Page 1 of Scarred in Silence

Prologue

8 Years Old

The water trickles over the rocks. The birds chirp over the rustling leaves on the vibrant evergreens. Mud and cedar overpower the air with their scent. On my way down, I slipped and fell into the creek, covering my shoes in mud and drenching my clothes.

I sit atop a large, smooth rock, gazing down at my reflection in the crystal-clear stream. They probably aren’t even searching for me. They wouldn’t notice if I were gone. I’ve always been invisible compared to her.

My insides rumble from the absence of dinner. I probably should have thought ahead, but I didn’t. I never do.

The light cuts through the trees and shines bright on the water. What would it be like to be water? To flow as you please, and to be powerful enough to erode the land. Water can wipe out entire neighborhoods and cities. Water is powerful enough to kill.

I dip my fingers into the water, watching it cleanse the dirt and grime. Water can heal, but it can also harm.

I shed my shoes on the shoreline of the creek and take a step further into the flowing water. I shift onto my back, allowing myself to float in the soothing liquid.

My ears hear muffled sounds mixing with the strong beat of myheart. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with warm summer air as I drift down the creek.

A commotion fills the calm water, and I startle, sitting up in panic. My father, Gideon Monroe, trudges through, leaving waves in his wake.

“What did I tell you about running off, kid?”

I roll my eyes, backing away from him towards the opposite side of the creek. If he wants to treat me poorly, I’ll run. I don’t need him. Or my mother. Nature is where I am happiest. Nature never judges. Nature welcomes me.

I turn on my heel, trying to get to land, but he is quicker. He grabs my arm and pulls me back, my feet slipping on the algae-covered rocks below.

“Let me go!”

He doesn’t acknowledge me. I don’t have a voice. I’ve never had a voice. There is no point in arguing with someone who doesn’t hear you.

He hauls me up onto the rocky shore, and I dig my heels into the mud, trying to escape his grasp. He tugs on my arm, and I topple forward, barely catching myself on my opposite foot.

The atmosphere no longer feels calm and inviting. It feels cold and silent. I can’t hear anything except for the thud in my chest. The thuds get louder as my father pulls me through the thicket like a lost dog.

We approach the clearing leading to my home, and knots form deep in my stomach. I hate my house. I hate my parents.

The backyard is full of lush grass and decorative lawn furniture. My mother, Verona Monroe, always yells at me for using it; she says it’s for our guests. My father pulls me into the mudroom, turning on the hose to rinse my muddy feet.

Hediscards his shoes, and I rinse my feet slowly, allowing the earth to rinse off of me and flow into the drain below. The energy radiating off my father is pure annoyance.

“Get upstairs. Your mother needs to speak with you,” he says to me.

I nod, knowing that there is only one reason my mother would want to talk to me. I did something she disapproves of.

The air in the house is cool enough to send a shiver down your spine, and the energy matches. I walk up the dark wooden staircase as I reach the foyer. She must be in the sitting room.

I turn left, veering towards the sitting room, but I pause. I hear a faint conversation echoing from down the hall.

“She is a terrible kid. We should have stopped after Amara,” my father’s voice quietly travels down the hall.

“There is nothing we can do to change her. She will never be like Amara,” my mother admits.

My throat tightens, and pressure builds behind my eyes as if they could pop out of my skull. I can’t let them see me sad. They already think I am weak. They believe I’m just a bad kid, but I’m different. Why can’t they see that?

I walk down the hall to the impending confrontation. I push through the doorway, and I am met with unforgiving eyes—my mother.

“Where have you been?” Her tone is harsh, sending my shoulders up to my ears.

“I—I just wanted to go to the creek…” My words are quiet.