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Life Beyond Constraints

Life Beyond Constraints

Dolorita Drinker

5.0
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15
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Father is addicted to gambling and abusive; mother is promiscuous. I am the result of their impulsive decision one night, and they did not want me. My grandparents took me back home. But my life did not get much better. I was abused by my uncle's family and bullied by classmates. It wasn't until my third year of junior high school that a transfer student came to our school, a troublemaker who skipped classes, drank and fought. When I was dragged into the bathroom and about to be bullied again, he stood in front of me.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The year I met Waylon, I was covered in wounds.

He held an umbrella over me, shielding me within the curve of his arm.

At that time, I had no idea that he was also bleeding behind his calm exterior.

My name is Stella, a name chosen without much thought or care.

Just like my birth, it was random and unplanned.

My dad was a gambler, and my mom was a prostitute.

I never understood why two such mismatched people would live under the same roof.

But without a doubt, both of them were terrible people.

Ever since I could remember, my mom would stand at the alley's entrance, wearing heavy makeup, smoking a cigarette.

When a man approached, she would take him upstairs. Thirty minutes later, the man would leave.

On busy days, this happened two or three times a day. On slow days, no one came for several days.

As for my dad, he was lazy all day and never held a proper job.

He had a gambling addiction. Whenever he had money, he would gamble it away. When he lost, he would drink and then beat me.

He never hit my mom. To him, she was like a stranger living in the same house, completely separate from him.

And I became the only target for his anger.

When I was six, he lost a lot of money at the casino. After being away for half a month, he came home reeking of alcohol and found me.

"You little brat, it's all your fault I have bad luck. I should have kicked you to death when you were born."

"Damn it, if it weren't for you, I would have been rich by now."

"You're the reason I'm stuck here, you jinx. You've ruined my chances of making it big."

"You're just like your mother, a worthless whore. No one would want you even if you tried to sell yourself."

His hand, larger than my face, slapped me hard. After a burst of pain, my ears rang, and then there was silence.

He yanked my hair back roughly, making my face swell with each slap, then tried to pin me to the ground to kick me.

Curled up on the floor, I didn't move. Blood, snot, and tears mixed together, pooling on the ground. I thought I was going to die, but unfortunately, I didn't.

Every time I was beaten, my mom watched coldly. She looked at me with disgust in her eyes.

Of course, she wished I would be beaten to death.

In her eyes, I shouldn't have been born. I was her disgrace.

Yet, every time after I was beaten, she would approach me with a cold expression and roughly apply alcohol to my wounds.

I would grimace in pain, and only then would she show a hint of a smile.

Did she love me?

I don't think so.

She just enjoyed the sound of my heart-wrenching cries when the alcohol touched my wounds. It gave her a sense of revenge.

But if they didn't like me, why did they give birth to me in the first place?

Later, I learned to be cautious at home, to flatter and please them.

I tried hard to win their favor just to get something to eat.

But even though I acted like a submissive stray dog, my life didn't improve much.

I was still like an abandoned child; they never cared whether I lived or died.

They never fed me, leaving me to fend for myself.

If it weren't for Thalia, the neighbor who took pity on me and gave me food, I would have starved.

I asked Thalia, "Am I really that annoying? Why don't my parents like me?"

Thalia rubbed a boiled egg over my bruised eyes and said, "Stella, you're a good girl. It's your parents who are too blind to see it."

Thalia told me that my dad's behavior was domestic violence and that I could call the police.

The police would come to protect me.

I believed Thalia without question.

So, the next time my drunken dad beat me, I dragged my battered body to the police station and reported him.

The police arrested my father.

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