6 Chapter SIX

[Still, 2 YEARS AND 9 MONTHS AGO]

The sounds of birds had Amelia stirring in her sleep. Then she felt a huge splash of water drench her form, which immediately woke her up as the cold encompassed her body. She shivered, moving to reach for the bed comforters until she noticed there were none present.

She moaned as a headache took over, and she winced when she felt a bump on the side of her head. She clutched it, looking around until her gaze landed on the woman who was staring at her with fury in her eyes. Amelia noticed the empty bucket of water on the woman's hand, which made her click two and two together.

"Running away? Seriously?" the woman yelled. Her form was tense as anger rolled off of her in waves. Her bright blonde curls bounced, even with the mere movement of her head as she spoke. Amelia didn't dare interrupt, waiting for the woman to finish yelling.

"You are already enough trouble for the family as it is. Don't go looking for more. Don't go shaming this family, or there will be hell to pay," the woman dumped the bucket on the floor. "Go and clean the house you stupid girl."

Amelia looked around the area as the woman left, and she realized that she was back in her room. It was a plain pink room that had been her shelter ever since she was young. However, it had not been tended to over the years. Some mold had formed on the walls, and the paint was slowly peeling off to reveal the concrete structure of the house.

Her open school bag that she had tried to escape with was at a corner in the small room, since she had neither a desk nor a chair. She had been lying on her bed until her mother had woken her up with a wet surprise. It meant that the mattress had to be dragged out to dry in the sun, assuming the sun would peek from the clouds that ever surrounded her hometown.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the same woman screamed through the house.

Amelia forced herself to get up in spite of the pain wracking her head. She moved to the bathroom, fortunate that there was nobody using the place; she was in no mood to talk yet. She went back to her room and returned with a dry batch of clothes. She wore them after drying herself, not caring much for a bath at the moment.

After filling a couple of buckets with water, Amelia went to do her duties. She cleaned the bathroom, making sure to scrub the floors and the windows clean. She proceeded to the dining room and the kitchen as her mother prepared breakfast that morning. She made sure to scrub every surface she came in contact with until everything was sparkling clean.

It was kind of meditative for Amelia. It allowed her to think of stuff that affected her and her family. At that time, the thought was: how did I get back here?

Also, there was bound to be trouble if she did not do her work properly.

She was done about an hour later, and she took that moment to fully prepare herself for the day.

'What happened last night?' she thought to herself as she changed into a clean pair of clothes before descending down the stairs for breakfast. She remembered some things, like how she was in the forest that surrounded her hometown. She couldn't remember anything else that had happened. She didn't know how she got back home. She had expected to be in the forest, having made some progress in her plan to run away, or rather dead. Anything felt better than being back there.

She didn't even know how she had acquired the dull throbbing that hurt her head. In spite of it all, she continued to wrack her brain as she later entered the kitchen, pausing when she spotted her brother and father.

Apart from her mother, Amelia was the only girl in the family. James, Hannah and Fred Cooke were the names of her father, mother and brother respectively. The men of the house had sat around the dining table with their backs supported by the chairs they had occupied.

"Amelia," her father sternly called out as her mother served eggs in front of him. Everyone turned to face her, and the air immediately became tense. It was a thing that Amelia had gotten used to. With a sigh, she approached him, knowing what was coming.

'Better to get it over with,' she thought.

As soon as she was a foot away from him, he raised his hand, which landed abruptly on her cheek. The slap was loud as it turned her head to the side. Amelia felt a ringing in her ears, and it did not help with the headache she was already dealing with.

"You ungrateful little brat," he spat. "After everything we've done for you... after all the things we've done to keep a roof over your head... You choose to pay us by running away? I should just hit you--"

"James," Hannah intervened. "It's a school day."

James looked at his wife for a moment before directing his gaze back on Amelia.

"Never try to run away again," he forbade. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," she replied with a gulp as tears formed in her eyes. She hated the state she was in, thinking how pathetic it was to cry over something that commonly happened.

"Good," her father accepted, releasing his hold on her arm. "Now sit down and eat your breakfast."

Amelia could describe her family in three words: they were awful. Gone were any remaining emotions of love or care she had for them since her last birthday, not that they remembered or showed the same emotions toward her. In fact, she could barely remember them treating her well. She had thought they would be worried about her, especially since she had tried to run away. She had expected them to change the way they treated her and show the love she had wanted to see in their faces. But that hadn't changed.

'What an idiot,' she thought. Why did she think anything would change? The girl could bet that even if she tried to commit suicide, which she didn't plan to do, they would turn a blind eye. Or rather, they would ask where their 'maid' was.

That just made her resolve solid. She would work her butt off to get the hell away from them.

Amelia tried hard to ignore the stinging sensation on her face as she moved to sit near her younger brother. He paid her no attention, focusing on the game he was playing on his phone with earphones connected to the device.

Fred Cooke resembled his father. He was shorter than the man, since he was still young, and his hair resembled that of his mother. He was a year younger than Amelia, but the two rarely talked. She could count the number of times they had yelled or thrown insults at each other, but it wasn't as bad as with the parents. In fact, her brother was a saint when compared to them.

She joined the usual silence that met the household in the morning as she forced herself to scarf down the meal served in front of her. It did not matter that she wasn't hungry; she needed energy to deal with whatever else the day had in store for her.

And she knew there was more she'll have to deal with later.