Page 1 of Chelsea’s Knight

PROLOGUE

Chelsea, age 4

“Nonni! Poppa!” I cried out seeing my grandparents, the two people who love me the most in this mean world, walking into my hospital room.

I could tell that even though Nonni’s eyes were red and bloodshot, she was trying to pretend she was okay because she was smiling big.

Poppa came in with his arms full of a huge stuffed pink kitty who has a turquoise bow tied around its neck. As Nonni made her way to my side, Poppa gently sat the pink kitty on my pillow where it’s propped up close to my head.

“How’s Nonni and Poppa’s sweet girl doing?” Nonni asked.

“You better not tell anyone what happened.”My stepmother’s stern voice hisses like a slithering snake inside my head, the threat a common one used anytime the she-monster hit, yanked me around, or threw me down, at least for me.

I’m always having to keep my mouth shut and never share the secrets with the two people who love me unconditionally no matter how good or bad I’ve been.

“I’m okay, Nonni,” I swore, puckering my lips and kissing her tear-stained cheek.

I closed my eyes and breathed in her smell. To me, she smells like cookie dough, making me feel as if I was in their house, sitting in my favorite stool, ‘helping’ my nonni bake her yummy chocolate chip cookies.

“Not from what I’m observing,” Poppa grumbled and harrumphed, causing Nonni to shush him. “Where’s your father? Why isn’t he here with you? He needs to have his backside swatted for leaving you alone like this.”

I hide my smile because Poppa always tells Daddy he’s going to bend him over his knee if he doesn’t get his head out of the sand.

“Daddy told Miss Gloria he was heading home today and would be coming here tonight,” I stated, hiding my sadness behind a pretend smile.

I didn’t like when my daddy went out of town for work because he left me home with two people who hate me,herand my stepbrother, Archie.

Archie was always so mean to me, just like she was, but I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.

Not ever.

And most importantly, I’m not supposed to tell Daddy, Nonni, or Poppa.

I get punished worse if I tell anyone or ask questions about if something she says is right or wrong. Sometimes I get slapped across the face or she puts soap in my mouth. I don’t like it when either of those things happen, so I just stay silent.

I’ve kept their secrets, though.

No matter how much I want to tell my nonni, especially when she questions how I hurt myself, I don’t say a word.

Even though the secrets I don’t talk about hurt me the most.

“This shit’s gotta stop. Now, not later,” Poppa growled out. “She always ends up getting hurt whenever Charles goes out of town on a business trip. Haven’t you noticed that?” he asked Nonni. Instead of answering, I watched her nod before she turned another pretend smile toward me.

I could tell the difference now because when she really smiled at me, her eyes would squinch up until her skin crinkled, I saw her teeth, and her cheeks would get pinker. Her pretend smile didn’t look like that at all; she kind of looked like she had eaten something that didn’t taste good but because she was a nice person, she wouldn’t make a fuss.

“I brought you a new coloring book and some crayons so you can color and draw, peanut,” she cooed, pushing the little table closer to me so the tray was sitting over the bed. Then she reached into her purse, which always held the best surprises, and pulled out a thick book along with a bigger package of crayons. “I also have some cookies too,” Nonni said, before a baggie appeared next to the coloring book. “Poppa will go see if the nurse will get you some milk.”

“Thank you, Nonni,” I dutifully said.

Manners were important, or so Miss Gloria told me every time she hit my hands with the ruler when I got excited and forgot to be polite. I quickly blinked back tears because I wasn’t so sure I would be able to keep my secrets too much longer, especially not after this time.

Chelsea, age 6

“Chelsea! Get your ass out here right this minute!” Miss Gloria yelled through my closed and locked bedroom door. I sighed as I put my busted-up Barbie with chopped hair aside then went to see what she wanted this time.

Glancing back at my room, I knew my daddy would be home soon so it would undergo a transformation once again.

Where the mattress was currently sitting, a canopy bed fit for a princess would soon appear. My pretty bedding will be put on instead of the threadbare quilt I’m using now. My walls will have my decorated posters and paintings will be hung again. My toy box will be brought back in and a luxury Barbie dollhouse will sit in the corner by the window of my bedroom, complete with Barbies who hadn’t been mangled, and the empty hangers in the closet would once again be filled with beautiful clothes and my dresser drawers would overflow with a newly purchased wardrobe of panties, socks, pantyhose, pj’s, and play clothes, unlike the tattered and torn ones I’m forced to wear while he’s away from home.

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