The Brochure [subject to change]

The Brochure
a short story by Audrey Williams

CHAPTER 1:
SPEARMONTE ACADEMY FOR GIRLS

         I knew that brochure would change my life. I could tell from the way the bright fluorescent lighting in Father’s office reflected off of its rigid, shiny flaps. The menacing colors of royalty glimmering up at me, begging me to read the anachronistic black text. Marvelous maroons, glittering golds, and passionate purples taunted me; they provoked me to shove the evil life-ruining brochure back into the organized mahogany desk drawer I had found it in.
         All I had wanted was an ink pen and a few sheets of paper. And what did I find instead? A brochure for Spearmonte Academy, an all girls boarding school. I was fifteen and I was just beginning to discover myself, just beginning to form my own sense of fashion and more importantly, I was just beginning to decipher my self-image. I was beginning to shape myself now into the woman I would become. Any teen in this delicate position should be careful, whether they realize it or not.
         I suppose it could be said that I had been more rebellious than usual, but I didn’t think that was cause enough for my parents to send me away for an entire year. It was simply the typical teenage angst…perfectly excusable, right?
         So there I stood, dumbstruck like a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car, trying to decide what to make of this newly obtained information. Maybe the brochure wasn’t for me; maybe it was for my younger sister. It had taken me a moment to remember I didn’t have a younger sister. Okay…so perhaps it was an old brochure for my mother’s old school. But that would be impossible, I realized. My mother had been a regular townie, she had attended a regular high school, and she had married a regular rich man. She hadn’t, at any point (that I know of) attended a boarding school. If she had, I most likely wouldn’t exist. She had conceived me when she was 17, sometime around February the 8th. She married my father (who – for the sake of names – we’ll call “Daddy”) five months into the pregnancy. And then I was born, exactly one month early, three days after her 18th birthday. This whole ordeal makes my mom thirty-three years old. Daddy is seven years older than her. And boy is he rich. I’m not sure how they met…I never bothered to ask. I never cared.
         I was a mistake. They were a mistake. My whole life was one big mistake. And now they wanted to get rid of me. I took the scissors and debated whether or not I should cut the horrid brochure into tiny pieces and burn it on Daddy’s desk, ignoring the fire and letting it burn the whole house to ashes, or whether I should keep it and ask my lovely parents about it. I decided to keep it.
         I gently closed the drawer and started back upstairs to my room, where T.A.T.U.’s 30 Minutes played quietly in the background. I stuffed the brochure in between two heavy encyclopedias on my bookcase so I wouldn’t have to look at the vile thing. I’ve never hated a piece of paper more in my life than I did at that moment. From the way my parents always treat me, I’d say it was the two of them who deserved to be sent away to a boarding school. Or perhaps a prison. Yes, a prison would most definitely suit them better than a silly school.
         At that moment, I heard voices downstairs in the foyer. One was loud and angry, bellowing at something stupid my mother had done earlier in the day. She must have forgotten to pick up dad at work again. The other voice was small and apologetic. There was another loud burst of angry words directed towards my mother. I heard my mother crying and apologizing as many times as possible before I heard the familiar thud of her body hitting the floor. I winced. I hate it when they fight…
         I woke up an hour and a half later, my head buried in my silky blue Harry Potter pillow case, to the sound of more shouting. This time, it was directed at me. I panicked. Not again…he usually doesn’t do this twice in one week…I jumped off my bed and shrank into a corner, holding my knees to my chest. I didn’t even know what I had done to upset him this time. I shut my eyes tight and waited for the worst.
         My door burst open and in blundered my furious father…that’s him, Daddy Dearest. He made his way towards me and I quickly stood up, but still unable, after fifteen years, to look him in the eye.
         “You missed dinner! What the Hell were you doing up here? Your mother and I called you for thirty minutes to come down and eat with no reply. I would have come and gotten you myself, but I figured if you wanted to starve, then so be it.” I glanced at his face. He was angry, that was certain. But I’ve seen him angrier. I shrugged hesitantly.
         “I-I’m sorry Daddy…I d-didn’t mean to…I wasn’t…I was just….I just fell asleep, I didn’t mean t-to m-miss dinner…I’m sorry….” I stuttered out my apology. But it wasn’t good enough. I felt his harsh hand against my cheek as he knocked me to the floor. What had been the use in getting up in the first place? Eventually I’ll learn to just curl up and play dead. I was used to this. I had gone through plenty of liquid cover up to conceal my bruises that are the handiwork of my father. But after about seven blows to the face with fingers with rings riding them, I had fresh blood on my carpet. I was running out of furniture to move to conceal my blood stains. Salty tears mingled with the bleeding sores, making them sting a little more.
         Finally, Daddy stopped thrashing me. He left silently, slamming the door in his wake. I pulled myself onto my bed and grasped the all too familiar Kleenex tissue box, pulling out my dearest friends and blowing my nose gratefully into them. After I tended to my sinuses, I wiped away the wet blood, and licked a new tissue, careful to not let it dissolve in my mouth too much, and scrubbed gently at the dried blood, all the while looking into my vanity mirror across the room.
         I sighed and retrieved the brochure from the bookcase. I went to the bathroom and nursed my minor wounds (which were only a few cuts across my eyebrows and busted lip) with Neosporin and Ora Gel. I placed transparent Band-Aids on the cuts and timidly began downstairs to confront my hollow mother and cruel father about the brochure. Daddy would be furious that I was snooping in his desk and would probably beat me again. And I would probably deserve that one. He’s warned me to stay out of his “office”. But I already knew all his secrets. I knew about his obvious porn stash downloaded from the internet. I knew about all the gay erotica novels blatantly visible on his book shelves. Mother was either blind or blissfully ignorant of the fact that her husband’s perversion.
         I marched bravely into the large living room. Mother and Father were in separate chairs, each staring blankly at the big screen television. They were watching an action film. It looked like Mission Impossible with Tom Cruise. I would much rather be watching Interview with a Vampire. I stood, slightly frightened, in front of the screen until Father coolly switched it off and glared at me.
         “What d’you want?” he growled. My heart was pounding in my chest. I held up the brochure.
         “What’s this? What’d I do? Why don’t you want me here?” I asked immediately, staring for once in his cold grey eyes. I had my mother’s eyes. Or at least how her eyes used to look, before she met my father, Klint Hayes. My eyes were bright green. It contrasted greatly with my pale, lightly freckled face. This, in turn, contrasted with my dark auburn hair, flowing thick and healthy over my shoulders. It was secured today with a thick black headband.
         Daddy squinted at the brochure, trying to figure out what it was. Once he discovered what I was holding, he rose immediately from his chair. This brought my mother out of her reverie and she looked frightened from me. She shrank back slightly. Years ago, she would have leapt to my rescue. But not this woman. Not the woman that was constantly abused and raped and hated by her own husband. This woman was a shell. She moved, she talked, and she ate. But she wasn’t really alive. Her glaze flicked back and forth between my father and me before she directed it to a book that was laying next to her. She picked it up and began to read, hoping to block out the oncoming argument.
         “Where did you get that? Were you snooping around in my office Gillian?” he asked, his temper rising by the second. I lowered my glaze and the arm holding the brochure dropped to my side. I nodded. He growled at me angrily. “I told you to never set foot in that room! How many times will I have to beat your ass to get that through your thick skull, you stupid bitch?” He was screaming as he unfastened his belt and released it from the loops on his pants. He was getting ready to whip me.
         “No, Daddy! Please! I’m sorry, I won’t do it again! I was looking for a pen! A pen and paper so I could write Jasmine a note! I’m sorry! It was an accident!” I was pleading with my father again. It felt like I was pleading for my life, like it always did. I should have been used to it by now. But I wasn’t. His voice still makes me tremble. I remembered my mission. Find out why he doesn’t want me, why I’m not good enough for him. I knew I was a mistake, but hell…did I really deserve to be sent away from my life for God knows how long? I didn’t think so…although, it might be a relief to leave this behind….
         “Please, just tell me why you don’t want me!” I screamed, right before Daddy took his first swing, planting the leather belt quickly and harshly on my left thigh. I winced, but didn’t give in. I glared at him. “I hate you, you fucking bastard! Stop it, stop it this instant! I hate you! I don’t care if you send me away! I’ll run away just to avoid living with you! I hate you, I hate Mother, I hate your stupid belt! Fuck you!” I had lost it. I threw the brochure in Daddy’s face and made a beeline for the front door. I ran out into the street, tears streaming down my face.
         I only had one place to go until dark, when I would be able to sneak back in and gather my things to stay someplace until the term at Spearmonte Academy began. Yes, I would go. I would go just so I could escape my parents. But just then, I had to get to Jasmine. I had to get to my beautiful and popular friend, who I was almost obsessed with. I had to find Jasmine. I had to stay with her. She would understand. She would take care of me, shelter me, feed me, and love me. Yes…she would love me.