by S. Ferguson
“Watch your attitude, you little bitch!” she hisses at me, taking a step forward, but stopping herself. She shoves a shopping bag at me and orders me to change into the frilly pink shirt and skinny jeans. I throw them on, hoping I look the way she wanted me to. We have to leave, and there is no time for me to fix my appearance if she takes her anger out on me now. I know this is only a temporary reprieve. She won’t forget to punish me tonight when we come home.
“It’s fine. Most of the staff know I have a fuck-up for a daughter already. Besides, we’re out of time,” she sighs, like she’s making some sort of sacrifice by allowing me to accompany her.
Thankfully, she’s silent most of the way to the restaurant. I am happy to be going to the dinner mainly because I know I’ll eat tonight, and she’s always somewhat nicer when there are people around. Yesterday had been my 16th birthday, which she had completely ignored, so I tell myself to just pretend tonight is my birthday dinner. I’ve learned to find joy in my imagination and comforting illusions.
Once we park, she plasters a fake smile on her face and grabs my hand, squeezing it to the point of pain, as we walk through the double doors of the restaurant. I can’t fake smile as well as she can, but I make sure to keep my face in a pleasantly neutral expression despite wanting to grimace from the pain in my fingers. As soon as I smell all the food cooking, my stomach growls loudly. Mother shoots me a scathing look, and I promptly look at the floor. I want to tell her I wouldn’t be so hungry if she left the fridge and pantry unlocked.
She always tells me I’m nothing but a horrible mistake from her past that won’t go away. I’m the reason my father died. He left for a dangerous job because I was another mouth to feed. I’m the reason he put himself at risk and lost his life. Such a heavy burden to thrown on a child, but her insults and blame don’t end there. She never hesitates to tell me that I am fat and need to watch how much I eat, that we don’t have money for me to be eating all the time like the lazy and greedy person I am. The reality is, I only get breakfast and lunch on school days, and even those are light meals because they’re only possible due to generous people who see me without anything and offer to share their food. Miss Karen, one of the lunch ladies, always sneaks me as much of a meal as she can after the lunch-line dies down. Some days, there isn’t enough food, though. My ribs protrude from my chest, and I know I’m far past underweight. It does work to my advantage because my clothes are all about a size too small. I know that if I were at a healthy weight, most of them would be un-wearable. It’s also delayed my menstrual cycle starting, which, from what I hear, is a blessing.
We approach the table of her coworkers, and they stand to greet us. I give a tightlipped smile back to most of the greetings. I know I’m not allowed to really speak to these people, and take a seat next to my mother. They begin talking about ordering appetizers, and someone asks me if I want something specific.
“She doesn’t need an appetizer. Silly thing forgot we had the dinner tonight so she’d already eaten when I got home from work. She’ll just have a salad,” my mother interjects, adding on a fake laugh. I see some of her coworkers raise their eyebrows at Mother’s statement, but she continues as if she hasn’t noticed. Soon, their talk drifts back to work related topics.
Twenty minutes later, everyone is enjoying shrimp and bread and a mixture of other food as I slowly munch on my salad. I feel pressure on my hand, and realize someone is pushing something into my right hand. Startled, I look up and meet the eyes of one of mother’s friendlier coworkers; I think her name is Karen. She gives me an intense look, and pushes down on my hand again. I turn my palm up, and realize she’s pressing a roll into my hand. I panic internally, and try to come up with a quick plan. I look at Mother, waiting for her to stop speaking for a moment. When she does, I politely ask to be excused to the restroom.
“Sure, I’ll take you,” my mom says, starting to rise from her chair. I freeze, and panic shoots through my veins.
“Wait, Elizabeth, you were going to tell me how that meeting with Bill went,” Karen says, and I could kiss her.
“Well,” my mom hesitates. I know I’ll most likely pay for this later, but the momentary reprieve is worth it.
“Bree is more than old enough to go to the bathroom by herself,” Karen says, dismissing me, before launching questions at Mother about the meeting.
I quickly run to the bathroom, and stuff the whole roll into my mouth before washing my hands and making sure to count until I know 5 minutes have passed. If I go back to the table too quickly, or if I take too long, Mother will be more suspicious.
As I’m exiting the bathroom, I crash into what feels like a brick wall. I nearly fall backwards from the impact, but two strong hands shoot out and grip my biceps, keeping me steady.
“What’s the rush?” a deep voice asks, and I look up into the two most beautiful, deepest blue eyes I have ever seen. They look like the ocean when you’re far out at sea.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, still mesmerized by his eyes.
He gives me a cocky grin, those beautiful eyes swirling with amusement, and releases my arms. He takes a step back from me, and gives me an appraising look up and down. His hair is long and wild on the top of his head, and shaved on the sides. He doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever met before. He looks dangerous.
“Just be careful. You’re too small to be running into people,” he says, as he pats me on the head like you would a small child before turning around and walking into the men’s room.
I shake my head to clear the daze the whole encounter caused, and make my way back to the table.
My mother shoots me a suspicious glance, but I pretend not to see it, as I resume eating my salad. At least, she let me have salad dressing this time.
“Bree, I’m so glad you’re back. My son showed up after all, and I can’t wait to introduce you two,” Karen says, when I sit back down at the table.
I smile and nod in polite agreement, as Mother reaches under the table on the left side and pinches my thigh.
I grimace and lean towards her. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to!” she hisses in my ear.
Honestly, I have no idea what she thinks I’m up to. I doubt she noticed me sneak the roll, so she’s probably made something up in her head to have yet another reason to justify the way she’ll punish me tonight. With a hopeless and exhausted sigh, I resume eating my salad. Sometimes, I feel like I should just stop pretending everything is okay.
Even after years of trying to please her, making sure I never embarrass her in public, she still beats me every time we come home. I’m never going to be good enough. I just can’t do it.
I’m startled out of my thoughts when there is movement to my right. I notice Karen has moved her seat down and none other than the mysterious boy from the bathroom is now taking the seat to my right.
“Bree this is my son, Alex,” Karen says, a huge grin on her face.
Alex looks at me with a smile. “We already ran into each other.”
Present Day
As quickly as it hit me, the flashback ends and I’m hurtled back into the midst of my panic attack. Tears fall, and I curl my body into a tighter ball, struggling to get air into my lungs. Please stop. Please stop. Go away. I repeat over and over again in my head, eventually saying the words out loud.
Oh, God, please help me.
I don’t know how much time passes before I finally manage to slow my breathing, and calm some of the madness in my head. I am still curled up on the floor of my bedroom, face pressed against the cold wood floor. It's getting harder and harder to get a grip and to focus, when the memories flood my brain. I’m pretty sure that was a panic attack, but I’m not prepared to do anything about them. Panic attacks mean you need medication and counselors. I’ve read about them briefly before, when I first had an incident after Alex left. I’ve always been too scared to talk to anyone, especially a professional, about my past. The one thing I do know is that I am slowly being consumed.
Inside of me, there is a small part that says I need to give up. I cannot continue to live this way, trying to keep a grip on reality, to hold myself together. It’s too much.
When I think about everyone else around me, it seems like I’m the only one still paying the price. Alex has clearly moved on and is living a happier life. Mother never reported me as a runaway, or even looked for me, so obviously her life is now better without me in it. Ron and his guys all keep their distance from me, like I’m some sort of crazy person. Even though I know I am the one who has pushed everyone away, there is a part of me that wishes someone would fight for me, even if I’m the one they have to fight.
I shake my head, clearing my depressing thoughts away. It works, but I know it’s only temporary as I rise to my feet. The need to do something, to distract myself, is strong. I pull my phone out to go through my messages and, for the first time, I pause. Do I really want to go have another meaningless encounter? I know, as much as they provide temporary relief, they’re only making a deep hole deeper. My heart doesn’t exist anymore, just a large black hole. I’ve never really stopped to think about it before. I know that I’m being used, but I rationalize this with the fact that I’m using them as well. I hurry up and send a few messages out before I can second-guess myself again. As usual, Nate is the first to respond. I take a quick shower, dressing for the shift at the bar I have later, and head to his house.
He opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts when I arrive. “Twice in a week. I knew you couldn’t resist this dick,” he says, while crudely grabbing his crotch.
I roll my eyes and push past him to walk to his room. Once there, I start systematically stripping. I have to keep my clothes neat since I can’t just go home after this.
“What’s the rush, baby?” Nate asks as he walks in the room and shuts his door behind him. I notice he flicks the lock. That’s not something he usually does, but it doesn’t seem like a big deal, so I don’t say anything.
“I didn’t come here to talk,” I reply, pulling off my underwear. Completely naked now, I crawl up on his bed and lay down on my side, facing him.
He gives my body a slow once over. He’s already hard, his gym shorts hide nothing, and so I put on my best seductive face, motioning him forward with my fingers. If I didn’t know better, I would think he actually does think I’m desirable.
He yanks his gym shorts down his legs, his cock springing free and slapping up against his lower stomach. He tries to immediately lie between my legs, but I make a sound of protest, and raise one eyebrow when his eyes meet mine.
“Oh, come on, why do I always have to wear a condom? I’m clean, baby.” His voice is all nasally and whiny in tone.
“Am I the only person you’re sleeping with?” I already know the answer.
He remains silent, and averts his gaze.
“That’s what I thought. Put on the damn condom,” I demand.
Once he’s sheathed himself, he enters me in one rough thrust, and I grunt from the impact and the brief pain. He starts up a steady rhythm, and I let my mind go. The only sound in the room is his grunting and the sound of our skin makes while smacking together. I stare at the ceiling for a few moments. My heart aches. Alex, my Alex, why did you leave me? Usually, if I think of him during this, I can stop myself. I must still be weak from my panic attack earlier. The one thing that I had only ever shared with him I now share with many. But I can’t stop. I can’t not sleep with Nate. I can’t stand the idea of no human contact. I’m not good for much else, but I can do this. Guys don’t mind sleeping with me. It’s the only affection I’ll ever get, so I have to take it. There’s still a part of me that feels like this is cheating. I feel another piece break off inside of me, another chunk of my soul dying.
I don’t know what else I can do. I don’t know how to be anything else, but this monster. I used to imagine having to beg Alex’s forgiveness if he came back and found out what I have done. But, now I know I won’t even be able to forgive myself. Sometimes, the damage inside us becomes so great that it consumes us, and the only way we can begin to cope is by continuing to add to the damage until it’s all we have inside of us.
The solitude of my thoughts is shattered when Nate wraps a hand around my neck and squeezes. Hard. I open my eyes and gasp. His eyes are cold, staring straight into mine, unwavering. I’ve never seen Nate look like this before, but I am far too familiar with the look in someone’s eyes when they intend to hurt you. I’ve seen the focused rage in his eyes many, many times before. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, and I try to find a way to fight back.
I try to scream, but the sound is weak and muffled from the lack of oxygen. My lungs are burning, desperate for oxygen. I try my best to sit up, but the move is futile. Nate outweighs me by at least fifty pounds. I shove at Nate’s chest, trying to get him off of me, another useless effort. He slides down my body a little, but his hand on my throat only squeezes harder. With the little bit of space his movement gives me, I bring my knee up to connect with his body. There isn’t much strength behind the movement, but I feel my knee connect hard with his groin.
“What the fuck?” Nate roars, rolling off me to the side, which is actually the edge of the bed and, as he falls off, his arms flail and his hand connects with my cheek. It's an almost perfect backhanded slap. Believe me, I know backhanded slaps.
I don’t even pause, jumping off the bed, and putting as much distance between Nate and me as I can, rubbing my throat, trying to soothe the ache from his grip.
“What the fuck was that shit?” Nate looks at me, his eyes almost look manic. For a moment, I wonder if he’s taken something, or has he just gone crazy?
He was the one choking me. He was the one that wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t breathe; he was killing me.
I keep backing up, trying to put as much space between us as I can. It feels like my cheek is on fire. There is no way a hit that hard isn’t going to leave a mark.
Judging from the ache in my neck, I probably have marks there, too. This is just fantastic. Ron will not be amused when I show up for work looking like shit. No one will be. The idea of explaining myself or my activities to anyone scares the shit out of me. Declan’s face pops into my head, but I ignore that thought just as quickly as it appears.
“You have some goddamn nerve yelling at me. Why were you choking me? I couldn’t breathe asshole. That’s what happened,” I shout back, keeping my eyes on him and walking sideways toward my neatly folded pile of clothes sitting on his dresser.
“Oh, no, you fucking don’t,” Nate shouts as he lunges through the short distance between us, and grips my arm.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I scream, trying to swing my free arm to strike him, but he quickly moves behind me, twisting the arm he’s holding behind my back and uses his other hand to grip my hair. It feels like all the hair is being ripped out of my head and my shoulder is dangerously close to getting dislocated as he shoves me face first into the bed. My legs are still on the ground, and I blindly kick backwards. I connect with his shin, and hear a grunt, before his grip on my hair gets impossibly tighter. He jerks my head the side, and lowers his mouth to my ear.
“Do that shit again, and I’ll really fuck you up. I’m not done yet, so you fucking sit there like a good little bitch and take it. I’ll let you go when I’m good and fucking ready.” His voice is a whisper, a calm, infuriating whisper. He bites my ear lobe. Hard. Tears fall from my eyes, as I scream and thrash against him. I try to clamp my legs together as tight as I can, but he wedges his thigh between them forcing my legs open. He’s so much stronger than me. The feeling of being so helpless does nothing but increase my rage. Angry tears roll down my face.
Please God, please. For once, can you just save me? I don’t know why I expect a response this time; he’s never shown up before.
Nate shoves himself harshly into my body; it feels like I’m being ripped in half. I stop moving and close my eyes, continuing to sob in my defeat. My only hope is that thi
s will be over soon. My face slides against the bed with every thrust, the smell of his dirty sheets floods my senses with every breath I take. I’ll never be able to smell his cologne again without remembering this moment. I can tell he’s getting close to finishing because his thrusts become more frantic, and he pushes down harder on the back of my head. If he pushes my head any harder into the mattress, I won’t be able to breathe.
When he finishes, he slaps my ass and he releases his hold on me. I’m still crying, quiet sobs shaking my entire body. My head hurts, my entire body hurts. The worst pain is the burn in my chest. My mind is reeling, trying to grasp what just happened. I know I’m at risk of going into shock, but I have to get out of here.
Nate never says a word, as I stumble across his room to grab my clothes before making my way into his bathroom. The harsh florescent lighting hurts my eyes when I flick the switch. I look at my face in the mirror, and don’t recognize the hollow face looking back at me. My eyes are red and swollen as I continue to cry. My lip is split, and a small trickle of blood runs down my chin. I don’t even remember that happening. I must have bitten it during… during what happened.
The bruise on my cheek is getting darker by the second. My neck is red, but it doesn’t look like it's going to bruise. My arm is a completely different story. I can see the perfect imprint of Nate’s hand turning into a bruise. My earlobe has the perfect imprint of his teeth on it, already starting to darken to a bruise as well. That won’t be fading away anytime soon. I adjust my body to lean closer to the mirror, and get a better look at my face when I feel it. Pure horror rushes through me when I feel the stickiness between my thighs. Nate took the condom off.
Just another thing he took away from me tonight. My stomach rolls with disgust at Nate. At myself. I don’t even know who to blame for this. I collapse on the cold linoleum floor, even more tears falling. You would think I would eventually just run out of tears. I’m not sure how much time passes before Nate bangs on the door roughly, startling me.
