Your Caresses On My Skin

Ivonne Wilson

Cold, too cold, is what one feels in this gloomy and dreadful girls' boarding school where I have been forced to stay. It wasn't the right time to be here, and the conditions for this place to remain operational were not met either. I didn't understand how they managed to keep it running, only homeless youth stayed in places like this, and that wasn't my case at all, or at least, that's what I kept thinking.

I remembered my old friends, they were all spending this winter with their families. Will they remember me? After all, it's been almost a year since I last saw them; in fact, they pushed me away from them. Why did my life become so complicated after Mom's death? Why did my father have to find another woman so quickly? Why couldn't it have been someone else? Yes, just a few months after my mother passed away, her place was taken by another woman, my aunt.

The one responsible for my current condition, because even though I never tried anything against her, she always tried to be something she wasn't to me. I would never accept her as my mother; she was my aunt and should remain that way. My father would have weeks before I entered this place, but I'm sure he wouldn't keep me here, or at least, that's what I want to believe.

I'm eighteen years old, which is legally considered adulthood, so I'm an adult, but my naive father, before he died under somewhat confusing circumstances, according to the police, and which, after due investigations, they have dismissed based on the forensic laboratory's findings, stipulated in his will that his assets, meaning my inheritance, would become mine when I turned twenty-one. Furthermore, the person in charge of taking care of me until that happened was my aunt. My mother's ambitious sister, who always sought the chance to catch my father's eye, regardless of the fact that he was her own brother-in-law, and who eventually succeeded once my mother died in an accident, which, strange as it may seem, was very similar to my father's.

Only five years have passed since that event that changed my life in unimaginable ways. My aunt began her game by coming to our house every day under the pretext of helping my father and, in the process, helping me. But my naive and grieving father never realized it, in fact, I think he believed that being with my aunt could somehow bring him closer to my mother, as they were quite similar.

My father's fortune fell into my aunt's hands three years ago when, under her charms, my father had to marry her and make us all believe that she would take my mother's place.

I remember that day perfectly. My aunt asked for all the pictures of my mother to be discarded. Of course, only the ones in my room remained, along with one that my father guarded with great care in the safe of his office – one that even that woman didn't know about, only me.

While she lives the life of luxury she always wanted, I am rotting away in this place, growing more withered every day and losing hope of getting out, unless I turn twenty-one and take possession of everything that rightfully belongs to me. Even though I have a cell phone to communicate with my old friends or my boyfriend, Julian, I could only send a weekly letter to communicate with the outside world, and they were always addressed to him. Someday, he would grow tired of this situation, and I understood that. I suppose that, in the long run, I would also grow tired of a relationship that feels long-distance, but it's not actually like that.

I smile at my own bad luck, as I remember that when I was a child, I loved watching the movie Rapunzel, and now, with each passing day, I resemble her more – locked up in a crumbling castle, patiently waiting for the day of my freedom. Though I'm not sure if that day will come for me the way it did for her. I don't believe a prince will come to rescue me, though I hoped he would, truly hoped.

"You made a big mistake marrying her, father. She was never what she seemed, she didn't change with my mother's death. She's always been interested in your wallet, and you gave her exactly what she wanted – the power to do whatever she pleased with your legacy," I whispered to one of the few pictures I had left of him with my mother. In fact, I think it's the only one; my aunt likely got rid of all the others in the house. After all, she never could stand seeing the joy that my mother radiated to everyone around her.

"Talking to yourself again, Ivonne," said the only friend I have in this place, Anastasia. Fortunately, she doesn't know what it's like to live in a loving family and then lose everything. For her, this place is normal; she comes from a dysfunctional family. In fact, I think her mother is in prison, and from what she's told me, her father is an alcoholic who has tried to abuse her several times.

Society is becoming increasingly terrible, and sometimes, the situations we see on television, the ones that seem distant from us, are actually closer than we think. Yet, we isolate ourselves in our own lives instead of doing something meaningful and raising awareness among others about everything we're exposed to, trying to combat the evil.

"You know I can't help it. It makes me so frustrated just to think about it. She'll end up with everything, and the truth is, I don't care anymore. I just want her to get me out of this place and let me live my life in peace," I said as a tear rolled down my cheek. "I hate this place. I had it all, Anne, and I lost it all just like that."

"You can't be sure of that. The only way that would happen is if something unfortunate happened to you, and nothing has. And we all hate this place, but for now, it's much better to live here than out there on the streets, in the cold," she replied with a half-smile. I knew she didn't really want to revisit that phase of her life; Anne suffered a lot during her time on the streets, facing all kinds of dangers and escaping from many men who wanted to harm her.

"Why don't I have the age my father stipulated in the will yet? I wouldn't put it past him to do something to harm me, though of course, I hope that won't happen," I responded. I knew it was wrong to insinuate that about my aunt. After all, we're family, my blood runs through her veins, but I couldn't help it, because everything that happened seemed like a dirty plan she had orchestrated – the kind that only appear in soap operas or movies.

It's just not possible that days after my father made everything clear and specified in his will, he passed away. He wasn't even sick! But no one sees that! They're all blind!

“At least you have something to fight for. In my case, I'm better off in here than out there," I commented. I got up from my bed and walked over to hers. We got along very well, and if it weren't for her, I probably wouldn't still be here. Things are very different compared to what I was used to, and I sat down beside her.

"You know you can always count on me," I responded to her comment. "If we ever manage to get out of here, don't doubt for a moment that you'll come with me. I'll help you and provide support, whatever you need, even if it means studying together. I know that's been one of your biggest dreams," I mentioned again.

"You're a good friend," she said, smiling with excitement in her eyes. "And that's why we're together now," she added. "Don't doubt that I'll protect you from those mean girls who always bother you," she said. I don't know what I would have done without Anastasia. After all, I don't know how to fight, and I have no idea how to defend myself. Violence has never interested me.

"Thank you," I hugged her and smiled. The door to the room opened, and someone came to get us for breakfast. Thank goodness they remembered us.

"It's good that you're ready," she said, showing a rod that had been used to hit me a few times before. This one was red, stained with the blood of girls who, like me, didn't know what they had gotten themselves into and were not at fault.

Anastasia and I left the room and headed to the poor excuse for a kitchen that was falling apart. I just don't understand why the people in charge of inspecting these buildings don't do their jobs or show up.

Our lives are depressing... well, the lives of people with fewer resources and opportunities. I'm not here out of necessity; I'm here out of obligation. But thanks to this experience, I realize all of this. I think I'd like to prepare myself to do something for these people. I have the resources, although I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to use them.