Charlotte hopped down the steps. Her little legs barely making the long stretch from one step to another. Her little blond curls bounced along her back swaying with every step she took. She looked up to see her mother leaning against the limousine. She knew her father was sitting inside, waiting, and she knew she was late. She knew what was going to happen when she got home. Charlotte didn't know why her parents weren't proud of her, she didn't know that what they did was not out of love. She had grown up like this, she never knew what love was.

Skipping over to her mother, Charlotte looks up with pleading eyes. Her mothers stern scowl stares back down at her. Charlotte whimpers while her mother grabs her by the ear, opens the door, and throws her in. She tumbles in by her father and starts to buckle up. The driver starts the car and pulls away from the school.

One day... Charlotte thought. One day they will love me, and they will be so proud of me... Charlotte looked out the window. She could see the green leafy branches fly past the car, one by one.

“Charlotte, what have we told you about being late?” Her father slurred the words past her ear. She was used to this, the normal routine of swearing, beating, and passing out was all she had ever known. Besides, I should tell you that the poor child was only 7.

“I’m sorry father, it will never happen again.” Charlotte replied meekly. She looked down at her feet, swinging them back and forth.

“IT SHOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED IN THE FIRST PLACE!” He father yells in her ear and slaps her hard across the face. Charlotte looks over for her mothers sympathy knowing that it won’t come. “YOU ARE THE MOST USELESS HUMAN BEING I HAVE EVER SEEN!” Again and again Charlotte's father continues to slap and beat her, meanwhile Charlotte’s mother sits in her seat, arms crossed, keeping quiet.
The limo pulls into the driveway coming to a stop. Charlotte’s father steps out of the car, followed by her mother. Charlotte waits for them to enter their mansion like she does everyday. Getting out of the black car, Charlotte peers up at the looming white structure. Having 12 windows facing the road, Charlotte wonders how nobody ever sees her father hurt her. She knows that nobody else’s father’s or mother’s show their love like that.
Shaking her head she walks towards the door. She can feel the gravel crunching underneath her feet, her fists are clenched. She can hear the screams raging out of the house, her fathers hurtful words beating in her mind. She can’t stop hearing insults, her head begins to pound. Her hand becomes slippery with a hot liquid. Peering down, she sees her palm covered in blood. Realizing that she had dug her nails beneath her skin, she pulls them out. The cuts start to sting, burning her flesh when the wind blew.
She opens the door, a vase flies by her head. She walks down the hall. The ceiling is so high that she couldn't reach it with a pole. The paintings on the wall resemble the paint along the walls, dried, rusted, and looking back with neglect. Her hand reaches out and caresses the wall. She stares in awe as she dragged her palm across the wall, tracing a line of hate, neglect, and fear. She steps into the kitchen, a plate gets smashed. She walks over to the stove and turns it on, ready to cook dinner for yet another night. Charlotte sighs and starts to get the ingredients out for chicken noodle soup.
A hot breath caressed her neck, the hair on her body stands up.
“What did you do to the walls Charlotte.” His voice is raspy and slurred. He has had more to drink, she can smell it on his breath. He raises his arm, Charlotte cringes and waits for the slap, it never comes. A erupting pain explodes in her arm, she glances down to see her arm being pinned down against the stove. Her skin starts to bubble and become malformed along with her screams.
“ANSWER ME CHARLOTTE! WHAT IN GODS BLOODY NAME DID YOU DO?! YOU ARE A HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING, WHY ARE YOU EVEN ALIVE! YOU CAN NEVER DO ANYTHING RIGHT!” He smacks her across the face and lets go of her arm.
Charlotte's grasps her arm and falls onto the cool tile. She presses her arm to the icy surface and starts to let out small prickles of water from her eyes. A shoe is then sat on top of her palm and pushed down. Charlotte lets out a bloodcurdling scream and listens to the cracking of her small, fragile bones.
“STOP!” She screams. “Stop.” She was a little quieter this time. “stop...” She let out one more whisper before the pressure was released. The sounds of footsteps are all Charlotte can focus on as she shakes in agony.
Her head rises up, the is a glimmer of determination in her eyes. She presses her good arm against the the tile and picks her body up. Rising to her feet she takes a step forward, followed by another, and another. She starts to run, the tapping of her shoes against the, now, wood floor. She has made it into the living room. Just a couple feet to the back door, and a few yards from freedom.
“CHARLOTTE!” Her mothers high pitch voice clatters around the house.
Now or never Charlotte. You can be free, and live a happy normal life, or you can be hit, beaten, and screamed at forevermore....
Charlotte starts to run for the door. She grabs the warm brass handle and pushes down. The tall white frame screeches warning to the house as she opens the door. She steps across the threshold and out into the cool summer night. Her heart is beating out of her chest, her adrenaline is coursing through her blood. She races against the wind and runs of the patio. She feels like yipping for joy, she’s finally made it! She knew better than to stop though and as if on cue she heard a outcry let loose inside the house.
She willed her tiny legs to pump faster, father, harder. The thuds of her father's feet were crashing down the patio and onto the lawn. Charlotte was just getting to the forest line when a hand reached out and stopped her. She fought back, kicking with all her might. Her foot struck her father in the groin and her loosened his grasp just enough for Charlotte to break free. She started to run but tripped over a stick on the grass. Landing on the plush green grass, the wind was knock out of her. She scrambled to get to her feet but she was yanked back. A hand grabs her hand and jerks her head back. Charlotte looks up to see a tempestuous face glaring back at her.
“And just where,” Her father yanks her harder, “did you think you were going?” He brings his hand up and slaps the little girl across the face. The raw skin stings and burns. Charlotte knows that it will be red in a few moments.
Feeling the pressure on her hair become even more tense, Charlotte is dragged across the green, fertilized, lawn. Another round of beating is about to begin.
~*~
9 Years Later....
Charlotte sighs and rubs her hands together, thinking about what school would have been like. She never got past the first grade, her mother always said the she wasn't smart enough but she knew better. Over the years Charlotte had pieced it together, her parents didn't send her to school because she was proof. Proof of what they did to her, proof that they were alive, and most importantly proof that she was better than they were.
The night had gone on in it usual routine. Charlotte had been cleaning up the dishes from dinner when her father stumbled in using the wall for support. He was drunk, sweaty, and smelled of urine. He cursed his way over to Charlotte and grabbed her arm with enough force that it would be bruised later on. Father drags Charlotte over to the dining table and pulls a chair out. Pulling her down, Father pushes her into the chair and starts to bind her legs to the chair. Charlotte never screams, cries, or even whimpers.
A sound is heard throughout the house, the doorbell. Charlotte's head raises with hope, maybe she can finally leave this place! Maybe a handsome night will come to save her, sweep her off her feet.
Mother answers the door and a conversation can be heard.
A deep voice speaks from the door, “Hello ma’am, we are from the DHFS. We recently received a complaint from an anonymous caller reporting child abuse.”

Charlotte hears her mother gasp and put her hand to her chest. “That’s horrible!” She whispers, “You must have the wrong house.” Mother says flatly.
“I don’t think we do” A high pitch voice squeaks from the door, “the caller left the name of the child along with the address.”
Mother starts to get angry. “I’m sorry but you must have the wrong house! I would never abuse my daughter, Charlotte is very sweet!”
“You said your daughters name is Charlotte? That is the exact name that was reported!” The deep voice claims.
“What a coincidence. Sorry but I have things to do and places to be so you’ll have to go now.” She starts to shut the door but a foot is jammed in before it closes.
Charlotte is yanked back before she can see what’s going on. Someone starts to drag her down stairs into the basement. Charlotte starts to hears a door open and she is then thrown into a closet. All she can hear now is the pounding of shoes up the basement staircase.
Charlotte suck in a breath, the air is cool and misty. She finds it quite calming, it reminds her of the spring grass covered in dew on a cold May morning.
There is a thumping of footsteps and a clashing of loud voices above her. Then a light erupts throughout the basement, seeping through the crack beneath the closet door.
Charlotte suddenly become very alert, who is this person coming down the stairs? As Charlotte craned her neck towards the door she could hear the creaking of the floorboards under the pressure of the persons weight.

“Is anybody down here?” A low deep voice asked. “You can tell me, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Slowly she opened her mouth and let out a quiet, “Help!”

The footsteps ceased for a moment and then began walking towards the door. Charlotte started to shake and for the first time she bowed her head to pray.

Dear God,
The footsteps were louder, closer, and faster.
Please don’t let this be my fate!
They stopped at the door.
Please don’t let me die in a closet!
The door hing rattled and turned slowly.
Please let this be my saving grace....
She lifted her head up and was met by sparkling blue eyes.
“Everything alright in there Miss? I’m here to help you, just hold on a second.” The man pulled out a switchblade and placed the blade against the thick ropes that bound her to the chair. He started to move his arm back and forth with a look of concentration plastered on his face. Sighing, Charlotte knew that she was free, she knew that this, was the end.