning, I brought you water for your medication before I head off to school." I say as I walk into my grandmother's bedroom at six in the morning with her water and a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries. I have a small alarm clock that is programed for five in the morning every day. My grandmother took it upon herself to teach me how to take care of her, myself, the house, laundry, cleaning and cooking since I turned six. She told me that when she turned six her mother taught her the same way because in those days it was important that a girl knew how to care for a house and a family.
She needed to prove it before she became of age and was presented to all eligible bachelors. Woman from back in the day were all taught the same, her mother included. She tried to do the same with my mother, but she turned out to be a bad seed, just like her father, lazy and unsupportive. She never wanted to do anything in the house, my grandma said that when she turned eighteen, she left and never looked back. "Imagine my surprise dear when I received a call one winter morning four years later."
"She begged me to take you or she would put you up for adoption." She said ashamed of the child she gave birth to. "I don't regret it…" she coughs, "You're my piece of heaven, my reward for the crappy card fate dealt me with. Your mother put me through a lot but I still and forever will keep loving her. She is your mother Lilah, just because I told you this, does not mean you have the right to rebel against her. You have to love and respect her, even if she does not deserve it." She says soothingly caressing my cheek tenderly from her chair.
My grandmother never lied to me, even when she was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer when I turned seven. She did not sugar coat it; she had said that it would not have had a good outcome if she died and I was kept in the dark. She did all her chemo's and never missed an appointment. She kept deteriorating quickly and kept repeating what she had once told me, about respecting my mother and loving her even if she did not treat me right. To never rebel against her and do as I'm told.
The doctors told her that the cancer had spread, and she did not have a lot of time left. She has been bedridden for almost a month now. I walk into her bedroom, put the breakfast table on her nightstand and open the blinds to her windows. "Grandma time for breakfast and your medication." I say as I open the first drawer of her nightstand where she kept her pills. I take out the ones she needs now from the bottles and put them back. I grab the water bottle from the table and get on her bed.
I shake her gently, "Grandma your medication." I say but she doesn't respond. I gently push her hair away from her face and gasp. She's covered in her own vomit, stone cold, pale and rigid to the touch. She's dead… Stephen crawls over me and roughly pushes his way between my legs. My tears run down my cheeks like a never-ending river, he rips the shirt I had put on along with my braw. He kisses down my neck, nipping and biting me gently.
My sobs and screams were muffled by the tape covering my mouth. I can't let him do this to me! I feel so weak… so helpless… I close my eyes whishing he would just kill me… "You know… Stephen hasn't taken his eyes off you." Andrea says bumping her shoulder against mine gently. I roll my eyes, "I don't care." I say not in the slightest bit interested and quite frankly very much annoyed with her. She has a thing for those losers and older men, like my mother and most girls here.
"Don't you want to know what your mom sees in him?" she asks curious wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I hit her in the face with my Cheetos bag in annoyance. "No, drop it." I say as I make my way towards the swings. I wiggle my hips and buttocks trying to pull my tight dark blue jeans up to cover my butt crack, so it doesn't show when I sit. I pull my shirt down over the hem of the jeans and sit on the swing, listening to Andrea go on and on about Stephen and his goons.
I roll my eyes as she becomes a giggling mess when one of said goons wink at her. There is a reason why thirteen-year-old girls are watched like hawks by their fathers. It's when the boy crazy faze starts and doesn't seem to stop. Making most girls our age make the biggest mistakes of their lives. I started to hate how my body is filling out since I turned eleven. My breast grew to a full C cup almost D, my stomach is flat, my waist is small, my hips are wide, my buttock is big, my thighs are thick, and my calves are toned.
My skin is light tan in color, my hair is long, crazy curly and dark blond. My nose is small, my lips are thick, my right eye is silver, and my left eye is gold. Weird combination my grandmama didn't have the slightest clue from what side of the family did I take that trait from. I see my mother walk towards Stephen putting a little more swing to her hips and smiling seductively. My stomach twists in disgust and I look away before I puke my guts out.
"See, your mom can't get enough of him. Plus, he is clearly interested in you." She says from next to me. I look towards her in anger, no one knows of what happens in my parent's place. How much trouble his attention puts me in, how they brutally beat me, especially when my mother has a point to prove. "For the last damn time… I am not interested!" I hiss at her and get up off the swing, I start walking back towards my parents' place by myself. I see Stephen ignore my mother's advances as I pass by, her face distorts in anger and she glares angrily at me. I sigh in exhaustion; I look up at the sky knowing what awaits me when I walk through that door.