4

                                    

                                          
TW: abuse and hurtful words. 🌊 when safe to read again if you don't want to read that part.



                          
She was only six years old, but her new foster mother said she had to cook dinner. How could Emma know, at six years old, how she had to make it? "But mommy, I don't know how to," she said, looking down at her feet. "Are you talking back to me?" her foster mother said angrily. Emma quickly shook her head. "Then go on and make it! It's fucking pasta, everyone could make it!" Emma nodded. Her foster mother left the kitchen and Emma grabbed the can of pasta. It stood on a shelf she could just reach. She took it, but it slipped from her little, sweaty hands. It fell on the floor and the pasta went everywhere. Her foster mother stormed into the kitchen. "You stupid child! You can't do anything right! I understand why your parents gave you up, no one wants you!" Emma started crying. "Aw, crying now too? Crying is for babies! You are so pathetic, you can't even do one thing right! Clean this up and start cooking the pasta for goodness sake!!" Emma picked up the pasta from the floor and put it in the pan. She didn't put water in it, because she was never taught how to cook. She put it on the fire and took some tomatoes. She cut them, carefully. Her foster mother came back. "Don't be so slow, you child, hurry up! And... what is this?" she said as she looked in the pan. "There's no water in here! Why isn't there water in here?" "I-I didn't know," Emma said quietly. "You make me so angry! Grow up!" her foster mother yelled. She put her hands over Emma's, which were on the knife and tomato, and started chopping the tomato quickly. "I have to do everything by myself!" "Wait stop I'm sorry! I'll hurry up! Please stop!" Emma said, scared as the hand of her foster mother was over hers on the tomato, so that Emma's fingers weren't covered. "Stop!" But the foster mother didn't stop. Soon enough, the knife cut Emma's fingers and she screamed. "Oh well would you look at that, now you've gotten blood all over the tomatoes! You can't do anything right!" her foster mother yelled. She slapped Emma in the face. "Ow!" Emma's foster father came in and started hitting her too. "Stop!"
                          
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"Stop!" Emma jolted upright in her bed. She started crying softly. There was a knock on the door. "Can I come in?" David said. "N-no," Emma said. "Do you want Mary to come?" "No," Emma said again. "Are you okay?" David asked. "Yeah, just a nightmare. It's all good now, thanks for checking up on me and sorry that I woke you," Emma said. "Ems, it's alright, we don't mind. We want to be there for you. I hope you sleep well until the morning, good night," David said. He stayed there for another minute, perhaps Emma wanted to say something, but nothing came. He went downstairs. "Hey, she's alright," he said to his wife. "I hate that she suffers from those nightmares. What do you think they're about?" Mary asked. "I'm not sure, but I don't think it's from her fantasy," David said. "Did she really have such a bad childhood? David, I hate seeing her like this. I just want her to be happy," Mary sighed. "I know, I want that too. Let's just give her all of our love."
                          
Emma didn't sleep again. She woke up from her nightmare at two thirty, but the sleep didn't come anymore. She tried thinking happy thoughts, but everything reminded her of the nightmare. 'Darn it, I thought I was over this one. I didn't have it for nearly a year and now it's back. Why?' she thought. 'Just think about something you like. Like miss Mills. Wait no don't!' But when Emma thought about miss Mills, she couldn't get her out of her head. "Great," she sighed. Emma thought about the brunette's face, her eyes, lips, nose, ears, chin... 'alright this is getting a little weird Swan', how beautiful her dresses were and how beautiful she looked in them. Soon enough, it was 7 o'clock and her alarm went off. Emma went to the bathroom. She didn't bother looking in the mirror, she just washed her face and went downstairs to eat. Once finished, she brushed her teeth and went to school. 
                          
"Good morning Emma," miss Mills greeted Emma as the blonde stepped into the classroom. "Hi," Emma said tiredly. Miss Mills frowned. "Are you alright? You look more tired than other days." "Yeah, just... didn't really sleep," Emma responded. "Why's that?" 'Um, I'm not telling anyone about my nightmares, sorry.' "Just... a lot to think about, I guess," she said, blushing a bit as she remebered thinking about miss Mills. Miss Mills noticed that Emma didn't want to talk about it. "Alright. Well, since you're twenty minutes early, would you like to know the homework?" "Please," Emma said.