There’s a bang against it, and the doorknob wiggles. “Open this goddamn door!” Mom screams, shoving hard against it.
I grab hold of the knob and hold on tight while using all my strength to keep her from coming in.
Another thud has me crying, “Stop!” I suck in an anguished breath. “Please.” She continues to hammer against the door, and I whimper, “Stop.”
I struggle to keep her out and have to push my body against the door every time she manages to bump it open.
“If it’s the last thing I do, I will cut your hair,” she hysterically rages. “Open the door!”
Desperation and terror make me hold out until she stabs at the door with the scissors. The blades break through the wood, and it has me recoiling. I run to the windows on the other side of my bed, but before I can try to escape, the door slams open, and my mother storms into the room. A whack to the back of my head makes me crash against the windows. She hits me again, and grabbing hold of my shoulders, she shoves me to the floor.
I try to scramble free, but she crouches over me, pressing her knee into my stomach. All I can see is her venomous face and the scissors gleaming right above me.
Terror shudders through me, and it feels as if my blood is being chilled.
I try to grab hold of her arms, crying, “No, Mommy.”
“Hold still!” When I keep struggling, the back of her hand strikes across my cheek. “I swear I’ll stab you if you keep fighting me.” The threat sends shockwaves through me.
She grabs a fistful of hair, and I hear the blades crunch close to my ear. “This is your fault. If you had gone to the hairdresser, I wouldn’t have to cut this shit off myself.”
Hopelessness, unlike anything I’ve felt before, fills every part of me. A broken cry tears out of me, and I bring my arms up to try and shield myself, but it only earns me more wild smacks from my mother. My arms burn and ache from the slaps, but I manage to cover my face with my hands.
Make it stop. Please!
With each snip, it feels as if the world closes in on me, suffocating me. There’s a sharp pain above my ear when the scissors dig into my skin. As she continues to cut my hair, the blades nick and gash at my scalp.
It feels like endless hours of torture pass before Mom finally gets up, leaving me lying amongst heaps of hair. I drag myself into a sitting position and cover the cut above my ear with a trembling hand, feeling utterly distressed and terrified.
Mom walks to the door but then stops, and it makes me cringe into the corner between the bedside table and the wall. She glances at me, abhorrence making her look evil. Reaching a hand to the door, her pointer finger circles one of the holes she stabbed into it. “It’s just wood and hair.” Her gaze turns back to me, and then she lets out an irritated huff. “You’re so goddamn dramatic. If I were going to kill you, I certainly wouldn’t do it here. I’m not about to make a mess in my house.”
She takes a step toward me again, and it makes my muscles tighten painfully. My body shakes violently with horror, and I cover my head with my arms.
She stops close to me, and I feel her breath waft over my arms, and then she whispers sinisterly, “No, I’d take you up to Devil’s Bluff and shove you off one of the cliffs. I’ll make it look like a suicide.”
I hear her move away, and after a couple of minutes, I dare to peek from between my arms. Not seeing her, I cautiously climb to my feet. My eyes keep darting between the window and the entrance to my room, and taking a chance, I yank the window open. Climbing out, I don’t care that I might hurt myself, and I jump to the lawn below. Landing, the impact sends pinpricks of pain up my feet and calves.
“Brie!” I hear my mother shout from somewhere inside, and icy terror has me breaking out into a run. I sprint across the lawn and down the driveway. Not caring where I’m going, my bare feet slap against the pavement as I dart up the street.
The ordeal shudders through me, and sobs break free from the tightness in my chest, making it hard to gasp for air.
I can’t handle this anymore.
I want to die.
I wish she would die.
What’s the point of life if hatred is all I’ll ever know. Other kids have parents who love them. They get smiles and hugs where all I get is rage and pain.
Life is just… hell.
COLTON
“I just need time,” Mom says.
My eyes are glued to her, where she’s on a call with Dad. Apprehension tightens my stomach into a tense knot.
“I know, Jonah. I’ll think about it.” She listens to whatever he says then mumbles, “You too. Bye.”
“What did he want?” I ask, unable to keep the worry from making my tone harsh.
“He wants us to move back to California.”
My heart sinks heavily as dread tightens my insides. “No.” The word explodes from me. “There’s no way! Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about it.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she whimpers, and her face crumbles, anxiety making her dark brown eyes look bruised.
“Tell him no, Mom,” I snap. “Just say no.”
“It’s not that easy,” she cries.
Frustration begins to suffocate me, and I walk out of her room before I do or say something I’ll regret. I keep going, right out of the house and down the driveway.
Someone crashes into me, and we both hit the pavement hard. For a split second, Brie’s terrified face hovers over me, and then she’s up and running away.
I shoot to my feet and manage to catch up to her. Grabbing hold of her arm, I pull her to a stop a couple of houses from mine.
“Nooo!” Brie cries desperately, but I tighten my hold on her arm so she can’t pull free.
“Wait,” I say hurriedly. “Just wait a second.”
“Let go. Let go. Let go,” she chants frantically, trying to twist her arm free, and it’s only then I see the blood on her neck.
What the hell?
Knowing I need to calm Brie down, I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her. “Shhh.” She keeps struggling against my hold, but I tighten my grip so she won’t yank free. “I’m not going to hurt you. Let me help.”
My words must get through to her because the fight drains out of her. Her whole frame shudders as she cries against my chest.
“Can we go to my house?” I ask. “It’s better there than out here on the street.”
I pull a little back, trying to see her face, but she covers it with trembling hands.
My God. What happened to her?
I can’t see much outside in the dark and keeping my tone soft, so I don’t scare her, I say, “Let’s go inside.”
Her movements are fitful as she nods.
I keep an arm around her quivering shoulders, and walking back to my house, Brie folds her arms tightly around her waist.
When I manage to get Brie inside, I let out a sigh of relief. I steer her down the hallway to the bathroom then softly say, “Sit on the toilet.”
Brie keeps standing, her whole body tense as if she’ll run at any given moment.
“You’re safe here. No one will hurt you,” I try to offer her some sense of security.
My eyes drift over Brie and what I see makes a familiar horror chill me to my bones. I move forward, and framing her face, I take in the blood and jagged strands, gasping, “God, did your mom do this?”
Brie tries to pull away, but I lean down and lock eyes with her. There’s so much torment in her blue irises, it’s hard to look into them. “I have to see if any of the cuts need stitches.” There’s also blood on her right cheek, arms, and hands.
Breaths shudder over her lips, and her skin is deathly pale. She tries to swallow a sob down, making a pitiful sound that has my heart shrinking.
Moving my attention to her head, my stomach rolls when I see half of her hair has been cut haphazardly, and there are lots of cuts. I inspect them, but I can’t see properly with the blood. I reach for the facecloth and rinse it under the water until it’s luk
ewarm.
“I’m sorry if it hurts,” I murmur before I begin to wipe the worst of the blood away.
Brie lifts a trembling hand to the right side of her head and points above her bloody ear. “This side hurts most.” She sounds petrified, her voice hoarse and quivering from the trauma she must’ve suffered.
I should be used to seeing this kind of violence, but it still rocks me to my core.
I step closer and move the jagged strands of hair out of the way. After carefully cleaning the cut, I reassure her, “It doesn’t look like you need stitches.”
All the beatings my father gave me have made me an expert when it comes to taking care of wounds.
I pause for a moment to breathe because it’s so damn hard to look at what’s been done to her.
It’s sadistic and gut-wrenching.
The same thing has been done to me.
Memories of the abuse I suffered at the hands of my father for so many years flash through me. Bile pushes up my throat, but I swallow it down.
Brie needs you.
The thoughts help to steel me against the onslaught of empathy I feel for Brie. There’s an overwhelming connection to her, knowing how she must feel right now.
I continue to clean the cuts, then move down to her cheek and neck. When I wipe the blood from her arms and hands, I’m relieved when I don’t find more wounds.
For the first time in my life, I allow myself to remember what I felt right after a beating, so I’ll know how to handle Brie.
Once I’ve done the best I can, I tilt my head and lean down so I can catch her eyes, but she quickly lowers her gaze to the floor. Slowly, I lift my hand, and placing a finger beneath her chin, I gently nudge her face up until her eyes dart to mine.
“You’re safe here,” I assure her again. She probably doesn’t believe me, and I know I’ll have to repeat it a lot before it will sink in.
Her gaze flits away from mine, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
“Are you thirsty? I can make coffee or tea. Whatever you prefer.”
Brie shakes her head but then croaks, “Water.” She swallows hard and quickly adds, “Please.”
When I walk out of the bathroom, Brie darts forward and sticks close to me. An overpowering urge to hold her fills my chest, and I clench my hands into fists, so I don’t reach for her because I seriously doubt she wants to be touched right now.
I take a glass out of the cupboard and fill it with cold water from the fridge. When Brie takes it from me, I notice that she’s still trembling.
My gaze flits over her, and again I take in how badly she’s been hurt. There are swollen red marks on both her arms.
My arms looked like that from trying to block the punches from my father.
The horrifying sight delivers a blow to my gut, almost knocking me off balance.
I wait until she takes a couple of sips before I say, “You’re going to be okay.” I want her to know it will get better.
I’ll make sure of it.
Brie chokes on the water, and before I can reach for the glass, it drops from her hands and shatters at our feet.
She covers her mouth with both her hands, and through the fit of coughs, her eyes fly to my face. There’s so much terror in her gaze, and she begins to back away from me as if I’ll hurt her.
“It’s nothing,” the words rush from me. “It’s okay. Don’t panic.” She stills for a moment but then moves her hands up to cover her face as her shoulders begin to jerk.
I can’t just stand and watch, and stepping over the mess, I reach for Brie and pull her against my chest. I lower my head and begin to whisper, “I know how you feel. I know it hurts.”
She moves her hands away from her face and turns her head, resting her cheek against me as a sob escapes her.
She needs to know she’s not alone.
“I’ve been through the same thing. You can trust me.”
Chapter 8
BRIE
My nerves feel stretched thin, and anguish keeps hitting me in waves. My emotions keep fluctuating between calming down and panicking.
The moment Colton wraps his arms around me, the dam wall breaks, and I lose control over the tears. I’m flooded with something I haven’t felt before – warmth and safety. It makes me feel like I’m a human being and not… nothing.
Goosebumps spread over my skin, and I begin to cry for a different reason – because someone is showing me kindness.
Colton tightens his arms around me, and I hear him whisper, “You’re not alone anymore.”
Overwhelmed, sobs wrack me. It feels like I’ve been starved to death, and in desperate need to feel safe, I wrap my arms around Colton’s waist and bury my face between his chest and my bicep.
I’m violently tossed from one emotion to the next. From experiencing a hug for the first time, and the comfort it gives, to absolute heartbreak because I’ve never had this before.
“What happened?” I hear a woman ask, and I’m ripped back to the cold terror that’s my constant reality.
I yank away, and my eyes wildly search for an exit.
“Don’t come closer, Mom,” Colton calls out, holding a hand up toward her.
He reaches for me with his other hand, and I quickly move to his side.
When he wraps an arm around my shoulders, he says, “It’s okay. My mom won’t hurt you.”
I glance back at Colton’s mom, and when she smiles, it does nothing to lessen the anxiety I feel.
Please don’t let them hurt me. Please.
There’s a concerned look on Mrs. Lawson’s face as she stares at me, and it sets me a little at ease.
“Shouldn’t we take her to the hospital?” She asks.
NoNoNo.
I shake my head and glancing up at Colton, I whisper, “I can’t go there. It will make my mother angrier.”
“She doesn’t need stitches,” he tells his mom.
“But she could have internal injuries,” Mrs. Lawson argues.
“I don’t!” And then I repeat the words my mother has said hundreds of times to me, “It’s not so bad.”
Get over it. Stop being so dramatic.
“My God,” Mrs. Lawson gasps. “Your hair.”
Humiliation spreads through me like a raging fire, and feeling dreadfully self-conscious, I lift my hand to what’s left of my hair.
“You can fix it, right?” Colton asks his mom.
My eyes dart back to her, and there’s a weird sensation in my chest as an empathetic smile pulls at her mouth.
“Yes.” She takes a cautious step closer, and I instantly tense next to Colton. “I can cut it into a pixie style if you want?”
Cut.
I shake my head, and when I try to take a step backward, I’m stopped by Colton’s arm that’s still around my shoulders. My chin begins to tremble as apprehension fills my chest, snuffing out the little calmness I’ve managed to gain.
“We don’t have to do anything now,” Colton reassures me. “It can wait.”
Unable to cope with everything that’s happened, it’s becoming increasingly hard to not cry.
Then Colton asks, “Have you had dinner? I was just about to prepare something.”
“Dinner?” I ask, and it makes me aware of the hollowness in my stomach. “You want me to stay for dinner?”
It’s such a foreign concept that I can’t wrap my mind around it.
“You can’t go home,” Colton says. He glances at his mom before he continues, “You can stay here as long as you like.”
Home. My mother.
She’ll be so mad because I left.
Fear drives me to ask, “If it’s okay, can I stay the night?” Not wanting to get in trouble, I quickly add, “I won’t get in the way.”
I just need tonight to gather my strength before I have to face my mother again.
Mrs. Lawson gives me a gentle smile. “Colton is right. You can stay as long as you want.” She gestures to me. “I can give you some of my clothes to change into.�
�
“You can go bathe or shower if you want,” Colton adds. “I’ll start dinner.”
I glance down at the bloodstains on my t-shirt.
Clean clothes would be nice.
Mrs. Lawson smiles at me again.
I want to believe that she’s nice, but life has taught me people are cruel.
When I keep still, Colton moves his hand to my back. “Mom, will you mind picking something and bringing it here?”
“Sure.” I watch until she disappears down the hallway.
Colton moves in front of me, and my gaze darts up to his face. I take in the nose ring and his dark eyes. All this time, I thought he’d become a bully, but I was wrong.
So wrong.
He’s done nothing but be kind to me. The longer I look at him, the more it feels like he sees right into the heart of me.
I so badly want a hug again, it makes my vision blur with tears as I whisper, “Thank you.”
Seconds tick by, and then the corner of Colton’s mouth lifts. It’s like sunshine breaking through stormy clouds. He steps closer, and when his arms wrap around me, I feel the warmth of a thousand suns shine down on me.
And for a breathless moment, I don’t feel utterly alone.
COLTON
I hold Brie until I hear Mom walk back into the kitchen. The last time I felt so protective of anyone was Brady, and the feeling comes naturally as if I’ve known Brie all my life.
It’s because we share the same story.
I pull back and take hold of Brie’s hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Brie follows behind me, and I stop to take the clothes from Mom. “Thanks. I’ll start dinner in a couple of minutes.”
“It’s okay. I’ll throw something together while you take care of…”
She gives me a questioning look, and I quickly answer, “Brie. She’s the girl I told you about. The one who draws.”
“Oh.” A wide smile spreads over Mom’s face.
Only when I walk toward the bathroom does it hit me like a ton of bricks that Mom’s out of her bedroom, and she’s going to prepare dinner.
Shock ripples over me, and then a smile forms around my lips as a thought creeps into my mind.
Not My Hero: Black Mountain Academy Page 6
