Their Stories
Author: Neeka
Disclaimer: I wish I owned em, but I don't, don't own the music either.
Catergory: Alternate Universe
Summary: An AU series dealing with mental and physical abuse of some sort. Please if your sensitive in those sort of areas, like rape, child abuse etc. don't read this.
Feedback: Please, I'll love you forever. :)
Author's Note: Music in this story is Suzzane Vega's Luka.
Maria's Story - Luka
Part 11
"I guess I'll start from the beginning. They used to have a name for me....it wasn't Maria...my name was Luka...It's something my father would call me, since they named me after my mother. They called me Luka, so that I was identifiable and responded to one name, and one name only. Besides, my father hated the fact that they'd named me Maria, he swore up and down he wanted a boy, and he said I looked nothin' like my mother anyway. He was ashamed of me.
I lived on the second floor of where I guess Kathleen's mother lived. I guess I lived upstairs from them. I guess now, now that I think about it. I'd seen her a few times. She even tried talking to me once or twice. I got such a beating for those sessions. My parent's didn't want me having any contact with anyone. No one. I was that little monster in their closet that they took out once or twice for a walk."
My name is Luka
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes I think you've seen me before
"I remember, when some people talked to me, one of the times I guess it was Kathleen. I had one thing to say to them. I told them, that if they heard any kind of noise at night or anytime, that they should never ever ask me what it was. I would always say it wasn't their business and that they shouldn't meddle in other people's issues. I guess, not that I look at it, I probably shoulda told someone what was going on, but who wants to do that? Who wants to turn their parent's in for abuse?"
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble. some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was
"And if someone did ask me what was wrong with me, I told them I was clumsy. My parent's told me I was clumsy. They would scream that at me, I really tried not to get to loud, cause that's when they would scream at me. That was when they would beat me. They said I was a nusense to society. They said I was crazy. I tried not to act like I wasn't. I mean, if they said I was crazy and clumsy and a nusense, then that was what I was. I believed every damn word that either one of my parents spoke to me. They were my God."
I think it's because I'm clumsy
I try not to talk too loud
Maybe it's because I'm crazy
I try not to act too proud
"It wasn't to bad. They would only beat me until I burst into tears. And than, they would only scream at me, call me a baby and then I'd shut up and they'd beat me some more. At first, when they hit me, I would yell back, try to hit back, but the beatens soon left me with no energy and you just can't fight back with no strength. Besides, I learned not to cry, they would stop sooner. Well, they would repeat it. It lasted a little longer, but I was left with a little mroe energy and a little less pain. So that's what I did."
They only hit until you cry
And after that you don't ask why
You just don't argue anymore
You just don't argue anymore
You just don't argue anymore
"Yea, I thought I was peachy keen. I thought I deserved every beaten, every hollar, every insult that I ever recieved. They sent me to kindergarten for about two weeks, but the marks were noticable. And whenever anyone asked, I'd tell them I walked into my door again. I remembered, I was clumsy. Very clumsy. Then they's ask what really happened and I shout that was what had happened, and if wasn't it wasn't their business anyway. My parents took me out of school after the teacher's started asking questions.
My parents got jobs and they would leave me home alone and I liked that time of day. Because, that was the time of day where I could sit and relax andnot have to worry about anything coming flying at my head, or anybody beating the shit out of me. I liked to be alone, it was calmer, quieter. It was my solice. My private time."
Yes I think I'm okay
I walked into the door again
Well, if you ask that's what I'll say
And it's not your business anyway
I guess I'd like to be alone
With nothing broken, nothing thrown
"I wasn't accidently admitted to the hospital. My mother and father had been discussing bills one night and then the next day, all I remember was my mother fighting with a nurse screaming that she had a crazy child and my father holding me, whispering in my ear that I was crazy, that I had inflicted the wounds upon myself. That I'd beat myself up cause I was crazy. I believed him too. I thought he was right. I believed he was always right. So when the nurse asked me how I'd gotten all the marks and bruises and stuff on me, I'd told her I did it myself.
And after 9 years of being in a mental ward and people coming up to you and handing you meds and asking how you are, you hate the question and you start responding, in the way they think you will. Like a crazy person. That's how I acted too. Like a crazy person that I was. Maybe I'm crazy now, but when I was seven and they said I was, I wasn't then. I was just scared and would believe anything and everything they told me."
Just don't ask me how I am
Just don't ask me how I am
Just don't ask me how I am
By this time Kathleen was in tears and the others only stared at her in shock.
"Are those why, you have the wealt marks down your back?"
Michael asked curiously. Maria only nodded.
"Those are from my father's four foot leather belt. He never wore that damn thing."
Maria said, a hint of laughter in her voice.
"How can you think that's funny?!"
Isabel screached. Maria turned and looked at her seriously.
"The same way you thought the way you feel into your boyfriends trap was funny. Except, this, what happened to me, was funny. Would you like to know why?"
Kathleen responded.
"Always."
"It's funny because, I had all those chances to tell people what was going on and it's funny that I didn't. It's funny that my parent's got away with it, especially, no offense Kathy, but especially when people were so close and didn't do anything. I don't blame anyone though. I don't blame anyone but myself, because I let it happen."
Isabel shook her head.
"You were seven, you didn't LET anything happen."
"Oh yes I did. I wasn't a stupid seven year old. Sure, I couldn't read, but I was smart. I knew what was going on, I knew every kid didn't go through what I went through. I saw those info ads on TV about child abuse. I didn't do anything and it's funny because I thought I deserved it."
"But you didn't deserve it."
Liz said sadly.
"Maybe I did. What do I care, it's my past. I don't dwell on the past."
"Yes you do."
Max said pointedly.
"No, no I don't. I dwell on the now. I dwell on the fact that I'm crazy and that they've got me locked away. Even though, I know I'm not crazy, somewhere inside me, and even though things could be worse. I know what I am, I'm sure Kathleen's figured it out too. I'm not just some abuse victum. My abuse has lead me to a more dangerous teritory, and it's not depression. I'm what you would call a pathalogical lier. I belive my lies, I've built myself around them so long, that they seem real to me. It's pretty much saying that I'll never get well. Cause hey! I think I'm crazy, and I believe it."
Maria said sadly. Everyone only sat and stared at one another. Looking at the people around them, wondering what would happen next, where they would all be next year, wonder how long they'd survive without being drugged up all the time. And most of all, wondering if they'd all stay friends.
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