Ariana Peyton's Diary (Mated To An Enemy)

The sound of the gurneys almost deafen my ears, and the light from these doctors' torches is blinding me but I keep running towards the scene. It is 12 o' clock. In the midnight, I know even though I don't look at the clock over my head. With sweaty palms and terrific faces, five gurneys are wheeled towards the emergency rooms by the late night doctors. Even though their mouths are shut tight, I can hear millions of inaudible sounds coming out of them.

Each of the gurneys are being wheeled by two personnels, and each time they pass me by, i peer into them to see the victims' faces clearly because I can not see them from where I am.

The first face I see is badly disfigured. It's got a big mark from the forehead down to her upper eyelid, her lips are charred and her jaw is almost totally detached from the rest of her face. Hot drops of blood trickle down her head to her chest and her dress is soiled. She looks like she is no longer breathing and just as the ambulance pass by me, I see something in her hands-A red neck piece. She is clutching it tightly like it is her whole life. My red neck piece. Yes, this victim is my only sister, Jamie but I do not cry. I mean, I always want to cry but I can't. So my face is firm and peaceful, but I am screaming inside me. My legs are hitting the air and I'm ripping my hair inside of me, but outside? I am standing tall. Somehow, with all the swiftness as they pass by me, her hands shake and she loses hold of the red neck piece. As thick and shiny as my hair, our hair(hers blonde and mine black). It falls from her hands and drops at my feet just as soon as the second ambulance approaches me. I bend to pick up my red neckpiece-the one thing that binds my sister and I together but whoosh...it is air. I can see it on the cold tiled floor but when I try to pick it up, it is not there. I fall and shiver with the noise in my head but I cannot cry. I get up quickly to take a look at the second victim but I can't see 'its' face-the whole body is wrapped in a blue satin material that looks and smells like death. I wait for the third but it moves so fast I can't get a proper picture of her, but I do know it is a female.

The fourth has blood dropping from his nose and his eyes are shut tight like he is in another world. The fifth body is wheeled upstairs and I hurriedly follow it. As I climb the staircase after them, I see a woman descending it; her countenance looks disheveled but her heart is dancing. She is jumping and laughing inside of her. When I look into her eyes, that's what I see but she does not see me pass. I stop staring at her and follow the ambulance which is now being rolled into the theatre with calculated moves. I want to see who the victim is, but they are so fast that they enter and lock the door before I can catch up.

I sigh and hesitate for three minutes and then I remember the red neckpiece-the one that fell from Jamie's hands. "Jamie!" I scream in my head. Then my feet begin to move very fast down the stairs. I do not have the power to stop them from moving and they only stop at Emergency Ward 1 and I suddenly and supernaturally find myself inside without using the door.

The neck piece still lay there, close to the reception. There on the bed in the emergency Ward lay my sister Jamie with her pale face and bloody body. Her left eyebrow is now gone and her nose and ears are bleeding. Her lips are still charred and a man in white coveralls keep wiping blood off her face and body every now and then. There are three men around her, plus a woman, pushing and pulling some strange machines on the wall and on the floor, to save her.

The woman is placing a stethoscope on Jamie's chest. I watch her from the corner I am standing. She does it three times and then she stops, placing her head on the side of the bed which isn't bloodstained and I see, from her eyes two drops of tears fall into the soft bloodstained bed where Jamie lay. Just then, the three men stop pushing and pulling the machines, they shake their heads from side to side as if on cue and one of them proceeds to cover my sister's body with a long blue satin cloth- the same one the second victim has on his whole body. I shiver, seeing this cloth because I know it is used to wrap corpses in readiness for cremation. Suddenly I find my voice.

"Don't! She's not dead! Don't cover her up!" I scream. My lips shiver as reality dawns on me. My whole body utter a help but they do not even look at me

"Hey Doctors! Jamie's my only sister, she cannot die! Please save her" I mutter under my breath because raising my voice doesn't help.

"Pack her up quickly, the poor girl has given up" one of the men say to another and I try to cry but tears do not come. My eyes sting badly. I watch one of them roll her body like a burrito and wheel it out of the theatre. My feet scurry after him but it is all hopeless, so I soon stop going after him.

I go up the stairs towards the fifth accident victim like a defeated warrior and lay my head on the door of the ward like a wounded child. For some reason, I do not want to see any more of these gory sights. So I turn to go, but, I hear a voice

"Hello" I hear someone say to me. I turn around swiftly to face a tall man in white coveralls. His head has hair as black as coal and his voice sounds like several elephants trumpeting. I think he is a doctor here but I am shocked because he can see me, hear me.

"Please sir, I need you to save my little sister. Please stop that man from taking her there. I do not want her to go there" my voice is breaking but my eyes are as dry as a tree in summer.

He moves his head from side to side and opens his mouth to talk. "You're a spirit", he says, "I have noticed you roaming about in the past hour and that's why I have come up to you. I am no doctor"

His revelation shocks me and I know I should ask, "how do you see me then? People here can't see me or hear me" but I say something else, "No sir! I can see, feel, smell and talk. I cannot only cry and that is the one thing I suffer from, how can you even call me a spirit?" I shiver again, my feet floating in the air

"Your body is in there" he says pointing at the door I am leaning on.

"You have to go back to it please, before it is too late"

"Please save my sister" I plead with my eyes, ignoring his words

"I need you to do this, little girl. Please go back to your body now" he insists

"My sister, Jamie..." I trail off

"Save what can be saved. Go in there now" he commands

I reluctantly push the door open and just as it opens, I see the doctors about to cover the body on the bed with a long blue cloth just like the one Jamie's body's wrapped in. Just as they are about covering my face, I slip into my lifeless body.

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#####Chapter 1- LIVING WITH A BEAUTIFUL MONSTER

"Cameron Peyton, you're a disgrace to manhood, to fatherhood and to humanity!" the voice was trembling yet it was firm. It was my mother Ruby's voice and this was not the first time she'd say those exact words.

"Why don't you come out here and say it to my face, and see what I'm made of" That was her husband talking back-Cameron, my biological father but whom I'll never refer to as 'father' or 'daddy'.

I blocked my ears immediately I heard him respond to my mom's utterances because I knew what'd come next--Mom would stubbornly come out towards him, like he wanted and she'd say those words, again even when she knew the consequences of her action--Cameron would hit her hard on the face and yank her towards their matrimonial room, lock the door firmly(I always heard the sound of the lock and it made my heart cold) and then he'd beat her ruthlessly. And that is exactly what he did to her.

He beat her with anything he could lay his hands on, my mom's plastic treasure chest, their lion stool- the one she sat on to reach the switch on the wall because it was so high, Cameron's silver belt(the one I feared so much even though I've never been hit by it but because it had sharp tiny edges), the sole of his old shoes, or his hard palms. But he never beat her with his gold stool.

And he'd keep hitting her ignoring her cries for mercy, and I'd hold my head in my room and block my ears but I could still hear the tussle in my head and I would bury my head in my sheets to block the sound and wait till her wails died down.

Then my imagination would do the rest-- I'd see the crumpled, ruffled image of my mom under his grasp, with her hair and dress ripped apart and her eyes full of pain. It always followed that routine, almost every day. Cameron did not only hurt mom, he hurt me too by making her go through emotional and physical pain all the time

Mom and I have always been close and I love her so much but sometimes I get so mad at her for being a dummy. Yes, sometimes I see her as one because everytime he hit her, she'd still go back and sleep in his room at nighttime. She'd do his laundry like a maid, and kiss him every morning. She'd cook his meals and serve him, kneeling before his gold stool, that was where he always ate; he didn't eat with Mom and I at the dining table.

I never bothered to ask mom why, but I once overheard mom talk about it. She said it was the only thing he got as an inheritance from his late parents. The stool had a remarkable height and had a lever that could be pulled down to make it low, or higher. It was completely gold and had beautiful white patterns on it, and it had a wide enough round top. Mom said according to her speculations,it was worth millions of dollars. I always wondered how he got the stool though, and never sold it, since I'm sure he got it for the money.

Maybe he was waiting to be broke before selling it because Cameron was rich. Not in every sense though. Not wisdom-wise because he squandered money on unimportant things like alcohol, parties and other women. Cameron had a unquenchable thirst for money. I knew it even though I was very young. He was always talking about money, or women, and if he wasn't, then he would be beating mom.

He always said bad things about women. He called them "sex machines" and said they were goddesses sent to tempt men and rob them of their money. I didn't like hearing that. I knew my mom wasn't a seductress or a gold-digger; she was very diligent in the business she controlled. Yes, mom had her own job. She was a seamstress in a fashion designer store near our estate. But Cameron always complained about her job, said she was only wasting time working since the money wasn't needed. But mom knew him too well. She was saving for the future which she hoped would not have Cameron in it.

Cameron had a private firm where he sold goods, and he owned the estate in which we lived in. Kangaroo Estate, that was what he named it. I don't know why he named it 'Kangaroo' and even when Mom explained that he was madly in love with kangaroo babies and animals of this family, I still found it strange. People said it was cute, but I found it weird. I thought it'd have been better if the estate wasn't named at all.

I was only seven at the time but I knew a lot of things that I did not understand. Like why my eyes could not produce tears. Was I strange? I didn't know but no matter how much I wanted to cry, my eyes would remain as dry as the leaves on the fig tree in hot season. Innocently, I've asked Mom a number of times and I realized she had noticed before I did.

She said when I was born, I didn't make a sound, and the doctors and others thought I was dead. She said I had my eyes closed for few hours and it was only when I was being washed I opened them. My mom slapped my buttocks but I still didn't cry. I merely smiled. She said I have(because I still do) the smile of a contented princess. So I don't know if I should rejoice at the compliment and accept my fate or be scared for myself because the doctors said I didn't have tears in my eyes, or was that my mom's words?

Another thing I do not understand is why Cameron beat mom. I rarely call him so I don't have to bother about calling him 'dad' or 'Cameron'. They always argued and you never know what it is they are arguing about. Might be his promiscuity because Mom would be a fool not to know that he goes out with other women, or perhaps just the fact that mom is a woman, and he doesn't like women except for one thing-sex.

Why mom married him is one thing I do not understand too. Was she too much in love with him in their courting years only to know that he was abusive and didn't believe in love after marriage? Or did he force her into dating him? Or impregnated her against her consent so that he could have her forever with him? Yes I know that is called rape, but I do not want to call it that, because I do not want to believe I'm a product of a premarital affair between two people who did not even love each other. I hated myself already, I didn't want this to compound it.

There was another reason I thought about in my head, but I didn't want to believe that either. Did Mom go after him because he had money, and made him marry her so she could share his money? It was both believable and unbelievable. Believable because according to Cameron's taste and style of life, humanly speaking, he'd never have gone for mom. Not that she was not beautiful, in fact she was very beautiful, and it was the only one good thing he told her every time, but mom was gentle-spirited, decent, homely, and very warm-heated, not social and very simple. She didn't wear makeup, she didn't have any friends except Risa, a tall blonde that visited on some weekends when Cameron wasn't home. Mom also didn't like a flamboyant lifestyle; she dressed very simply and did her things quietly. She was not compatible with her over-ambitious, lousy and flamboyant and abusive husband Cameron.

Mom loved nature. In fact she had lived her whole life in the country side. Her parents were lovers of nature too, so they had many trees, orchards and pets in their family house. They were good painters too. Mom painted beautifully well too but I never saw her put out her paintings for sale. Perhaps she thought it was better displayed than sold. Or maybe she didn't need to. She had enough of everything, except love.

Cameron liked extravagance but maybe he didn't like it on women, I'll never know.

Thinking my mom married him for his money was unbelievable because she didn't look like the type to do it, and her parents weren't poor. They weren't as rich as Cameron's late parents but they weren't poor either. So I don't have an answer to how they got to be husband and wife.

Maybe in the future when everything gets better, I'll ask mom.

Another thing I did not understand is why I'm their only child. It was until an incident happened before me that I knew why. Eventually.

It was a Friday afternoon and I was back early from school with the other kids in the estate. I decided to do my homework before going out to play on the swing with them. Mom was back but Cameron wasn't. And everything was temporarily peaceful. I was doing my homework in the sitting room with the TV on, and mom was in the kitchen preparing lunch because Cameron hated to have his lunch late. Mom would prepare us lunch and pack his portion and then hire a cab to his office to give him. He didn't buy her a car, even though he could and she never asked him to. I wondered why mom had to do that everyday since I was sure he could get lunch himself, he could get a takeout from anywhere if he wanted. That is why I think Mom is a dummy. I'm always sorry for seeing her that way but it is what she is--a sweet dummy.

As usual, mom cleaned the room they both shared while the food was simmering on fire. It was chicken casserole. She cooked this every Friday afternoon. Most of the things we did on routine in the house was because of Cameron, not because we liked it. Or it was interesting. Never.

I soon finished my homework and went to the room to tell her I was going to join the other kids outside. She rubbed my head and asked me to play safe and off I went. I hadn't played too long when I heard a shriek from our apartment in the estate. I ran back inside to find mom sprawled on their bedroom floor with her hand on her forehead and blood on the back of her green skirt.

"Mama!" I yelled and went up to her "Mama did you fall?" I asked her but she was not responding. She kept rubbing her forehead and it was only when she took her hand away I saw the swell, almost as huge as a baby's head.

"What happened?" I asked panicking

"Your father. Your father is here" she mumbled with a shaky voice

I looked around the room but didn't see a trace of him

"He's not here Mama. What are you talking about?"

"He was here. Maybe he just left" she said struggling to stand up. It was then she noticed the blood on her skirt and she fell down crying silently

"Did he hit you Mama? Did Cameron hit you?" I asked with my eyes watering

But she did not answer. She just sobbed and clutched onto her tummy. She looked like she was about to cry uncontrollably. I didn't know what to do; I was only seven.

"Ariana, can you give me some minutes to myself? Mama is fine, okay? just a bit upset. Go back to the playground. I'll call you when lunch is ready" she said pleading with her eyes.

I walked out. It was what she wanted. I liked to do what mom wanted. I liked to make sure she was okay but she didn't want me then, so I had to give her some time to herself. But I didn't go back to the playground. I waited at the door like some sort of bodyguard in case Cameron came back to hit her. Like I would make him change his mind if he did come back. Like I even mattered at all. I didn't matter, I knew that. Not to Cameron anyway. And he showed me that in every way possible. I knew he had come home to argue about something again, probably about the delay in his lunch delivery or something else I'll never know about. He had hit her with her treasure box, her plastic box where she kept her earrings and deodorants and shoe laces, her precious box, the only thing she'd been able to afford to buy for herself. I had seen the box lying on the floor beside her, its contents sprawled on the floor like goods in display.

I had seen the blood too. The one on her skirt, before she even did, and strangely (because I was only seven), I knew what it meant; She had lost a baby. And her tears after I left the room, "Oh my baby boy, my precious baby boy!" had confirmed it to me. That was the second or third time she'd lose a pregnancy.

Only God knew how many she had lost, before I was born because of that beastly woman-beater who didn't look anything like his wicked heart. Don't judge a book by its cover, my class teacher always said, and it was true. Cameron looked healthy and handsome physically but he was grossly abusive. He had eyes and teeth that confirmed years of smoking and drinking but still, he was attractive. But his soul was not.

This woman didn't deserve to be his. She was virtuous and all shades of decent, way too perfect for him. She deserved a good man, who'd love her and treat her well, and take her to functions to flaunt her beauty, personality and kind soul. Cameron was not anything like that.

Mom prayed for him everyday, she prayed for me and herself too but I don't think he needs prayer. I think he needs some punishment. But I do not say these out, they remain in my head because I am scared. I don't want him to lay his hands on me as well

Mom did call him 'a shame to manhood, fatherhood and humanity', so why would she still be with him after seven years of torment? People did not understand. They thought because we are rich, we have it all together. They see mom looking all beautiful and graceful in her well-starched T-shirt and matching shoes in the morning on her way to work and they're like, "Oh she's so beautiful, so peaceful, married to a rich handsome man with a pretty little daughter" but it is way more than that. Violence is what this rich handsome man offered mom every day of her life. She didn't deserve it. I think peace is more important than money. I envy other kids in the estate whose parents are so close and loving, even when they're not as rich as we are.

I do not understand a lot of things and it worries me. Even now that I'm grown.

Cameron is indeed a disgrace to fatherhood because he's never been a father to me. He never touched me or play with me. I see how other kids' parents call them 'sweetie' 'darling' and hug them tight or kiss their forehead and cheek. And the kids will blush and sit on their thighs

I wish for something like that every day, even now that I'm grown. Cameron didn't like me, and even though I acted like I didn't care, I was hurt. I didn't know exactly why he loathed me. Maybe he hated females generally, especially females who were not useful for sex.

But on more than two occasions, he has made a comment about my body, and I knew instantly he didn't hate me because I was a girl, he hated me because I was fat.

I am chubby. I have been chubby since birth, and not only that, I looked way more mature than my age. I also sweated a lot because of my weight, and I had hair all over my body. The hair on my head was thick, black and shiny and very long. I had hair on my legs, hands, and almost everywhere. Mom said that was how she looked at my age. She said it is the genes that make me grow fast. I agree with her but I also believe it is the stuffs I ate--we had too many fast foods and milkshakes because Mom was mostly always sick and rarely made breakfast. It's either she was too tired or woke up late or a little under the weather or most often, sore from all the beatings. It must have been one of the things Cameron fought with her over, but it wasn't her fault.

She was a healthy woman before he married her. It was his beatings that made her sick, coupled with the many household jobs she did in the house. She always wasn't able to de-stress because she was always anxious and scared whenever he was around. Mom did the laundry, the cleaning, the cooking, the gardening and every other thing.

I helped in cleaning the bathrooms. What more could a seven year old do?

Mom's job at the fashion designer store took twelve hours of her time everyday. Cameron never assisted her with any work. I think husbands should assist their wives so that they'll not wear out of too much stress. The house chores are meant for everyone living under the roof.

Cameron has on three or more occasions called me 'little witch' because my eyes did not produce tears. Whenever he talked to mom, during bedtime, he goes like "Have you tucked your little witch to bed so she doesn't disturb our love game tonight?" And mom would go like, "Oh Cameron, don't call the poor girl that. She's your daughter, remember?" And he'll be like, "Whatever"

I know because after mom tucks me to bed and joins Cameron in the other room, I silently crawl out of bed and go stand by their door and eavesdrop. I did it innocently. And I made sure I heard the lock from inside before I felt at home by their door. I hated the sound of the lock. It signified violence to me and I knew mom was scared of this man. Why she didn't escape from him is what I did not understand.

Maybe she didn't want to be a single parent. Maybe she was worried for me. Maybe she was only being selfless. She must have been doing it all for me. But the violent love-making every night, did she endure that for me as well? The "keep your eyes on the wall" and "I gotta tie you up first" and then her screams that echoed in the night because he didn't treat her with mercy, even on their matrimonial bed. Did she endure all that for me too?

Cameron never hurt me physically. It wasn't kindness on his part; it was neglect. He was overlooking me. We had no physical contact. My mom didn't like this, so she would make me hold his laundry that had been done by her and then ask me to go 'give daddy'. It sounded strange in my ears but I always did it because my mom wanted it.

I'd go to his room and hand over the clothes to him, neatly ironed and arranged, and he'd take them from me without batting an eyelid. The longest word he said was "Okay thanks". It sounded so formal and rude, but I kept doing it, to make mom happy.

Mom hoped it'd make him talk to me, like a father to his first daughter but he never changed. The best he did was when on his birthday, he shared food for everybody and even served me mine by himself and helped me to a glass of Ribena.

Had to accept the fact that he'll never love me but I didn't want him to hurt mom-she was all I had. She had many bruises and cuts on her body but they were at coverable areas of her body or people outside would have suspected the truth. Whenever she was less dressed inside the house, I touched her bruises and asked her if it hurt, with tears in my eyes

"No it's healed, my daughter" she would say with a smile and then rub my head.

"Mom, can't you run away? You're suffering so much" I would tell her for the umpteenth time

"No my daughter, why would you say that? We have all we need for a lifetime here" she would say, hiding from the truth

"You know what I'm talking about mom. He does not love you" I would say blatantly. I always remember mom's surprised expression whenever I uttered these words. She was surprised because I was only seven, and she didn't want me to feel the way she felt, I guess that was why she tried to hide it, every time.

"Maybe love doesn't exist anywhere." She would say and smile , and I would feel like slapping her hard in the face and scream, "you're a dummy mom!!" But I didn't want to hurt her further.

"Love exists. My Sunday school teacher says God is love, and you told me there's a God in heaven watching over us, so love exists"

My mom would give me that surprised look again.

"Let's run away, mom. Is it the money holding you down?" I would ask innocently. "I'll work and give you money. I can't do much because I'm only seven but I promise, I'll not let us starve" then, mom would go all emotional and start to cry. And we'd rock each other in silence.

Sometimes the conversation would take a different mode, I would go over to mom all of a sudden when she was alone and ask, "Why does he beat you?"

And she'd shrug and say, "Misunderstandings happen between couples, and they settle it after. You don't have to worry your little mind about us"

"But it's not fair for him to beat you, it makes you bleed and cry. Why should he do it then when you're his wife?" I would innocently ask

"Cameron doesn't know how to love, I guess. And he has anger issues. Don't worry okay?" She would reply and in my mind, I'd be like "yeah. First one is right. Second shows you're a dummy mom" but I dare not say it out. No one should have as much anger that'll make them cause two miscarriages and frequent visits to the hospital. No one should raise his hand to beat anyone violently. Violence is not a thing I'd love to live with in future, like mom is.

I was christened Ariana May. I bear Ariana May Peyton in case you do not know my name, but I'd prefer to be called Ariana May. Peyton reminds me of pain.

This is Ariana May, and this is the story of my life I am telling you. The ones you've just read is nothing compared to others that befell me, if you don't mind being patient going through my story. Hopefully one or two things will catch your fancy in the matter of character adjustments and or hope for survival.

As a rich kid, I had many friends. And it wasn't only because I was rich, I also was very intelligent (I still am). I wasn't a genius(or maybe I was) but I could almost be called one because I was always at the top of my class. I attended one of the best and most expensive schools in town. And I was the only one who attended that school among the children who lived with us in the estate. All of them attended less expensive schools. So the friends I had at school were different from the ones I had at home.

There were eight buildings in the estate. So there were eight families, if I counted mine. Each family had at least two kids, except one-an unmarried man who lived alone. I'll tell you about him as we go on, but for now, let's talk about the kids in Kangaroo Estate. All of them liked me because I was not proud, and because I was pretty and lively and smart. They never pointed at my big body or the hairs on my body. Not once. Their parents were the friendliest; they treated every child with love and respect. It was fun being with them. I was the biggest kid but no one ever mentioned it.

The kids were either twelve, thirteen, nine, seven, six, four, three or one. None of them were above thirteen.

I knew every family because I played with all of them. There were a lot of kids to play with--Lucy, Rihanna, Mac, Gregory, Pamela, Finn, Matt, Montana, Daniel, Susannah, Little Rock etc so I was never bored.

Most of the kids' parents were always away because of the nature of their jobs. Some were medical doctors, some teachers, some civil engineers and some importers of goods. All of them knew that Cameron beat my mom because who would not hear her screams and the sound of his whipping every afternoon or night? Everyone also knew that he tied her hands and legs and whips her before he had sex with her. I mean, he was lousy. He talked about everything, so loud that everyone could hear.

Whenever he beat my mom, those parents who were around would come round to settle their arguments by pleading with him to temper justice with mercy, it went on and on like that but he never listened to them. So they turned to threatening him with the cops if he continued whipping her, and whenever he heard that, he'd stop, shooing all of them away from our sitting room where they were gathered as peacemakers. Mike Tony did join them too. Only once because he was not always in his house when dad fought mom. As a matter of fact, he barely was home. Mike Tony was a guy who lived alone in the estate. Cameron didn't like other neighbors barging in the house to come in between his violent fits, so he changed their room. You wonder what I mean? Cameron installed a soundproof space for himself and his wife. The walls of his room were soundproof. He did it so he'd have enough field day on her anytime without intrusion. It was that bad for mom.

Even me would not know sometimes if she was being spanked, raped or just sleeping peacefully beside her husband in their room, there. It made me angry, so I destroy my wardrobe and cubicle and everything my anger led me to destroy, continuously, in my room. Or I scream. Or punch my bed. Or on really bad occasions, I just lay there, not moving or feeling anything. My class teacher gave a name for it in one of her music classes-'numb', yes I remember. It was one of the songs we had to practise and she had to explain its meaning to us before anything. I do all those things I do because I cannot cry.

We have to talk about Mike Tony, don't we?

This man, Mike Tony is tall and broad-shouldered but that doesn't even matter. I'm just trying to tell you every damn thing in my story. He lived alone but not quietly because he was very open with everyone. He played with all the kids because he was always home in the afternoons but as soon as it turned six or seven in the evening, he'd disappear

No one knew where he worked or how old he was. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the warmth of his presence. He particularly took an interest in me. He liked me; I knew it even though I was only seven. He liked the other kids too but he had a special likeness for me. I could see it in his eyes everytime he hugged me or played with my cheek. He called me 'pretty' many times, and I never heard him call any other kid that. He bought me candies and chocolates and let me play with his hair. He kissed my cheek and let me lay my head in his arms. He never complained about my weight. He touched my hair all the time , and I could see how much he admired it.

He did everything my father never did. Mike Tony was especially gentle-spirited. His home was a free and save haven for every child, although no child ever dared get past his front door. I didn't know why, but I knew that their parents were involved. My own parents never stopped me from going into his house. Well, mom did stop me sometimes, if she was at home. She'd call my name and when I answer her call, she'd ask me to sit in my chair in the living room and say nothing more. Then she would turn towards whatever she was doing before and leave me hanging.

"Mom, Mike Tony is reading me a storybook. Can I go back?" I would innocently say since she wasn't sending me on any errands. She would not answer the first time

That was the routine it followed. I'll never know why mom always acted like she didn't hear the first time

"Mommy?"

And...

"What storybook?" Oh. So she had heard the first time.

Her voice usually came out soft and friendly and not loud and angry like I thought it would be, owing to the fact that she refused to answer the first time. Or maybe she did not hear.

No. It always happened that way. So I'm sure she must have been doing it on purpose. Only I don't know the reason for that. And the silence? You know, parents' silence usually means they are angry or disappointed in you or both. But not my mom's.

"Diary of An Hybrid Girl. It's really interesting" I would smile and wave my hands excitedly

"Okay. After dinner, we'll go shopping. You and me, We will buy you the book at the shops"

"But mommy, who will read it to me? I want to hear someone read it to me?" I would make puppy eyes to make mom see reason in what I was saying, maybe she'd let me go back to Mike Tony.

She would sigh and turn to me, holding my shoulders and peering into my chubby face

"I'll try, darling, I'll try"

"No mom, you can't read it to me. You know that. You have to rest"

Yes she knew that she couldn't. Not because she could not read(Of course she can read and write well) but mom was always so tired that she couldn't even lift herself from bed most times.

Tired from work at the fashion design store. Tired from the domestic stress she went through everyday. Tired from the tying to the wall and 'heavy spanking' that Cameron did to her virtually every day. Tired from her throaty, painful tears and anxiety that gave her bad headaches.

My aunty said it was called migraine. I didn't like the sound of it, so I tore that part off from my dictionary. One of my teachers saw my torn dictionary and punished me. He didn't understand how much seeing the word 'migraine' or hearing it affected me. I was emotionally attached to my mom, so everything that affected her affected me as well.

I didn't like compounding her stress. Sometimes I feel bad for letting her cook for me, or take me to school. But what can I do when I don't like the bus? Yes, I could catch the bus everyday to school, to save my mom some stress, right? I wish I could, but I didn't like the bus. Or maybe I liked the bus but disliked the people in it. Especially Big Joe. Big Joe's a classmate of mine. They called him 'Big Joe because he was tall, and his handwriting was huge. He was not physically big, but he was really tall. He was in fact the tallest in my class.

I disliked Big Joe because he picked on me with every chance he got. He mocked my body hair and my size. He called me 'fat', 'rich and ugly', and 'clumsy'.

He was right. I was fat and clumsy. Sometimes my steps get awkward when I walk, and it was because I was nervous and frightened by the people around me. About me being ugly, I'm not sure. Everyone I get close to, calls me pretty. He is the only one, (apart from the monster who beat my mom everyday) who thinks I'm ugly. Even till now. Even now that I'm grown up. Maybe I got uglier because of the scars. Maybe he's right after all. I'll never know.

I'll tell you about the scars, but that'll be later.

I cried every morning when I was still catching the bus because of Big Joe's mean comments. I tried to change it though, by clutching my backpack on my chest and hiding myself under the seats before he could get in. Then I'd tell every other pupils on the bus not to expose my presence when Big Joe got in.

I'd remain silent until we got to school. It worked once. Only once. The second time I tried it, he found me out but pretended that he didn't know I was on the bus with others. So he specifically asked to be placed in my seat

Then he sat on my large body, which was bent under the seat, amidst stifled giggles. It was so painful because he rested all his weight on my head. It was my loud yells that prompted the driver to attend to me, and he forced him to get up. He was that mean. I didn't understand how a child that young could be that mean--he was only nine. The driver reported him to my class teacher and he was punished, but as soon as he was released, he resumed bullying me.

Big Joe was not the only bully I had, but he was the biggest.

Apart from the fact that he was a bully, I feared him. Not fear as in respect or honour but I was scared of relating with him. Not that I felt he would beat me up or anything but because of his personality. Joe was a werewolf. How did I know? One afternoon during recess, I wanted to use the bathroom. So I went to the girls', but unfortunately, it was filled up with girls and there was no space at all. So I went back to class, struggling to hold my pee. After a while I returned to the bathroom but I found out that it was empty but locked. Goodness Gracious. I almost cried. I decided to use the boys' since it was free, and open, and equally neat. So I went in, and while I was peeing at the corner, I saw someone in the other seat beside me, looking strange. I saw something like fire in his hands and his teeth changed into a wolverine's teeth,with sharp claws as nails, and he kept growling and whimpering quietly. I was so scared and tried to run out. I at first thought it was a vampire but he suddenly pulled me back. The speed at which he pulled me back was frightening. He said, "Don't be scared, it's me, Joe"

He made me promise not to tell anyone, and then after calming me down, he let me leave. Actually, when he touched me on my shoulder, an unexplainable calmness fell upon me.

On another day, an incident happened that made me speak up to mom about Big Joe. It was 30 minutes after school and I was still waiting for Mom to pick me up. I was impatient and wondered what was delaying mom.

Maybe she had one or two extra dresses to sow at the store and lost track of time. Whatever it was, it worried me and I was desperate to go home and lay my head on my bed because I was really tired. No,bathe first. It was sports day in our school that day, and I had played football and relay race with a group of girls and so, my school uniform was really dirty and I was tired. What bothered me the most was that I was really smelly and needed to have a bath urgently.

I hid under my seat and looked outside. Some pupils were still around, and about three teachers were lurking around the premises. My eyes were watching the gate expecting to see a figure of my lovely mom. Oh! How I longed for her that day. But it was Big Joe I saw. He was coming into the compound through the gate and I hurriedly put my head down under my seat again but unfortunately he had seen me. I almost swore.

"What kind of problem is this now? I thought he had gone home already? Did he forget something?" I thought

Just then, he walked into our class and stared at me for a while, smiled sheepishly, grabbed a lunch box from the shelf and left. I was shocked.

"Did he just leave without saying anything to me?" I wondered why. Or was he simply tired of bullying me? I'd be glad if he ever got tired.

I didn't think too much of it until twenty minutes later that I was still waiting for Mom. I went up to one of the teachers and complained to him. He called her cellphone but it wasn't ringing.

I was worried

So I just waited outside the gate because they needed to lock the school gate.

"I'll go get you a cab" That's what Uncle Robinson said and he left me after locking the gate. Those six words that put me in trouble.

Barely three minutes later, a car stopped by, right before me and this was how the conversation went

"Hello, are you Ariana?" It was a young man. About twenty four years. With finely cut hair and tempting smile.

I didn't even hesitate to reply. I wondered what he wanted.

"Someone called this cab for you" he said. "Get in quickly. I am not meant to park here"

I thought, maybe it was Uncle Robinson that sent the cab according to his promise. It definitely can't be mom

Mom would never send a stranger to pick me up. I'm very sure she wouldn't even send a friend. Whether it was being extra-protective or she just loved doing it, without being helped, I might never know which.

I got in quickly and the car zoomed off. It was a new Benz, posh and airy. With loud music blaring from the speaker. If I didn't control myself, I'd have fallen asleep in a couple of minutes

The driver-the young man was too quiet. So I asked him, "Did Uncle Robinson ask you to pick me?"

This was what I should have asked, before entering the car. But it all happened too quickly. Too quick to think first.

"What?" He said turning to me, still grabbing the steering tight.

"Did Uncle Robinson send you to pick me?" I asked again.

"Is that your teacher's name?" He asked. Somehow his voice gave off a calm aura.

"Yes, he didn't tell you?"

"No, he just asked to pick a Ariana?" Then, he accelerated the car. Uncle Robinson couldn't be that dumb. Something was definitely off. But I was too tired to think. I was just a little girl. I was even already sleeping. 'Maybe Uncle Robinson was dumb only today', I thought. 'Maybe it is even his personal driver' I concluded yet uncertain

"Can you turn the music off?" I asked, because he might be playing a trick on me. It was working, so I had to be smart.

"Why? I'll reduce the volume instead" and so he reduced the volume.

"Thank you"

"You live in Kangaroo Estate, right?"

"Yes yes" i replied.

He was actually going on the way to my house, so I kinda believed him. Not until he turned towards a wrong bend.

"Sir, that's a wrong bend!" I yelled but he accelerated and ignored me.

"Sir...

"Shut up, are you trying to teach me my job?" He barked and shot me a deathful glare.

I was rooted to the spot. What is happening? I asked myself. I started to cry when he went further down the wrong road and there started to be fewer persons and more trees.

"Please sir. Take me home, my mom would be so worried. Please" I pleaded.

"I'm not going to hurt you" he said calmly. "I'm not about doing that to a pretty girl like you"

"Take me home or I'm going to scream" i cried some more. He stared at me in a surprised way. That was probably because he didn't see tears in my eyes. Maybe he thought I was only trying to be stubborn.

"No one will hear you" he said calmly but with a defiant tone. It only made me feel worse that it was really true.

There was hardly any human on that street.

After pleading for the umpteenth time, I just gave up and resorted to crying instead.

He finally stopped in front of a garage, parked and carefully came to my side, and carried me in his arms. I was quiet at that moment.

"He's going to treat you well" he said carrying me into a quiet house.

He? Treat me well?

There, a taller and older man welcomed him and took me from his hands.

He looked me over and touched my tummy, hair, face, thighs and bottom. I shivered under his touch. Then he asked me to follow a tall figure into a room. The figure was clad in oversized black cloak that hugged its waist and face tightly, I couldn't see any of the body parts. I didn't know its gender even. He held me with the tip of his finger into a cold, dark underground room. It was then I realized that that house was really old. It looked eerie too.

The room had skulls and wolves and amulets everywhere, and it had no window. The wolves looked real. For a floor, there was a tunnel that turned and turned while you walk on it so that it made you stagger and want to fall. There was a tree in the middle of the tunnel(the floor)

The tree's roots sank deep down into the old tunnel which when triggered, made a sound that sent shivers down your spine. Without thinking twice, I let out a yelp.

"Shut up" he said defiantly.

My hands flew to my head as I beheld the skulls around me.

"I said Keep quiet"

And I immediately was quiet, not because he asked me to, but because this voice was familiar, and because I saw something on its wrist, very tiny mark of a wolf's head but my eyes microscopically viewed it

He grabbed a tool from nowhere with his left hand. (I didn't see him touch anywhere) and a rope and started to tie me on that tree. I let him because I didn't want him to hurt me. I heard wolves growling and whimpering around me but I didn't see any. It seemed like a soundtrack of a pack of wolves was playing somewhere, but no, this sounded real and very close.

I shook with terror and whimpered.

"Be quiet" he commanded again. "Noise doesn't live here"

Now the voice grew more familiar. He was even using his left hand to make a sign of "be quiet".

Could it be him?

"Sword!" I heard the older man from the living room call. They talked so silently yet so loudly.

"Yay" he answered and left the room, with me halfway tied to the strange tree. Just then, another figure came over. I know it is another one because he was called "Karl" and not "Sword".

While he was tying me in the room, I listened quite carefully and heard the two men's conversation in the living room. I also listened to his breath behind my neck. That was also familiar. But I focused on the two men's whispers more:

"She's pretty and big enough, but she's too young" the older and taller man said to the young man who drove me.

"Alpha Martinez likes them young" he replied

"Not this young. She can't be more than nine"

"She's actually seven, but I still think she's not too young. Look, she got a fat booty" the young man said. I was so shocked at their words. So I just hugged myself in a corner and sobbed hoping the older man wins the argument. Only God knew how he got all that information about me

"I told you I need them eleven and up. At least, let them grow breasts" the older man argued. They were whispering but I could hear clearly. Probably because everywhere was quiet. The graveyard-kind-of-quiet.

"Then, hold this one until she turns eleven. It took me lots of brains to get her! Take her to the Alpha and pay me!" the young man slightly raised his voice.

"No you have to take her back. We don't want her"

"Why are you deciding for Alpha Martinez?"

"What? He's my boss, remember!"

They argued further until their voices became lower than before. Eventually, someone came back into the room I was kept in. It was the older man. He carried me and rubbed my hair. I just watched him do everything he did. I felt like if I shouted or proved stubborn, he'd go back to supporting the other man and keep me.

"Poor little child. Come here" then he took me outside and drove me to the end of the quiet road, and then asked me to get out. I didn't question him so he wouldn't change his mind. Then I ran, as fast as my legs could carry me. I ran without watching the busy road.

I didn't know how I got home but when I finally did, I ran into my room and yelled and threw a fit. I wished I could let some tears out that moment. I needed mom. I needed to tell her something. But Cameron was the only one I met at home.

Cameron, who would never even talk to me. But I was so desperate to hug someone and let them assure me I'm actually home and not dreaming. The experience had been really traumatic for me. What was even more traumatic was what happened in the little room I was placed in. With the tall unknown figure. I needed to tell someone.

Where was mom?