Page 3 of Fractured Souls

“Shut up, you little shit. Let me get a few things straight,” she sneers. “Your life before today no longer exists. Don't worry, I have lots of connections to important people who owe me. It will be wiped away. You are Harley Wilson now, and I am your mother. You will not speak of Lilian ever again. She is not your mom anymore. I am. You will address me as Mother at all times. You now have a brother and sister, and you will call them as such. Don't worry, I'll come up with a story about where you have been all this time. Maybe a long stay at the psych ward. I do have lots of connections as I said," she cackles, her fist pulling harder at my hair, making more tears stream down my face.

I don't understand. I'm only thirteen. How could she be saying these things? How am I supposed to just forget my mom? I don't understand. A sob breaks loose from inside me and comes out, and she slaps me hard across the face. Pain blossoms through my cheek.

“SHUT UP!” she yells. “You will do everything I tell you to do, or there will be consequences. Until I decide what I will tell people about where you came from and where you have been, you will not leave the house. So enjoy the ride home.” She laughs like a crazy person as she opens the trunk and starts to shove me inside. I fight as best I can, but I'm still weak and can't do much, so she overpowers me quickly and slams it shut behind me.

That night, I learned what the consequences looked like when I spoke without being spoken to and called her Tammy instead of Mother, even though I had no idea I wasn't allowed to speak. She whipped my back until it was bleeding and left me curled up inthe basement, in the dark overnight. Little did I know that would be my new home.

The next day, after that first beating, I woke up crying and in pain. Mother came down and kicked me in the ribs for crying, and I was forced to spend the day cleaning and scrubbing while in excruciating pain, trying to hold back my tears.

I asked why she would change my last name to Wilson, and that got me slapped and screamed at for asking questions she claimed were none of my business. I prayed this wouldn't last. I prayed someone would save me and prayed this was all just a bad dream.

Those prayers didn't do a damn thing. In my world, the devil was very much real, and her name was Tammy Wilson.

Little did I know that to beat the devil, I would have become the devil myself.

Welcome to my hell.

ChapterTwo

Present Day

Harley

Iwake to something hitting my mattress repeatedly, jostling me awake from another night of restless sleep. I try to sit up quickly but groan in pain. My ribs hurt from the beating I got two days ago because Mother felt I needed one. For the most part for the last year or so, I have been left alone in the basement. Unless they might have guests coming, then I get sent upstairs to clean before they arrive, then sent back down before they come in. It's like some twisted, fucked-up Cinderella shit. You know the whole evil stepmother makes her clean and shit? Jokes on me because Cinderella was my all-time favorite Disney movie that my mom and I watched together.

Other than the cleaning, I'm left to my own thoughts in this shitty basement unless Mother gets bored; then she comes down and beats me. Or if she thinks I magically did something wrong while locked up in a basement alone. The beatings used to come almost every day at first, but after about two years I think she got bored because I stopped begging and crying and trying to fight back. I just took it. Hell, I haven't fucking cried in almost two years. I gave up on that shit after one full year here. So I think she just comes when she feels like it or needs a release. Or like yesterday when I had the competition, she beat me in spots no one would see the day prior to keep me too weak to run.

“Rise and shine, bitch! Mommy wants to speak to you,” says a shrill, awful, squeaky voice as she continues to kick my mattress. God, I cannot stand my sister's voice.

She is fourteen, two years younger than me, and she does not care how her mother treats me. She thinks she is the shit when she's really just a spoiled brat. I bet if you even poked her, she'd break out into sobs and cry about getting hurt. I laugh internally thinking about just slapping the bitch once and watching her cry. Okay, maybe I'm slightly insane.

Tabby, who is a spitting image of Mother—perfect clothes, auburn hair, and cold, mean eyes—unlocks my chained cuff that's around my ankle and then takes off upstairs. Yep, a chain. It spans the length of the basement from the middle of the floor and just barely reaches the bottom step to the basement. The basement isn't super big. It's the size of a large bedroom, I think. There is a small bathroom in the corner that they took the door off of, and it has a small standing shower, a toilet, and an old sink. I have a twin mattress on the ground with one throw blanket, an old pillow, and my small stack of clothes next to it, and that's it.

I get up as fast as I can and head upstairs. Mother, Father, and Tabby are all sitting around the table eating breakfast. I stand in the corner of the room with my head down waiting for permission to move, speak, or do anything. This is the most I've been up here lately. They haven't had me clean for them in a few months, and yesterday was my first time out of the house in three years. Seriously. I hadn't stepped foot outside until yesterday for the piano competition.

As I stand here waiting, my thoughts go to where they have randomly gone over the years I have been locked away here: my dad.

I have no idea who he is. But I like to daydream about him. He’d be loving and kind. A knight in shining armor I remember thinking as a child. I wish he would swoop in here and save the day. Or I just wish that I knew who he was, so if I somehow magically got out of this hell someday, I could find him and hopefully he'd want me. But unfortunately, I don't. Just another unknown to throw in the mix for me.

I zone back into the room as Mother opens her mouth. “Well, Harley, it would seem my connections came through and you will be starting school tomorrow, with rules that you will be agreeing to and be obeying at all times. Don't worry, if you don't, I will know. I have eyes everywhere.”

This is not the first time Mother has mentioned connections. What the fuck does that even mean? Like people she knows or something? Will people be watching me? She is extending a lot of faith that I won't say anything. But maybe she knows I am too scared. Or she really does have these connections. I just wish I knew what or who they were.

“Also, just because I can, and I don't trust you, dear darling daughter, you will drink that.” She points to the other end of the table where there is a glass with something in it, but I'm not sure what. I just stand there staring at it. This can't be good.

When I don't move fast enough, Father flies out of his chair, knocking it over and grabbing me by the back of the neck before shoving me towards the table. “When your mother tells you to do something, you do it, you stupid bitch!” Father spits at me.

I tremble but try to cover it the best I can. Even after so many years, they still terrify me, but I try to mask it and pretend like nothing they do bothers me anymore. It’s hard, and sometimes I feel those walls cracking. Like I might just break one day.

I grab the cup off the table and take a small sip, instantly gagging. I have no idea what this is, but itburns. My throat is instantly on fire.

Mother gets up and slowly walks towards me. She grabs the cup with one hand and grips my hair with the other, then tilts my head back roughly and shoves the glass at my mouth. Father plugs my nose, so I have no choice but to drink in order to breathe.

It feels like time stops as I slowly gulp it down. It tastes awful, and the burning sensation in my throat gets worse with each swallow.

Mother steps back. “Speak,” she orders, narrowing her eyes.

I try to talk, but it comes out choked and really quiet. It hurts too bad to speak loudly, and what I do get out is raspy. Mother beams triumphantly like she just won some game.

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