The White Dove

Violetta's POV

I woke before my alarm went off, as I always did and rolled off the mattress I called a bed, and onto the dirt floor of the basement, which I called my bedroom. I wasn't allowed to live in the main house, as I was a nobody to my mother and stepfather. Other than my mattress, I had a couple of drawers on the floor in which I kept the small collection of cloths in and a ratty blanket I had had since I moved in here at 4. I stood up and went to the small shower room I had in the basement and turned on the water. Getting in quickly I washed myself as quickly as I could under the freezing cold water. I didn't pay them enough to warrant using the hot water, and the last time I was caught using it, I still have the scars on my back from the beating I got. Scars littered my back, the newest being only a week old.

My mother brought us here when I was four, telling me that my father was disgusted that I was a girl. That wasn't how I remembered him, but then maybe my 4-year-old brain was trying to protect me and made me think I was his little Princess. My mother blamed me for my father kicking us out and has made it well known that she doesn't want me, and that she never did. I have pretty much had to look after myself since I was 4 years old. My mother's favourite pastime was to put her cigarettes out on me, so my body was littered with tiny little round scars. She was also part of the reason why my nose was broken so many times that it is now out of shape. They never took me to the hospital, and the one time a teacher at school put in a complaint to Social Services about my injuries, she soon disappeared, and I got a new beating. The worst one was when I tried to leave, he beat me so hard with his belt I lay unconscious on the dirty basement floor for three days with open wounds.

My Stepfather is the Honourable Judge Julian David Granger the third, son of the Duke of Shrewsbury. Honourable my arse. He's a bully and a criminal. Just because he was a judge, he believed he was above the law, and nothing could touch him. I can’t wait until karma catches up with him. He never wanted me here, but he allowed me to live in the basement for £800 a month. Not including bills. He was the sole reason for the whip mark scars on my back as well, and the many knife scars all over my body and the multiple broken bones I have had over the year, which some of haven’t healed properly so I now walk with a limp and have little to no movement in my left hand.

I work at a local cafe as a waitress, and I am trying to save money so that I can move out. I have to hide my money, or my mother will take it from me, well what is left after I have to hand over the £1300 a month in bills and my board and lodging, so now at the ripe old age of twenty-one, I am still stuck living in this basement, luckily he hasn’t tried to take the last thing I have left until my dignity is entirely gone. My Virginity.

Sighing, I pull my brush through my white, blonde hair, my pride and joy. The one thing about me I absolutely loved. When it was down, it reaches to the back of my knees, which, considering when I was seven, my stepfather had cut it as far down as it would go, I had done well to grow it again. Now I always put it up into a tight bun, less for him to grab a hold of, although he still managed to catch me with it at times. Looking into the broken, dirty mirror above my sink, my deep purple eyes stare back at me. I must have got these from my father, as my mother had green eyes and brown hair. If I didn't know better, I would say she wasn't my mother. I put in the pair of contacts that change my eyes to blue. I hated wearing them, but my mum said I wasn't allowed to leave the house without them in, or she would make sure Julian made my beatings worse than normal, she said I was already a stain on the family, my ugly, unnatural purple eyes would only make things worse. I didn't understand what the issue was, but I would do anything to avoid a beating. I pull on my jeans, ignoring the scars and old burn marks that litter my legs, before pulling on my work polo shirt and the old hoodie I always wear.

I quietly walk up the creaky wooden stairs and into the kitchen. I don't want to wake my mother and Julian; my split lip was still sore from yesterday morning. Sighing, I tiptoe through the kitchen and out the back door. Just as I think I have made it safe, I get yanked back by the hair so hard I fall back to the floor. Wincing as I feel pain shoot through my bruised ribs.

"Well, well, well, look who it is, the little whore who lives in my basement." Came the voice I had grown to hate. "I have a little surprise for you when you get home tonight."

"W...w... what?" I stammer.

"You, my dear, will be home by five tonight to meet my friend who likes you, if you aren't home, I will find you, and I will make your life a living misery. Do you understand?”

"Please," I muttered, a friend who liked me, that didn’t bode well, but I knew if I didn’t come home, he would find me and drag me back, I had tried to run once before, and it was one of the worst beatings I had ever been given.

"Please? Please what? I let you live here cheaply so you will do as you are told you little whore. You owe me for the life you live, I didn’t have to take you in after your father banished you for being a girl, but I did; I let you live in my house, so you will do as you are told, do you hear me?"

"Y...y... yes s....s... sir," I stammered. He kicked me in the stomach, making me recoil into a ball in pain.

"Disgusting whore." He spat at me before returning into the house. I lay on the ground, curled in a ball, trying to get my breath back. At least he didn't hit me anywhere visible today, the owners of the Cafe I work in already don't believe my excuses about being clumsy.

After a moment, I managed to pull myself up to my feet and slowly leave the house to make my way over to the cafe and start my day, I was now running late. I knew the owners wouldn’t mind, but they had been so good to me that I hated letting them down

When I arrive, Miranda, the woman who owns the place, frowns at me but doesn't say anything. Am I walking differently? Did he mark my face, and I didn't notice. She shook off the frown and smiled at me.

"Melishka, how are you today?" She asked as I unzipped my hoodie. She shook her head at the sight of my bones, I was malnourished, but I didn’t know any different. She had tried to help me with food in the past, but I could never keep it down, so I told her not to worry, I always ate what I could.

"I am good, Miranda, thank you. I need to be home by five. My stepfather has someone I have to meet." I said, my stomach dropping at the thoughts as to what this might be, ran through my head. I knew it wouldn't be anything good.

"That is fine, dorogaya." Why don't you set up the cutlery? I just have a call to make." She smiled and disappeared down the hallway at a quick pace. I smiled to myself. She was such a sweet woman. The sort of woman I could see being a good mother. Her husband, Vitaly, was the baker, and he was a jolly man who always made me smile. I loved working here, but there was something in my mind that said this would be the last time I would be here. Sighing, I got to work setting the tables for when we opened.