Lucy sat on the floor with her back to the sofa her knees hugged tightly towards her chest by her arms. The TV was on and she stared at it but she was not watching it, the screen was a blur in front of the tears she tried so hard to hold back; quivers of overwhelming sadness could not be perceived by the foster parents that sat near by, her foster mother in the adjoining dinning room and the father on the adjacent arm chair.
Lucy couldn't blink or the flow of tears would flood down her cheeks, each wave of tears was drained into the ducts of her eyes filling up the nasal cavity, she did not sniff them away but allowed them to drip into the back of the throat, where they would then be swallowed.
Lucy had never been happy, not really happy, just on occasions she had thought she was happy but the moment never lasted so she was never really sure if she had really experienced it at all. But this sadness was her great secret it was a sadness she had only shared with the stars, as all through her young life she had told them her woes after she had been sent to bed she would go to her bedroom window and talk to them and pray to them, at primary school a teacher had read a book about a girl who had made friends with some one from a different planet after being sucked through a telescope, Lucy had thought that maybe some one on one of those lonely looking stares was hearing her and cared. Once or twice the foster sister who she shared her room with had shared her sadness with Lucy and Lucy had done the same, but her sister soon did not share anything with Lucy, because of the jealous.
The foster mother had a hunger for fame and even though she never really found any in her own life she insistently continued to find fame and fortune through the collection of adopted children and then the fostered ones, Lucy was a fostered child and it had been the money paid to her foster parents to look after and facilitate the upbringing of three foster children that had funded the different drama schools that the adopted ones attended, as well as the holidays to France which the foster ones where not allowed on, they instead where parcelled off to some woman's house or locked in their foster home with said woman who was known as auntie whatever.
But Lucy had shown potential a lot of potential, so much so directors and producers where looking intently at her and her future in film and TV was just being born, as she sat in the only home she had ever known with her fosters close by, she knew they where watching her every move, the TV drama proposals had come through and Lucy was soon to be launched into television, yet still she was not allowed to sit on the furniture, in her parents presence anyway, in their words she was a man, stupid and an animal, bad no good, and only they could help her so Lucy had always done as she was told, and that was not to sit on the furniture not to talk laugh or cry, no matter what you felt, she smiled when she was told she said the things her foster mother wanted her to say when she wanted her to say them.
In Lucy's mind a different TV was playing, this TV was tuned into the story of her life so far, scenes from her life flashed past her eyes, they started from the earliest memories, memories that her brain had the amazing knack of pushing to the furthest corner of the unconscious, but on occasion would spew them to the for front of her mind, just to keep reminding her that the fake showmanship of love that Lucy so longed for was fake, just to reminded her of who the enemy was, when Lucy would have believed this was a happy life a good life her brain would remind her of the darkness behind the sheen of bullshit that was in fact everything that her foster parents had stood for.
This TV was showing things that were not for family viewing, it was showing the rape of a toddler, by both a man and a woman, it was showing the cruel punishments for misbehaviour, humiliating ridicule for things a child might say or do, it was showing the outings with social workers who could never really understand what the child was saying a child that did not know how to say they are raping me they are hurting me, all that child knew to say was I don't want to go home to mummy's house, with the hopefully look of a child trying to trust these social workers with her wishes, then the disappointment when she was returned to the house of dark deeds that had no names, only the ugly emotions they caused gave them an nominally. The TV in Lucy's mind flashed scenes of horrifying corruption of a child's innocence, and with each scene, the pain that had been felt and forgotten, forced its way to the forefront of Lucy's brain.
Lucy knew that something had to be done something tricky something they would not expect something out of their ability to control, something that would loosen their grip on her so she could finally wriggle free of them.....the diary that was it...the diary had been written in only once by Lucy when the last of the three adopted elder sisters had left home; it was this step sibling that had shared Lucy's love of stories, this elder sibling had a whole cupboard of books on the first floor landing, non of these books Lucy was allowed to read, but once for her birthday this elder sibling had bought her a book, it had taken Lucy a long time to read it as she suffered from dyslexia, to her foster parents sinful glee and ridicule.
Lucy had written in the diary how she missed her sister how she had felt abandoned and had wished she would have taken Lucy with her. The foster mother had read it, and quizzed her on the matter, Lucy knew why she was quizzing her and she carefully explained it was just that she missed her sister and not that of any other motive to leave, Lucy had seen in the foster mother's eyes a fear a desperation , but at that time it did not make much sense until now.
Lucy knew now how close these people where to their dreams for fame and fortune, the head lines would read the charitable foster parents who had taken in an orphan Negro child and raised her to fame and fortune, not only this but they where her agent and Lucy knew they would make a mint out of her, the future flashed before her eyes, with the news stories of the media hype her parents loved to invent at any possible opportunity, through local TV and newspapers convincing the world that they where the goodness and love of the world instead of the evil and greed that corrupts it; and Lucy would be theirs forever, because she would be their cause to more power thus capable of more corruption in the world, Lucy's soul would be dragged down to hell, with their willingly damned souls.
The diary was the key to the door that lead to her freedom.
Lucy saw the future clearly, and it was not something to look forward to,her foster parents had treated her at best like a servant, her dreams and ambitions where never acknowledged. Lucy had only ever lived out their desires and that looked like it was never going to end.
Lucy had learned a lot about her foster parents they were predictable, and that was what she was relying on.
“ can I get something from my room” Lucy asked, like always she had to ask permission to even go to the loo or brush her teeth. Her foster parents looked at her and nodded, Lucy noted the weary glance they gave to each other, they were so close to their dreams, Lucy thought, now I have the power to destroy for them everything they dream of just like they did to me.
There was a look of glee in Lucy's eyes as she trotted out of the co joining rooms and ran upstairs to the bedroom she still shared with her foster sister. Lucy hated this bedroom all the furniture was fitted wardrobes and drawers which were made of white Formica, with a red trim everywhere, there was also a sky light above the door which was the viewing point for her perverted foster father. One day she had caught him watching her undress from her school uniform, and immediately had opened the wardrobe doors to block his view, her foster sister in a dead tone informed Lucy that he had always done this, then about thirty seconds later the foster mother came to the room and asked why the wardrobe doors were opened like that, she closed them allowing the view from the skylight to be seen again, and the foster father returned at the sky light, this time with window spray and cloth. Lucy moved as far away from the view of this pervert, but her foster sister continued to undress in the same position like their was nothing wrong.
Something else had hit home to her that evening , her foster mother new about the abuse and actively allowed it. What else could explain her coming to the room like that, obviously her perverted husband had gone down stairs and complained about the obstruction to his viewing, forcing her to go up stairs to amend it.
Lucy had often felt sorry for her foster mother and her marriage to a man that prayed on her children, children she was incapable of having herself. In the past Lucy had tried to get to know her foster mother better, a woman who had lived through the blitz, who would hide beneath the stairs every time there was a thunderstorm, making all the children go with her. In those moments she seemed weak and fragile and it was these moments that made Lucy feel close to her, she did not shout at you or hit you in fact it was the only time you could ever really get close to the shrewd old bitch.
Lucy had sat and looked at old photos of her foster mothers past listened to stories of her mother and how she gave birth at home and would miscarry, her father's death in the war and her own rapes at a young age which had damaged her so much she herself could not bare children.
That day when her foster mother had come to complain about the wardrobe doors, had changed Lucy's entire perception of this old and cruel woman, and memories from her early childhood showed her now how this woman this fake mother had in fact enjoyed perverting herself with Lucy as a child. These memories broke the surface of her unconscious mind in a painful way, the rage Lucy felt was more powerful than ever but she knew then that there was still nothing she could do to stop any of it.
Lucy had tried in the past to avoid all incidents with her father. The sodomy had probably stopped around the time she was six, but still he managed to prey on her, and with the help of the foster mother, this had all made insane sense to Lucy, and from that moment on she was on the road to loosing her mind, her only sanctuary was this frail old lady innocent of all those perverted crimes, Lucy had lived all her foster mothers wishes, complied with all the beauty contests and all the ridiculous dresses Lucy had to wear when the family outings to the seaside was to enter such competitions.
It was not long after Lucy's enlightenment to her mother's involvement in her sexual abuse that Lucy had stood the woman against the hallway wall and told her that she was a fucking bitch. The old woman was no longer the strong one Lucy was now she was not really a child any more the woman did not raise her hand to Lucy, no she was in fact to scared, Lucy wanted to strangle her, insane maybe Lucy was but no she was not a murderer.
Lucy sat on her bed and opened the bedside table draw, the diary was really just a notebook from a cheap fifty pence store, it had meant a lot to Lucy once, but there was nothing private in her life,her body and even her soul Lucy felt belonged to them. She took the book downstairs and sat in the same spot as before, she began to write in the pages in big writing over and over again she wrote the same thing, “you're not my mother your a fucking bitch, I hate you!”.
The tears Lucy could not almost control had gone and now there was this evil laugh building up inside her as she thought about what would happen after the the fucking bitch read it.
It was a weekend night so at ten o'clock Lucy would have to go to bed, she closed the note book, said goodnight and went to bed, twenty minutes early, Lucy knew this all looked very dubious too her foster parents. This made Lucy laugh inside.