Chapter 3
~ Isabella's POV
"You clumsy, useless girl!" My adoptive father roared, his face turning red with fury. "Can't you do anything right? You're nothing but a burden, a worthless, pathetic excuse for a daughter!"
My adoptive mother joined in, her voice rising with anger. "We take you in, and this is how you repay us? By breaking everything in the house? Maybe you should be on the streets where you belong!"
I wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but my throat felt tight, and I couldn't find my voice. Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision as I crouched down to pick up the broken pieces of the plate. But as I reached for the shards, my adoptive father grabbed my wrist, his grip tight and painful.
"You want to break things?" he snarled. "Fine. Let's see how you like it when things get broken."
Before I could react, he yanked my hand forward and pressed it down onto the sharp, broken pieces of the plate. I cried out in pain as the shards dug into my skin, cutting deep. My adoptive mother stood there, her arms crossed, a cruel smile on her lips as she watched.
"Stop!" I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. "Please, stop!"
But they didn't stop. My adoptive father pushed harder, grinding my hand into the broken glass, and I felt the shards slice through my flesh. Pain shot up my arm, sharp and unbearable, and I screamed.
"You deserve this," he hissed, his voice filled with venom. "Maybe this will teach you to be less worthless."
My adoptive mother nodded in agreement, her smile never fading. "You need to learn your place," she said coldly. "You're not special, Bella. You're just a useless human, and you always will be."
The pain was excruciating, but the worst part was their words. Each one was like a dagger to my heart, tearing me apart from the inside. I felt so small, so helpless, so completely broken.
When my adoptive father finally let go of my wrist, I pulled my hand back, cradling it against my chest. Blood dripped from my fingers, staining the floor, and my whole body trembled with pain and fear.
"Clean up this mess," my adoptive mother ordered, her voice sharp and cruel. "And don't you dare bleed on the floor!"
I nodded, biting back the sobs that threatened to escape. My hand throbbed with pain, but I forced myself to move, to start picking up the broken pieces, careful not to cut myself again. I knew if I didn't do as they said, it would only get worse.
As I cleaned up, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. I felt so trapped, so lost in this nightmare of a life that seemed to have no end. Every day was a new struggle, a new pain to endure. And now, more than ever, I needed to hold on to the tiny spark of hope that Jack had given me, even if I didn't fully understand it.
But as the blood from my wounds mixed with the soapy water, that spark felt like it was fading. And I didn't know how much longer I could hold on.
I could feel my head spinning, the room swaying around me as I struggled to keep myself upright. The pain in my hand was intense, the cuts from the broken plates stinging and burning with every movement. I couldn't breathe. My chest felt tight, and I knew I needed to get out of there.
Without thinking, I turned and bolted for the door. My feet moved faster than I thought possible, fueled by fear and desperation. I didn't stop to grab anything and didn't look back as I pushed past the screen door and into the cool night air. I heard my adoptive parents yelling after me, but their voices faded into the background as I ran.
I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, my heart pounding in my chest, my lungs burning with every breath. The world around me blurred, my vision clouded by tears and dizziness. I just needed to get away, to escape the cruelty that seemed to surround me. My feet knew exactly where to go, guiding me through the familiar path in the woods.
I didn't stop until I reached the river. The same river where I'd spent so many hours before, seeking solace in its gentle flow and the whisper of the wind through the trees. As I stumbled to the water's edge, I finally allowed myself to collapse, falling to my knees in the damp grass.
I cradled my wounded hand against my chest, the blood still dripping from the cuts and mixing with the tears on my cheeks. I felt so utterly broken, so lost in this cruel world that seemed to offer me nothing but pain. I wanted to scream, to cry out at the injustice of it all, but no sound came out. Only silence, broken by the soft rustle of the leaves in the wind.
Why did they hate me so much? What had I done to deserve this?
The questions circled in my mind, each one more painful than the last. I wished I could just disappear, to vanish into the night and never have to face this world again. I didn't want to go back.
I glanced down at my wounded hand, watching as the blood trickled into the river, carried away by the current. It was strange, almost calming in a way, to see the water slowly wash away the evidence of my pain. For a moment, I let myself imagine that it could wash away everything else, too. All the hurt, all the fear, all the loneliness.
As I sat by the river, the idea began to form in my mind, slowly at first, like a distant whisper. But the longer I stayed there, the clearer it became until it was all I could think about.
Running away.
Why haven't I considered it before?