Ugly

by Margaret McHeyzer

  With my hands tucked under my head, and my knees brought up to my abdomen I simply watch the night. My eyes get heavier, and my mind floats towards happiness. To a place where I’m pretty, I’m smart and I can move through every day without suffocation and dread.

  I’m woken by the slam of the front door and Dad yelling in a slur, “You better be in your room you fucking ugly, dumb bitch.”

  “Whoooo’s herrrreee?” I hear a high-pitched woman’s voice. Her speech is as garbled as Dad’s and I know they’re both drunk.

  Dad’s never brought anyone else home, and just the mere thought of someone other than Dad here terrifies me.

  “No one. A stupid, ugly loser who stays with me. Wish she’d fuck off.”

  The woman giggles. “Come on, Stanley. Don’t worry about her, let’s go to your roooom,” she drunkenly says.

  “Where are you, bitch?” Dad yells louder.

  I bring the blanket up and hide beneath it. I know it’s stupid, it’s not going to save me, but I can’t make a run for the closet in the hallway, he’ll see me. Maybe if I remain quiet, if I don’t say anything, he’ll just forget about me.

  “Where the fuck are you?” he shouts even louder.

  “I’m here,” I say in the quietest voice I can. Hoping he hears me and that’s enough to leave me alone.

  My heart is beating with such fury I can hear it in my ears. My body begins to shake and I feel a heavy lump of terror sitting in the pit of my stomach. Please Dad, just leave me alone. But I know tonight is different.

  “Get out here!”

  Silently, I stand from my bed. My legs are wobbly and now the cold inside my room is also inside me. Slowly I tiptoe out to where Dad and his companion are. Dad’s sitting in his chair and the woman is on her knees in front of him.

  Dad turns to look at me. His face is demonic, his eyes are full of wrath.

  “See this?” he says as he laces his fingers through the brunette woman’s hair. “This is the only thing you’ll ever be good for. Better start doing it soon and making some money, because you’re one dumb and ugly bitch.” He bucks his hips up, and I instantly feel the bile rise to the back of my throat.

  Turning, I go back to my room because I don’t want to see him doing that to the woman.

  As I slide under the covers, I hear his heavy footsteps coming toward my room. “Get up!” he yells as he bolts into my room.

  I bring the blanket over my head, and pray. Pray to God to finally end me right now and stop me breathing. I can’t take it anymore. This can’t be what I was born for. This isn’t what life is supposed to be. Is it?

  “You fucking little slut, you’ll come and watch so you know what you have to do.” The blanket gets ripped away from my head and Dad grabs onto my hair, dragging me out of bed. “It should’ve been you who died. It’s all your fucking fault,” he screams, as he keeps dragging me toward the family room.

  “You’re hurting me, please stop,” I cry as I clutch onto his hand, trying to use my feet to push along so the pain isn’t as intense.

  “You stupid bitch. You don’t deserve to fucking live. They do, but not you.” He slams me against the wall.

  “Dad, please stop,” I beg. The way Dad thumped me against the wall made my head hit it hard.

  “Look at what you did.” He points at the wall and I turn to see a small hole.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I plead, hoping he’s not going to keep hitting me.

  “You will be.” His belt is already unbuckled, and he rips it out of the loops holding it in place on his pants.

  I cower and cover my face in defense. The first strike is excruciatingly painful. He hits with so much force I can feel the skin on my arms burning. The second strike is worse than the first. He hits on the same spot and I try to curl myself further into a small ball. The third, and fourth strikes are fueled by nothing more than utter hate.

  “Please,” I cry through the heavy tears. I’m gulping for breath and wish for this to be over. To finally just end.

  After what feels like an eternity, the hitting finally ends. Carefully I lower my arms from around my head and try to peep out to see where Dad is and what he’s doing.

  The woman with him is now standing beside him, her eyebrows knit together as she stares at me. Dad’s looking down at me, his top lip curled into a snarl.

  “She didn’t do nothin’,” says the woman.

  “Shut up,” Dad replies, while still looking at me.

  He wipes the back of his hand over his forehead, his evil eyes still glued to me. Dad spits on the floor and he straightens his back. “You’ve made a fucking mess. You’re bleeding,” he says as flicks his chin at me.

  Through the thick tears I try and focus on the welts on my arms and legs. Some are cut and are bleeding, a few are just a trickle, but a few have quite a bit of blood seeping out of them.

  “I’m so-sorry,” I stutter through the heavy breathing.

  “You will be.” He takes a step toward me, rears his hand back making a fist.

  It seems like an eternity. My face feels on fire as the punches continue. Please God, take my life.

  Suddenly, I feel nothing. No pain, no pressure and no sadness. Just a beautiful veil of black that falls over me. I begin to float and find sanctuary in the peace I’ve finally been blessed with.

  Is this how death feels? I like it here.

  When I try and open my eyes, they hurt. I can barely open them without pressure pounding away in my head. I blink a few times, trying to focus and to see where I am.

  I’m lying in my family room, exactly where I was when Dad started laying into me.

  There’s a heavy buzzing in my ears, a massive thump squeezing the inside of my head. Blinking, I manage to focus on the hole in the wall and slowly drag my eyes from it.

  From somewhere close to me, I can hear a predatory grunting. The sound of constant and fevered desperation. There’s also a female who’s moaning in rhythm to the grunting.

  “You feel so good, Stanley,” she says¸ in drawn out gasps.

  Trying to be as quiet as I can, I move to my hands and knees, attempting to find my balance. The thrusting continues, and I can hear the vulgar sound of my father having sex with the woman he brought home.

  Shaking and unsteady I manage to drag my body toward my room. The sounds coming from the family room are not letting up as they continue their sex-fest.

  “You really need to use that pussy of yours, make yourself some money, you ugly piece of shit,” Dad pants as he keeps propelling his cock into the woman.

  “Leave her alone,” says the woman. “Just keep your eyes focused on me.” I turn to look at them as I drag my broken and bruised body through the opening to my bedroom. The woman looks at me, and in that one moment, that one single atom in time she sees me.

  Her eyes connect with mine, and she notices me. Her eyebrows slightly draw together and she winks at me. She turns her head, brings her arm up to put her hand on the side of Dad’s face, essentially blocking his view of me.

  “Don’t look at her, she’s a retard. She deserves everything she gets,” he says before smashing his mouth down on hers.

  I keep crawling, and hide in the closet. The journey to get there has been nothing short of excruciatingly painful, each movement filled with pain that shoots straight through to my bones. Every breath causes a severe ache so deep, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe normally again.

  Remembering the phone Trent gave me, I feel for it inside my jacket where I hid it and finally grab it. My hands are shaking so badly I can’t manage to turn it on. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to dial it, even if I can power it up.

  I keep blinking, trying to calm my shaking down so my bloodied hands will work. My heart’s pounding starts to ease and my pulse slows until my body is back to almost normal.

  Turning the phone on, I look down at the backlight and keep my eyes focused on the small cell. The rusty smell of blood fills my nose, and I wipe at it, tryi
ng to get that smell away. The rich crimson clings to me, my hands are covered and small droplets are falling to my jeans.

  Struggling to remember what Trent showed me, I finally dial his number.

  “Lily,” he answers virtually right away.

  “I need help,” I say in a thick, gravelly voice.

  “Where are you?” I hear a beep and a car engine starting.

  “I’m in my closet. I don’t feel so good. I think I’m going to be sick.” My stomach contracts. The tightening is twisting in my tummy and vomit rises rapidly to the back of my throat. It sits like an orange lodged in my neck, not moving in any direction.

  “Are you sick?” he asks in a gentler voice.

  “Dad, he…” I can feel the vomit moving slowly. It wants to come up but it’s stalled, not ready to be expelled yet. “He…he… hit.” And the bile pushes through, and soils my clothes. “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” I begin to cry. I don’t want Trent mad with me, too.

  “Lily!” he screams into the phone as my stomach continues to churn and eject the very little thing in there. “Hold on, Lily. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  The soft cloak of black is returning. Not as fast as it was before, but just like a curtain closing on the final act at the theatre, it begins to fall. “I don’t feel…” And once again, the peaceful black sings to me. A love song filled with rare beauty, of peace, and something I’ve never experienced before. Love.

  “Lily. Lily. Where are you?” It’s not Dad’s voice, it sounds sweeter. Someone who’s calling me not to hurt me, but to help me. “LILY!” Such a desperate plea to find me.

  “Here,” I try to yell. But my voice is tiny, the sound barely whispering past my lips.

  The darkness is desperate to drag me under again. It’s clawing its way through my veins, desperate to strangle whatever fight I have in me.

  But I’m only seventeen, and I don’t want to live in fear anymore. I may not deserve something better, I may never find it, but I can’t keep living blanketed under hate.

  “Here,” I yell, finding a strength in me I don’t think I’ve ever had. “I’m here, Trent.”

  “Sweetheart, what the hell happened?” Trent says as he falls to the floor and caresses my face. He strokes my hair and moves it off my face.

  “D-d-dad,” I manage to whimper. “He, he, h-hit me,” I say through my strained breath.

  “Come on, you’re coming with me. Where’s your suitcase, so I can pack your clothes?” He stands from where he was kneeling beside me and looks around my room. “Jesus, Lily how the hell do you live like this?”

  I’m completely horrified and embarrassed about where I live. My bare room is a physical representation of my life. So empty and devoid of anything that could make me human, anything allowing me to identify with people. Anything that could make me a person and let me find my own personality.

  “I don’t have much,” I say through the tears threatening to break through.

  “You don’t need anything, just take my hand and come with me,” he says, as he turns and offers me his hand.

  This is my choice, possibly my last chance to get out of here alive and finally be able to breathe freely, without fear. I hesitantly lift my hand and slowly place it into Trent’s warm palm. He leans down, winds his arm around my waist and lifts me.

  “Ahhh,” I cry in pain.

  “Where does it hurt?” He eases me up and stands beside me, supporting my body weight.

  “My legs and arms hurt.” I look at Trent and his eyebrows are knit together as he studies my features. His brown eyes dart all over my face, taking in everything Dad’s done. “Lily,” he says, then sighs in a way I think he’s disgusted with me.

  “I’m sorry.” I try and fix my hair so he can’t see any part of my face, but I wince in pain as I lift my arm to move my hair.

  “Don’t,” he says, as he walks us out of my room.

  I look in the family room, Dad and the woman aren’t here, but the smell of sex is thick in the air. My eyes go directly to the hole in the wall, and instantly vomit rises and threatens to erupt. “Please, get me out of here.”

  Trent looks at me and nods his head. No more words need to be said. He’s seen the worst of me, the darkest shadow I live under and the extremes of my daily nightmare.

  He takes most of my weight as he leads me outside. The night is dark and silent. The cold touches me right down to my bones, horror filling every part of my mind. Or maybe it’s not horror that’s consuming me. Maybe it’s something else.

  The taste of freedom.

  I’m finally going to leave the house I’ve been chained to all my life. My one safety-net had never really been safe. Not once have I ever felt anything but hate and resentment toward me while living here. Never have I been able to breathe in clean air and feel it travel through me, caress and embrace me. I’ve never felt welcome or had a sense of belonging.

  “Watch your head, Lily,” Trent says as he helps me into his car.

  I sit back in the passenger seat and look at the house I’ve lived in all my life. No sign of life comes from it. The little grass on the front lawn is brown and dead. The faded blue weatherboard on the house looks like it’s about to fall down. If you drove past my house, you’d swear squatters had taken up residence, not a family.

  Trent starts the car and backs out of the driveway. As he slowly leaves, a part of me finally manages to breathe.

  “Are you okay?” Trent asks.

  I simply nod and smile at him, before turning my head and watch the house that sucked my soul, slowly disappear from my view.

  Trent rests his hand on my thigh and squeezes softly bringing my attention back to him. “It’ll be alright, Lily, I’ll look after you.”

  A lump of uncertainty forms and sits in my throat, a cloud of questions hangs over my head. But I also feel the weight of the world gradually lifting off my shoulders as Trent gets further away from my father’s house.

  The ride to Trent’s house is silent. Other than the occasional tightening of his hand on my thigh, nothing much is said. I simply sit, stunned I’ll never go back there again, but relieved maybe I’ll find safety.

  Fifteen minutes after leaving, Trent pulls onto a street lined with lush, green lawns. The moonlight only hints at the true intensity of the colors, and I can’t wait to see it tomorrow when the sun rises. The houses are fairly close together, but all well cared for. A few proudly fly the American flag from their porches.

  It’s peaceful here, serene. I already love it.

  “We’re here,” Trent says as he pulls into the driveway of a beautiful white home, meticulously cared for. “Come on. Mom and Dad are waiting.” He gets out and rounds the car, opening my door and helping me out.

  Winding my arm around his neck, I let Trent lead me inside.

  My legs are aching, and my entire body protests in pain. My head thumps with each step I take, and all I want to do is lie down and let today’s events disappear.

  “Mom, Dad,” Trent calls.

  I hear footsteps upstairs, and a lady wearing a dressing gown comes down the wooden stairs, followed closely by an older version of Trent. The man has thick salt-and-pepper hair, and a stern scowl on his face.

  “Welcome, Lily,” his mom says as she comes to hug me.

  I don’t even know what to call her. “Thank you, ma’am,” I say, but flinch from the pain in my leg.

  “You can call me, Mrs. Hackly,” she says and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, dear, let’s get you cleaned up.” She begins to lead me toward the back of their house, and suddenly I’m adrift. Have I woken in an alternate universe? One with people who don’t tell me how ugly and stupid I am?

  I look behind me, trying to search out Trent. “Mom, will look after you,” he says, as she continues to lead me down the hallway.

  “Why did you bring her here?” I hear Trent’s dad ask.

  “I couldn’t leave her there. Can’t you see that?” Trent whispers, though I can still hear.
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  “Now, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Lily? Do you have family?” Mrs. Hackly asks. I’m sure it’s to stop me trying to listen to Trent and his dad’s conversation.

  “No, ma’am. It’s just me and my dad. But after tonight, I’m not sure I can go back there.”

  She leads me into the bathroom, and sits me down on the closed toilet lid. “Let’s have a look.” She stands back and looks at me, bringing her hand up to glide over her face. Her long, brown hair is up in a perfect ponytail, and it strikes me as odd that so late in the night, her hair is flawless. “I think I have something here to help you with your wounds, but you’ll need to take your clothes off, okay?” she asks as she takes a cautious step toward me.

  “Um.” I don’t know what to say. She’s offering to help me, something no one’s ever done before. “Okay.”

  She takes another step closer to me, and I notice her face has make-up on it. Everything I’ve heard about and seen on girls in school. Eyeliner, eyeshadow, foundation and even a light lipstick. I can’t help but stare at her and wonder why she’d be almost perfect and ready to go out as if she’s on call to go somewhere.

  Mrs. Hackly helps me up, and assists me in stripping my worn clothes off. “I have some clothes here that will fit you. Once I dress these wounds, I’ll get them for you.” She smiles at me, and it’s so soft and caring. “It’s alright, Lily, I won’t hurt you,” she says to me.

  For a fleeting second, the fact that she didn’t say ‘we won’t hurt you’ plays on my mind. My suspicious and overly wary mind is telling me something’s not right. Why would she not say ‘we’ but only say ‘I’?

  As I stand, stripped of my clothes, Mrs. Hackly brings out a large plastic container taking up the entire bottom of the vanity unit in the bathroom. She props it up near the sink and opens the lid. Peering over I see it’s sectioned out with every type of bandage, ointment, and medical aid that could fit inside it.

  She takes out an ointment and some bandages and places them on the small counter space available. She turns to look at me, her eyes regarding me, taking every part of me in. “The gash above your eye looks the worst, but the cuts on your arm and your leg aren’t too far behind that one. I can fix them here, no need to go to the hospital. They tend to ask all sorts of questions, and you don’t want them knowing what happened, do you?” she asks with so much sympathy in her tone.