The Mafia Princess' Seven Overprotective Brothers

LESLEY'S POV Perched on the roof of my small run down house, my gaze was fixed on a single star, whose brightness seemed to dominate among the vast multitude of glowing stars, that graced the endless sea of the magnificent night sky. The darkness of the night appears to be the only thing left in my life and it sometimes feels as if it, too, is slipping away from me, just as everything else has. This is the one time I can let my thoughts run wild and free, when I can allow them to completely consume me because my thoughts are my sanctuary. I had found solace in them for years. Whenever I'm alone, I let myself be entirely devoured by them, as the silence that accompanies it allows me to seek peace. I mean, there's nothing like a little alone time to appreciate my own company. Every time I look up at the eternal and ceaseless sea of stars, I couldn't help but try to assure myself that no matter how much darkness expands in the sky, light will always find a way to revolt, and the black sky will always turn blue. But I'm afraid that I was succumbing to this delusion, a false sense of hope, that someday a light will appear for me, which will rescue me from the darkness of my life. "You are a monster Lesley—" My own mother thinks I am a monster, I tried to hopelessly fool myself expecting her to get rid of that notion, but she'll never see me anything more than that, an inhuman monster. If I really am a monster, No doubt that I'm doing a pretty shitty job at it, ....especially compared to my own mother. Thoughts, they say, are the shadows of our emotions and mine were empty, dark and depressing. A traitorous tear rolled down my cheek as I reflected over my tormented and abusive existence. Tears, the concept with which I've gotten far too conversant for my liking. Given the amount of them that I've already shed, I'm surprised that they hadn't completely drained out by now. With time I've managed to learn how not to cry my heart out, especially since I discovered the meaning of 'suck it up.' Bottling up those unwarranted and useless emotions that keep fussing about the bitterness of my circumstances, helped me toughen up my overly sensitive soul. Now there are no more expectations left, just plain hatred. However, there are times when I just simply can't prevent them from falling out. They are like a small rebellious army that retaliates more ferociously when I try my best to subdue them. Life would have been so much easier if feelings had an off switch. If only I hadn't let their words affect me to the extent that they did, I could have avoided the years of pain and heartbreak that came with the expectations I had as a child. My heart would have been spared from the years of misery that had been resulted from the anticipation of love and care. All my life, I have only ever wished for them to love me and accept me as their daughter, no matter how flawed they think I was. I wanted to be their perfect daughter but instead I only ever got hate. Eventually as I grew older, I allowed numbness to take over the pit of emptiness in my heart, where I have always been alone, all by myself, having lost all hope of someone coming to rescue me. I was 6-years old, when I got my first hit. The day has been etched in my brain as if it had just happened yesterday. The helplessness I felt, the pain I endured, the cries I screamed; all of it. Gerard came into my life when I was about 5 years old. Della told me that he was my father and I was happy to finally have a father after so many years of wanting one. It was as if I got an early Christmas present, which soon turned into my nightmare. But I suppose having a child doesn't automatically make one a good father. Instead of loving me, he called me derogatory names. Instead of playing with me he would slap me because my presence bothered him too much. It progressed from a few occasional slaps, shoving, hair pulling, name-calling to full-fledged beatings. I was ten years old when I received my first thorough beating. My father whipped me with his belt until I passed out. And my mother never stopped him, she didn't even bat an eye when I got beat and instead laughed at me, telling me how I deserved it all. Eventually her ignorance turned into an abuse itself. So, I just stopped referring to them as my Mom and Dad. I believed her when she said that I would never be loved and I will always be unwanted and hated. I still do— I wanted to escape my reality, and I tried, but it only ended up in breaking me completely. It was then I realised that my parents had shackles on me, bounding me to my never ending doom of misery which I quit trying to escape. As I turned 12, I had to get a job because we didn't have enough money to pay for food and bills. My parents didn't want spend there money on me, and yet, they exploited my money to buy more drugs and alcohol, and the food was solely for their own consumption. I was only permitted to eat once every two or three days in order to keep me; 'their punch-bag' alive. Growing up I had to fend for myself because there was nobody else who was willing to do it for me. So after I got a job, I began putting a little money aside to buy myself some food and other basic necessities.

It would just be an apple or a protein bar a day, but, having grown used to going without food, I became accustomed to not being hungry for days at a time. And due to the days of starvation that I endured, my body had just stopped growing. My bones were disfigured and virtually jutting out, not to mention, even my rib cage was visible through my skin, making me look like a child for a 15-year-old. However, all of that was hidden beneath the hundreds of scars and bruises that littered my skin. Anyways, it's 5 a.m. right now, and I'm sitting on the roof of the cabin where we live. I have been sitting on the roof since 2 a.m., after waking up from passing out from yet another vicious beating. I had applied bandages to my wounds and then took pain killers, but I couldn't get any sleep. My entire body was aching. It wasn't the most brutal beating I'd ever received, but it wasn't any less painful. My ribs are definitely bruised from all of the direct hits that they received, and I believe that I may have a sprained shoulder. The skin on my stomach was blistered and peeling off as a result of the boiling water my mother poured on me, and my back was still sore from last night's whipping. But I'm used to these sufferings. An unconscious groan left my mouth, as I recalled that I had a school to attend. It begins at 7:30 a.m. and is a half-hour walk from home to the bus stop. Since I couldn't afford skipping school, which would most certainly lead to another beating, I slowly managed to stand up amidst the pain and limped my way inside to the bathroom, as I breathed heavily. I didn't have to worry about getting into another encounter with Della or Gerard because they both left after beating me and won't be returning home until later. As I entered the bathroom, I removed my bloody and torn clothes, and turned on the tap of the shower on which instantly supplied me with water. The warm water burned the bruises and burns I received from today's beating. I turned the faucet off after letting the water wash away any residual soap and blood from my body, cutting off the soothing warmth of the water. Drying off, I turned around to face the mirror. There stood a girl around 5 feet 4 inches tall, her light auburn hair cascading down to her lower back and her dull lifeless blue eyes were staring right back at me. Her face was covered in blue and black bruises from the blows which were directed towards her, and her neck had fingerprints from being strangled. A bruise on her shoulder was becoming visibly obvious, affirming the theory of being strained, but her ribs and stomach were the worst. The skin above her ribs was darkening to a dark purple and black, and blisters covered her stomach. She feels pity for the girl hating the way she looks. Her bones were practically disfigured from being extremely underweight and the sadness on her face made her basically appear to be dead. She didn't have a hint of a smile on her face; she must have forgotten how to smile because she had never had a reason to before. Yet she wants to smile, so she made an attempt for the same. But behind her smile was a hurting heart. Her eyes were welling up with tears but she didn't stop the big fake grin on her face even when her lips trembled from a sudden stretch. She wanted to give up on this life because she can't take this anymore. The pain, the hurt, the torture, all of the abuse was slowly sucking the life out off her and if it continues she might not even raise a fight it anymore. The girl in the mirror was no stranger to me just like her pain that was just as familiar to me as it was to her. Because that girl was me. She was me— And just like her, I was tired of fighting, for once I wanted to be fought for. I hated that I was still hoping. Hoping for a better future, for safety, for love but most importantly for happiness. I feel like I have been having this hope for so long that now it just seems impossible to happen. But as pathetic as my life is right now, I still want to live. Because somewhere deep down I kept hoping for things to get better. I finally lowered my gaze because I didn't want to see the lifeless look on my face for any longer. I quickly re-did all my bandages and then took Della's concealer to cover up all of the bruises on my face and neck. Don't want to show off, obviously... After I was done with my makeup I went back to my room; aka the attic to get ready. I only own two pairs of jeans, some hoodies and a couple other clothes that my co-workers gave me because I used to wear torn up clothes, as well as two pairs of old converse. I put on a pair of jeans and a full-sleeved shirt followed by a hoodie because it was large on me and will cover the majority of my body. I then limped my way down after putting on my shoes and taking my backpack. I took a piece of bread and started eating it with a cup of hot coffee to keep me awake at school. I devoured the food because that's probably all I'll get for today. I sighed when I started to feel the fatigue begin to set in, and as much as I wanted to go back and sleep, I still exited the house.

After locking and putting the keys in my pocket, I walked towards my next hell aka my school. • LESLEY'S POV "Stop looking for reasons to be unhappy and start focusing on what you do have and why you should be happy." What a load of crap— I don't deliberately chose to be unhappy. I just don't have a single reason to be happy. What am I supposed to be happy about? Life– ha! not worth the effort... Getting no attainment of peace for my mind, I resignedly shut the book I borrowed from my school's library and put it back in my bag as frustration set in, from the lack of any help. I'm practically beyond help. Anyway, I'm sitting in the school bus right now, and the pain in my body is jolting up to match the vibrations of the moving bus. My ribs and shoulder are throbbing, and the ache in my entire body's getting intense. Only if I could cancel my subscription of daily pain The bus is divided in the same hierarchy as the school is; the quiet ones and loners are at the front, the normal or insignificant ones are at the middle, and the populars or the only significant ones are at the back. And I'm obviously sitting at the end with a bunch of significant ones. Yeah, I wish— Yours truly have a special seat reserved in the front row, which even the school's loners wanted to avoid. Impressive no? Was I glad to be left alone? Yes Did it hurt? So much– The popular ones usually keep to themselves, just staying in with their small tight knit group of populars and occasionally 'joking around' with the population they look down on. The quiet ones; I'm pretty sure they know exactly what's going around with everyone, but they just don't care. The loners simply stay away from everyone, mostly from those who pick up on them, and some of them try too hard to escape their label of loners. And the ones who fit into 'the normals' are the most vicious ones. These are the ones you must be on the lookout from if you want to survive in school. Their noses are always up in everyone else's business except their own, and those are the ones who get butt hurt when their lives are brought to the spotlight. I'd made sure of staying away from them ever since I started at the school, but I still wasn't left out by their prodding noses. The rumors these guys spread about me are weirdly astounding. Someone said my mother was a stripper, and that rumor lingered for so long that everyone just started calling me 'Lesley'. This was because one time my dear mother came to my school wearing clothes that were probably shorter for me as well. The other time, it was said that I am dark and mysterious because I fight underground and that's the reason why I have faint bruise marks on my face. Interesting... This rumour lingered for so long that it birthed a completely bizarre one. My stoic face, aloof nature and ability to ignore also kinda fuelled these rumours and I became a 'bad-girl' who is a member of a big gang. Gang soon turned into Mafia, And now I'm allegedly a Mafia Princess... This is also one of the best ones, so turns out I was some 'mafia princess' and I'm in this school undercover. How come these people know about me so much more than I know about myself.. I was engulfed deep in thoughts, when my eyes looked out of the window of the school bus as it stopped at the next stop to pick up more students. My attention was drawn to a group of three people laughing and talking, as they walked down the street. A girl, around six-years-old and two boys, most likely her brothers, who looked roughly my age. The girl was walking in the centre, her tiny hands reaching up to grasp the fingers of the guys on either side of her. She appeared carefree and happy, as if nothing in the world could harm her at that moment. That was something I longed for— She looked so well protected and I envied her. An unconscious smile grazed my lips as I saw one of the brothers quickly hoisting her up in his arms while running from the other who chased them, as the three of them laughed loudly. I wish I had a brother. Someone I could look up to, someone whose shoulder I could cry on, someone who made me feel safe. But that little bubble of fantasy burst as the bus began moving, passing those three happy people who were still in their own jovial world. As I caught sight of the old red brick building, an inadvertent sigh of despair escaped my lips. Thoughts clouded my brain as I mused over how I didn't have any friends. It wasn't that I didn't want any, it was just that I wasn't allowed to talk to anybody. When I first started at this school the other students attempted to befriend me. A lot of them were nice at first, but I just ignored them, and once they realised I wasn't going to answer or talk to them, that's when my bullying and teasing began. I was jolted out of my reverie of thoughts, when the voice of the bus driver pierced my ears. I looked around and realised that the bus had already come to a halt and everyone else had exited, leaving me the only one onboard. After slowly rising up to my feet and swinging my bag on my good shoulder, I slowly made my way inside the school, not wanting to make notice of my obvious limping.