Page 6 of Day Break

No one spoke to me.

I ate my tasteless breakfast and sucked down my burned coffee.

It flashed through my mind that I’d be eating tasteless food for the next year of my life, and I gulped in air and bit my lip to try and stop the flood of emotions.

I chanted in my head that it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care, until the flood of sadness dissipated.

I sat there until only a handful of women were left in the dining room. Most had left in large groups through a door at the end of a short hallway.

Every time the door opened, I could see sunlight streaming in.

When I was done eating, I took my tray to the tray return area and slowly made my way to the outdoor courtyard.

It was early spring in the Northwest, so though the sun was shining, the wind was cold, and I wondered if they would provide warmer clothes.

“Who you?” someone said behind me.

I turned to see a short young woman. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old. One of her eyes shot off to the outside and was obviously not working properly. The other focused on my face.

I moved out of the doorway, believing this would end the conversation. It didn’t. The woman took a giant step towards me, her eyes narrowing.

“I said,” she spat out, “who you?”

“Chloe.” I turned to move further out of her way.

Suddenly, my long ponytail was yanked back. My chin was raised to the sky as I flew backwards to the ground.

The woman held onto my hair, yanking harder than I’d ever felt before. Several strands popped out of my scalp.

“Who you?” the woman continued to scream as she jumped on my stomach and slapped my face. She scratched my hands and neck, any exposed flesh.

Flashbacks to all the times I’d been pushed, shoved, slapped, and hit suddenly boiled up inside me.

I’d given others everything I was.

Had everything taken from me.

They’d made me feel as if I deserved it. As if it was my burden. My sole reason for existing.

I’d never really learned to stand up for myself.

Well, I was tired of it. This had to stop. It had to end.

A low growl sounded from deep in my chest, and I screamed at the top of my lungs as I shoved the woman off me. I pushed her into the cold dirt and sat on her chest, holding her down just like she’d done to me.

My skin burned from where she’d attacked me, though I barely noticed.

I swung out—clawing, slapping, punching—until strong arms lifted me away.

As I was carried back inside, my eyes were glued to the destroyed copy of Don Juan lying in the mud beside the unconscious woman who had just attacked me.

I didn’t realize I was still screaming until we passed through the dining room. My loud shrieking echoed in the large space.

I was mad.

I had obviously lost it. At this point, I no longer cared. My sanity was just one more thing that had been taken from me.

That thought had my mind sharpening.