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Hazel Winters
“ You make me do this, Hazy. You’re the one that constantly messes things up.”
His spit lands on my nose and I fight the urge to wipe it away. That would only make him madder.
“You’re just a worthless child. Your mother should have never talked me out of her getting an abortion when we found out you were a girl.”
His words are venomous, and he knows how much they hurt me. He grips onto my arm roughly and I know it is going to leave a bruise. I try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he only tightens his grasp on me.
“Lie down on the bed.”
I shake as I obey him, walking over to my small single bed and removing my t-shirt before laying face down on the old sheets. The sound of his belt buckle makes me tense but I force myself to relax.
It’ll be worse if I don’t.
This is a weekly ritual. He goes out to get drunk and returns to scar my back with his belt. I squeeze my eyes shut at the first lashing on my bare skin, determined not to shed a tear for him to see.
His beatings are brutal, biting away at my skin until I can feel blood pooling on top of my spine. It spills down my sides and onto the sheets, seemingly spurring him on with his assault.
The leather sears into my broken skin, the metal buckle delivering an especially harsh blow each time it catches me.
When the belt finally clanks down on the floor, I take a deep breath.
A very mistaken deep breath.
He’s not done yet.
I wake up with a gasp, my whole body drenched in sweat. My hand reaches around to touch my scars, a reminder that I healed from him. They’re not fresh anymore and don’t hurt like they used to.
Yet, the pain feels so lifelike.
It takes a few minutes for me to get my breathing under control, before I climb out of bed on shaky legs.
The nightmares are constant. Every time I close my eyes, I’m haunted by my past. Not being able to afford a therapist means I’ve learnt to live with it.
But it doesn’t make it any easier.
I sip at a cup of tea as I check over my phone, noticing a few new texts from the guy from the bar. He told me his name was Dominik, and it somehow suited his rugged personality.
I reply to them before finishing my tea and hopping in the shower. The warm water still surprises me each time, but I can now have it scorching hot like I used to before I couldn’t afford heating.
I scrub at my skin until it turns red, wanting to wash the nightmares off me before I start the day. The raw pain soothes me slightly, grounding me back to the reality that he’s not a part of.
I step out and clear the steam from my mirror. The scars on my sides catch my eye and I twist around to examine the main damage on my back. They’re ugly, puckered white lines that tell a story of my past misery.
They’re a constant reminder of my father’s rage and my helplessness.
My mother was too ill to stop him when he started to abuse me, but it wouldn’t have worked anyway. He always did like causing me harm for his own release.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
I shake the thought from my mind before it can develop into a full-blown panic attack. Turning away from the mirror, I wrap a towel around myself, so it covers the scars before walking into my bedroom to dry my hair.
After it’s completely dry, I straighten it until it’s dangling loose down to my mid-back. I apply some minimal makeup and dress in some black leggings and a sweatshirt.
It was payday yesterday and my bank account looks fuller than it has in months. Whilst still not being happy that my bosses paid my rent without asking me, I’d rather get my nails done than pay for the rent myself this month.
I grab my coat and tote bag before walking down to my favourite nail salon.
“Jesus, you look rough,” Sabrina greets me as soon as I walk through the door. She’s standing at reception, an unimpressed look on her face as she scans my body.
“I’ve missed you too,” I roll my eyes. She walks over to me and pulls me into a hug, gripping me so tightly I can’t move.
“How have you been?” she asks as she guides me over to her workstation. She takes my hands into hers and tuts at the state of my bitten nails before pulling out a nail file and getting to work.
“Fucking busy at work,” I groan, sitting back in the plush velvet pink chair.
“Tell me about it,” she mutters, and I smirk.
“I’m just glad I can finally afford to get my nails done again.”
“I know. I lost one of my favourite clients when you stopped coming to see me.”
We’d been friends since school, and I was one of her first clients when she set up her own business. Now, she has multiple employees and a large social media following that has her booking in people weeks in advance.
But she always has time for me.
“So, you told me you got a new job?” she confirms as she starts to apply extensions to my nails.
“Yeah, at that club, Haven . It’s good money and good tips,” I shrug, trying not to think about my bosses.
“Any cute guys working there?” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and I laugh. The thought of my bosses comes straight back into my mind, and she must notice the look on my face because she drops the extension she was applying dramatically.
“Tell me everything,” she demands, leaning forward expectantly.
“There’s nothing to tell. My bosses are good looking but they’re so controlling. I’m always getting pulled into their office,” I roll my eyes.
“Go for it girl,” she smiles as she picks up the discarded extension and glues it to my nail, “Wait did you say ‘bosses’ as in plural?”
“Yup. They all have some sort of obsession over keeping me in line. It’s like a fetish or something.”
“Because they want to fuck you,” she sing-songs as she tilts her head from side to side. I groan at her delusion, but she smirks back.
“They don’t,” I deadpan.
“Okay, I'll tell you what. We’ll go to Haven on one of your days off and I’ll check them out. You know I’m the best at reading people.”
“No, you’re the best at gossiping, but fine. I’m sure we can sweet-talk our way to not paying the entry fee.”
“And we can smuggle vodka in our bras,” she suggests, and I laugh, realising I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.