one

 I sat in my closet, knees pulled up to chest, oversized sweatshirt pulled over knees, shaking, trembling. It's all a nightmare I kept telling myself over and over. I clamped my hands over my ears and began banging my head against the wall. The memories played over and over in my mind. 

I could still feel his hands on my legs, prying as if they had been burned into my skin. I felt him pushing himself onto me until I could no longer move because his body was so tight against mine and no more screams could escape my restricted lungs. His whiskey breath whispered cruel dark words into my reluctant ears and my protesting thrashes became obsolete at the fault of the strength with which he restrained me. 

I cried out a silent scream and clenched my legs tighter to my chest. I rocked back and fourth between each beat of my head on the wall. Cold sweat matted in my hair, and tears ran down my face, stinging the cuts and bruises left behind. I wanted so badly to erase everything, the feelings the sounds the smells, absolutely everything. It had never been this bad before, what was so different that night? Each tear felt like fire rolling down my cheek, filled with hatred for someone I had once trusted, someone who was supposed to keep me safe.  The silence that filled the air that night was dead and still, as though it hadn't even been disturbed, yet nothing could clear my mind.  Not even when I heard his snores drift lazily through the air ducts could I feel at ease, but at some point when I had cried my eyes dry and no longer had enough strength in my body to keep my eyelids open I slipped into unconsciousness. 

I rose with the sun the next morning on the closet floor, nightmares still running in a relentless loop through my mind. I heard him in the kitchen prodding around, opening and closing cupboards, rummaging about. It made me sick, disgusted. More than I ever had been before. I slipped out the window careful not to make too much noise and began walking with long strides that weren't quick enough. I couldn’t look at him. I would picture the sly, sideways smile the came across his face as he entered my room the night before, long after my mother had fallen asleep and after anyone in hearing range had turned off their ears and settled into bed alone. I shuddered and quickened my pace, the more distance between him and I, the better.

As time passed my speed slowed; I moped around outside aimlessly down vacant streets. I tried to keep my mind from wandering to the night prior; I would have to face him soon-- I knew that, but anything I could do to put it off would keep me one step farther away. I passed houses, schools, and parks lost in dazed thoughts. Where had this come from? the escalation, the way he hadn't listened when I'd begged him to stop. How he muffled my cries with a pillow and clawed his hands around my now bruised wrists. I shook my head and shoved my hands into my pockets; the air was crisp and bit at the back of my throat as I inhaled. I stared at the similar surroundings, filled with the people and sounds I'd always known.  Nothing seemed secure anymore, nothing was innocent, and fear and disgust had filled every vacant area within me. The time passed at an alarming rate, and all too soon the sun rose high in the sky. As it began its descent I turned and headed home, to dinner that was set promptly at five, every night.

We were seated in our regular way, we used the same plates, the same glasses; familiar sounds filled the air and familiar people were seated at the dinner table, just as any other night. My mother didn't question my absence through the day; I just sat staring at her across from the man who looked sickly pleased with himself. I had noticed a change within my mother; bit by bit she had been broken down and been carved into a hallow shell, vacant and distant.

The food I ate was swallowed in large dry lumps, each bite harder than the last. Each tick of the clock its own eternity.  My fork fell to my plate and a shiver shot up my spine as I felt a hand on my leg. My back stiffened and thoughts raged through my mind telling me to run and hide in a place far from here. I abruptly stood from my chair and heard his low chuckle as I rounded the corner and tore up the stairs.

I paced back in forth in front of an empty suitcase putting something in only to take it out again. I slumped onto the bed, head in hands, breathing heavily until it slowed and lowered and I could hear his muffled yells at my mother downstairs. I cursed myself for even contemplating leaving. How could I leave my mother alone with him? I would have to be diseased to do such a thing, but how could I stay? Living here, knowing what he was capable of? I threw myself into my pillows, wrapping the blankets tight around me and curled into a ball.  I never wanted to move, there wasn't anywhere to go that would make any of this feel right. I whimpered to myself quietly at a loss of words to think or actions to take. A brick wall stood in front of me and my hate and tears weren't the wrecking balls needed to tear it down.

Long after the yelling had stopped and his liquored body had stormed off to bed, anger in his heavy footsteps, I crept downstairs into the kitchen. My mother sat on the floor holding a bottle of wine in one hand and covering her bruised face with the other. She looked up at me, eyes broken and took a swig of wine. She watched me and shifted her hand awkwardly over her blackened eye.
“You can’t hide them, not from me.” I said quietly and she nodded, limply dropping her hand from her face to reveal a deep purple and brown bruise that stretched from the corner of her eye down to her jaw bone.
“Sit.” She said, and patted the floor beside her, I did as I was told. There was a long silence before either of us said a thing.
“Why do you stay?” I asked cautiously trying to study her face and see how far I could push the subject. She gave a lazy shrug and took another drink of wine. “Don’t you ever just think about… leaving?” I asked, my voice cracked. She seemed to be oblivious to the tears that brimmed high in my eyes, and the anger in each biting word I spoke, because again she shrugged.
“He’d find me.” She said flatly, staring straight ahead.
“ He’s no good mom!” I squeaked raising my voice, “He’s a terrible person, he does terrible things!”
“I know.” She answered in the same flat, monotone manner.
“last night it got a lot worse” I cried and the brimming tears spilled from my eyes. She gave no response, she simply gave a small non-challant nod, and that was it. “Who are you?!” I croaked.
“Your mother.” She replied.
“What has he done to you?! Is it the same things he does to me because god knows that’s far from heartwarming!”
“Don’t use that tone with me Jayda.” She said firmly. I shook my head back and forth, my jaw dropped, and my heart sunk. I slowly and silently got up and left. I headed straight back to my room, to the suitcase. I crammed every possible thing into it. What had he done to her? I knew she had changed but I could never imagine that she would be so lost inside herself. I felt a ball of barbed wire rise in the back of my throat and it was all I could do it choke it back; each breath made it cut deeper into me, hot blood oozing down my throat until my stomach was full of fire and fury. The wall had blocked out all the sunlight in my life and left the once thriving beautiful plants that surrounded me, wilted and greyed pathetically hunched towards the ground.

The suitcase was filled as I pulled it towards the door and moved my attention to filling a book bag, stuffing more things inside of it. I looked around my room gazed at all the possessions I'd treasured and been so attached to; for the first time I had no desire to have them with me, anything would be a reminder of many memories from the past few months, months that I wanted to block out.

I gathered as much money as I could find from my savings. I didn’t know where it would get me, but anywhere would be better than here; I was sure of that. I waited until I heard my mother clamber up the stairs drunk and clumsy, and paused by the door until I heard the sorrowed whine of the bed springs weep for her, before dragging my belongings outside into the cold night.

My feet carried me to a familiar window which I shimmied open by the broken latch, and through which I tossed my bags and myself. A startled grunt came from the bed in the corner as my bags thudded onto the floor.
“Chill out Ash, its me.” I said coolly tripping across the dimly lit room and flopping onto the beanbag chair in the corner. “...I need a place to crash.” I said hesitantly. Ashton raised himself to a sitting position clicking on the lamp beside him and pointed to the bags on the floor.
“Running away, Jayda?” he asked jokingly. I avoided his glare and he angled towards me. “This is serious?” he asked, and I nodded. He stared at me for a minute then took a deep breath. “Okay.” He said throwing me a pillow and reaching to his closet for a blanket. “Dads at work in the morning so just lock my door now and you won’t have to worry about avoiding him.” He said quietly and I rose to my feet clicking the bedroom door shut. I pulled the foam mattress from under his desk and rolled it out , grateful to be under a warm blanket instead of outside. Ashton had always been there, through thick and thin, helped when I needed it and never asked questions even when he had a right to know the answers. He was the only thing that kept me sane, the only thing that kept me here. I snuggled into the mattress and pulled the blankets up to my chin, extinguishing the cold I had carried with me from the late night walk there. I heard him shift on the bed and click out the lamp.

“We'll talk in the morning, kay?” He asked sleepily, and I let out a small grunt of acknowledgement before his breaths turned to snores, and my thoughts drifted absentmindedly into dreams.

I woke up to Ashton hunched over beside me, cup of tea in hand smiling awkwardly. I laughed sitting up, pushed the hair out of my face and gratefully accepted the drink. I scowled as the cold milky tea drizzled down my throat.
“Sorry,” he said and chuckled at the expression on my face “I didn’t think you’d sleep so late.” I nodded and offered a weak smile. The feeling in the room turned to a more serious one and Ashton looked at me with a stern expression on his face, “So, what’re you going to do?” He asked, and I knew that was his way of being helpful. I couldn’t offer a response because I didn’t have one, so I simply shrugged and looked away from him. “Something happened didn’t it?” he asked sullenly. I gave no response, and he continued, “Things with him… they got worse, didn’t they?” I could hear the disgust in his voice and I nodded. He scoffed and lowered his head as I felt the tears welled up in my eyes. Ashton kneeled to my level, wrapping one arm around me.
“I think… I need to leave.” I said cautiously choking my words out.
“Where?” he asked hesitantly, worry in his voice
“As far as I can.” I croaked looking up at him. His eyes were sad but I could tell he understood.
“You can stay here.. we can talk to my dad.. maybe tell your mom; we can figure out a way-”
“You know I can't” I sobbed cutting him off and nuzzling into his shoulder
“I know.. but it's worth a try..” Ashton tightened his arm around my shoulders and stroked my hair with his hand “I'll come with you then.” He said sounding self assured, “To make sure nothing like this ever happens to you again.”
“You can't” I whispered. Ashton looked into my eyes. I knew he saw the pain I was trying to hide.
“I want to..” His voice cracked and I saw my pain reflecting onto him. I shook my head and for the longest while we sat in silence. This was the moment I wanted to stay in forever, the moment I felt safe in the arms of my best friend, and the moment I felt comfort.

The seconds were long, but passed nonetheless and as time crept by I saw him glance at the clock.
“I know you need to go” I said, wiping the dried tears from my cheeks and sitting back from him against the wall.
“I can stay” He said firmly but I shook my head.
“We both know you can't. Go, it's okay.”
I watched him scurry about, getting ready for the exam he had to take that day and was once again thankful that I could go to him when there was no where else I wanted to be. Everything always seemed true with him, it always had. He grabbed his bookbag off the floor and looked over at me.
“I’m fine, really,” I reassured him. “I’ll just kick it here for a while until I figure things out.” He looked unsure, but crossed the room in three large strides, sliding his hands around my shoulders and kissing the top of my head.
“Will you be here when I get back?” He asked. I knew he wanted me to say yes and since I couldn't say no I shrugged my shoulders and curled my knees to my chest.
“ Be careful.” He whispered, and I nodded. He turned stiffly and left. Then I was alone. I rose to my feet carefully stepping towards the bathroom. I stopped in the doorway, looking into the mirror, seeing a stranger. My hair was tangled and stringy from days without a shower, the last bits of makeup on my face, smudged underneath my eyes. My face was tired and heavy; lacking everything I’ve always known it to hold. I turned away, shook my head free of the image and sauntered into the shower to wash away all the weight I’d been holding.

When we were in the third grade Ashton and I discovered a loose floorboard in the corner of his room that could easily be pried off with a butter knife and stuck back into place without any cosmetic disruption. When he was growing up that was the place that kept his treasures safe; his favourite toys, the four leaf clovers we would find in the yard, any little things he wanted to tuck away from the world. As he got older the toys were traded for bottles of booze, hidden from parental view, and over all the years that passed he managed to keep it a secret spot that only him and I knew about. I approached the far corner of his room, jimmying the board free and peering inside. I breathed a deep sigh as I traced my fingers over the dusty underside of the floorboard where we had wrote 'keep out' in permanent marker so many years ago; it was faded, but visible to those who knew it was there. I wiggled free a folded piece of paper from my pocket; on it I had written Ashton a letter, an explanation of why I was leaving. I felt he deserved to know, even if he hadn't asked. My hands shook and my breath grew shallow as I placed the letter beneath the floorboard. 'Am I really doing this?' I thought to myself, once again searching for the logic to stop myself from running away from my problems. I had no job here, no home, no ties here at all, except to Ashton. It had been so long since I had a home, a place I felt safe, any choice with regards to anything in my life. Now was the time I was making a choice, creating a change, and freeing myself from everything that had been holding me back.

After I had eaten and changed, I figured I should leave. As I grabbed my bag an envelope fell out. I looked at it a moment before bending to retrieve it. Inside was a wad of bills accompanied by a note saying, “Take it, please”. I dropped my bag and settled onto the bed. Taped to the note was a four leaf clover, wilted and sad looking but still in tact from long ago. I thought of all the afternoons we would spend crawling through the grass catching bugs and searching for a little luck in the form of a clover. There was no way I could take this, but how far would I get with what little money I had? I counted the money carefully and promised myself that it would be a loan. I rose from the bed, tucked the envelope into my coat pocket, clicked the door shut behind me and headed into the crisp January air, careful not to look back; terrified for the future but propelling myself forward into positive thoughts.

I walked with false confidence, assuring myself that I was self assured, and that I had made the right decision. It all faded away, however, as the bus terminal came into sight; any certainty left me as quickly as it had come and I was washed away by a wave of doubt and fear. I froze at the ticket window; the lady, Marge, as her name tag stated staring at me, and me stupidly staring straight back at her. Marge's mouth curled into a awkward smile.
“What can I do for you?” She asked.

“Uhm.. er..” I stammered trying to find the words I was looking for. “A ticket” I said quietly “To New York, or Boston... maybe Toronto? ...whichever is cheaper or leaves first” I blurted, 'smooth' I thought as I shuffled my hands awkwardly through my bag, pretending to look for my wallet, but actually doing anything to avoid Marge's questioning glare from behind her thick glasses. She didn't say anything. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and peeked at her through the separating glass. There it was, the glare. I could feel the curiosity in her stare, questioning my age, my intent, probably my sanity. I held her gaze for a moment until the silence ended and her shoulders fell with a small sigh.

“I have a bus leaving today at 4:00 for New York City, it's $120 and travel time is about 19 hours.” She said

“So I could be in New York by 11 tomorrow morning?” She nodded; I nodded, and retrieved the money from my bag. I handed her a wad of bills which I watched her count. I felt nauseous as the cash register dinged spitting out the drawer and the ticket machine let out a small whine as it printed my ticket. Marge held onto it for a moment studying my face until my eyes met hers.
“You can't run from your demons” She said, worry in both her eyes and words.
“I can try” I said hesitantly, an awkward side-smile curled at the side of my mouth and she reluctantly handed me the ticket.

I boarded the bus clumsily dragging my suitcase through the aisle, bumping into unimpressed business men in expensive suits who had things to do and places to be. I picked a seat towards the back and with a great sense of imbalance tried to maneuver my suitcase into the overhead compartment. I heard a low chuckle from behind me as I stood on my tip-toes pushing with all my might. It took me off guard and as I tried to look backwards the suitcase tumbled onto me, knocking me into the seats.
“Need a hand?” I regained my balance and turned to see a young man sitting in the seat across from me.
“Looks like I do” I said with a lightness in my words that I'd missed. He chuckled again and nearly effortlessly placed my bags neatly into the compartment above my head. “What's your trick?” I asked; he smiled and replied jokingly,
“The trick is to be over 5 feet tall” A small smile spread on my face for the first time in days, he chuckled and stretched his hand towards me. “I'm Morgan.”
“Ja-” I paused for a moment looking at his hand before returning my eyes to his.
“Raegan, I'm Raegan.”  And as soon as I said it I wondered why I had.
“Well, It's nice to meet you, Raegan” He said sitting down in his chair across from me. I nodded at him, leaning back in my chair and pulled my knees to my chest. 'Raegan' I thought, why not; it's just a name, and what a foolish thing a name is.
I don't know why I decided to lie to Morgan from the very first moment I met him. Maybe I thought a new name would help me reinvent myself, or maybe I was hiding from everything I ran away from; all I knew was in that moment I felt the most exhilarating combination of fear and power. Fear for what was ahead, how far I was going to take this; and power, that for the first time in my life I had the courage to take hold of my life and use it to make any path for myself that I wanted. It may seem like a small gesture, an insignificant detail: a name, but for me it represented a new beginning.  

Reviews

[Knight in Armor]

Your descriptions are haunting. I've thankfully never been in any part of her situation, but I imagine that would be a realistic reaction of a teenage girl in that terrifying situation. It made me sick in how accurate it seemed, in its honesty regarding the character's pain, terror, and suffering. Please, make this a full novel!