Chapter Text
Natasha lay sprawled on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, asking God what she had done to receive such a life. Tears were building up in her eyes as the throbbing in her leg worsened. The bruises and cuts were still fresh from the walloping she had received earlier that afternoon. Natasha wished she could turn back time and re-experience the last time she truly felt happy—eight years ago. She was never one to be religious, but lately, she prayed so hard to be happy again, to feel loved and cared for once more. At this point, all Natasha felt could save her from her abused and neglected life was for God to take her life. She didn’t want to die or end her life, but that seemed the only way to stop her suffering at the rate she was going. She started to lose hope for her life and happiness, her soul slowly turning lifeless and weak. Her only few options left weren’t the best, but anything was starting to feel better than being in the Wilkinson Mansion. Growing up rich wasn’t as luxurious as it seemed. Her evil stepmother wanted her dead to gain her father’s wealth. Life wasn’t easy for Natasha anymore; she couldn’t even tell if she was truly living. Her body was alive, but her soul felt dead—a mess without emotion. Run? Die? Natasha was starting to be pretty sure that there was no God, because no matter how hard she prayed to feel loved and cared for again, that day never came.
“Who am I?” Natasha said to herself, but deep down, she knew that wasn’t what she meant to say. She meant to ask, “What am I?”
Natasha Wilda Wilkinson-Evans. Her name traced back decades before she was born; Natasha came from her great-grandmother, the late widow known to be brave and daring for reasons many wished weren’t true. Wilda—or “wild,” rather—came from her mother’s curiosity and insanity. Natasha was becoming them, re-experiencing the terrors of life like her great-grandmother had, being curious about everything around her but losing her sanity along the way. But there was something unique to Natasha, something neither her mother nor great-grandmother had: her beauty. Her long, silky, wavy brunette hair and blue eyes. The guys at school always stared as she walked down the halls, yet they still bullied her, calling her hideous even though they all knew the claim was a complete lie. The only person who didn’t seem to notice both her inner and outer beauty was her stepmother. Always criticizing her looks and voice despite Natasha receiving many modeling offers in her short life. Natasha’s gut told her Mother was simply jealous of her looks, but she held her tongue every time. Her biological mother, on the other hand, was nothing like Mother; she was loving and had risked her life for Natasha, giving up her own life so Natasha could live. Guilt started to build in Natasha’s stomach as she felt her tears slowly trickle down her cheeks. Eight years of blaming herself for her mother’s death, while Mother constantly rubbed the fact in her face. Mummy was never cruel and always chose to comfort her, but Mother was the total opposite. Natasha’s quiet sobs turned into ugly hiccups, and uncontrollable tears poured down like water from a broken faucet.
Natasha flinched at the thought of her mother. The only woman who had loved her in her entire life was now six feet underground, never to return. She snuggled close to the last memory of Mummy, her worn-out teddy bear with a missing eye and ear. Her stepmother had told her to throw away the “ugly, ragged doll” many times, but Natasha simply couldn’t do it. Mother was a monster—neglectful and abusive. Natasha had never had a day without Mother chasing her with a belt. Not because she was rebellious, but because of reasons like, “You brat, what’s wrong with your face? Why does it look so annoying?” or “Ugh, your voice sounds like a toad!” or “You foul nitwit. Get here! I had a bad day!” All reasons Natasha herself couldn’t change. All she could do was hold onto her only friend and cry silently, wondering why her father had never done anything about her emotional and physical abuse despite being her only family in the entire Wilkinson-Evans line, and dreaming of what life would have been like if Mummy had survived the brutal robbery years before. She was alone, left to fend for herself with nobody to hold. Even at school, all she ever received were glares from her classmates and the stupid nicknames they gave her for being a teachers’ favorite. Her teachers told her they were simply jealous of the attention she got for her top-notch grades and behavior. She always nodded and accepted her teachers’ comforting words, but deep down, she knew that it wasn’t jealousy making them bully her—it was Mother. She felt her tears pour as she looked at Mother’s check on her desk. Earlier that day, Mother had told her to give it to the people bullying her. It was becoming brutally obvious that Mother was paying the bullies to ruin her entire school life and prevent her from making any friends. The reason was still unclear. She glanced at the disgusting piece of paper on her desk once again.
[Earlier that afternoon]
“Natasha! Get down here! Now!” Mother yelled for Natasha, who had been cleaning the garage.
Natasha scoffed at her name but went anyway; she was utterly exhausted from doing everything around the house—from cleaning and gardening to cooking and massaging Mother’s feet. Mother had starved her for several days now for her “ugly” eyes. She was starting to feel her body giving up on her but dared not say anything to Father or Mother. The last time she complained about a punishment, she was kicked out of the house for two weeks straight, with nothing but the ragged t-shirt and shorts she had been wearing that day. She had to sleep in the shed near her school without food, water, or money, living off the waste she found around the area. She vividly remembered going to school dirty and unpresentable and lying to her teachers, saying money was tight. It was obvious her family had money; Father’s production company had just released several new films that were already the latest hits in the film industry. Thankfully, her teachers let it slide and just raised an eyebrow. She could tell they were getting really worried about her but didn’t have enough proof to report Mother and Father. She had thought about going to the police to report her stepmother herself but held her tongue, knowing the terrible punishment that would await her. Nonetheless, she survived, like all the other times she was given cruel punishments. All she could do was wonder what other punishment awaited her as she went downstairs to meet Mother.
“Yes, Mother,” Natasha was shaking hard, trying to look as ladylike as possible, but with the ragged clothes she had on, it was impossible to meet the desired effect. Natasha held her hands tightly in fists as she braced for the deafening scolding she had coming.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT?”
Natasha was completely confused at this point. She had been looking at the hardwood floor the whole time. She held her tongue, not wanting to make her punishment worse than it had to be. All Natasha wanted was to cry her heart out and hold her Mummy again.
“I-I di-didn’t m-mean t-to, Mo-Mother,” Natasha stuttered out of fear of being hit, furiously trying to hold back her unshed tears. Natasha felt her heart sink as she looked up to see her mother holding the thick, black, leather belt. Her bruises on her leg were still fresh from the previous night. She was certainly not in the state to handle another walloping. She tried her best to hide the pain she was feeling when her body took a turn, and her chest started to tighten. Soon her breathing became heavy and rushed. If her biology classes were accurate, Natasha knew she was going to collapse at any time. This clearly wasn’t good, but Mother was oblivious as always and started to hit Natasha for being “melodramatic.” Instead of whimpering at the pain inflicted on her skin as usual, Natasha didn’t even feel the pain because she was too busy gasping for air as she slowly felt her throat closing up. Her chest was tightening rapidly, and she felt her lower body start to go numb. She felt as if she were floating, and her head was spinning. She saw a bright white light, as if there were a torch shining into her eye. The light suddenly disappeared as she felt the impact of her body hitting the floor hard.
“NATASHA”
(1496 words)