Girl Unbroken
†
Patricia Bell
Copyright © 2017 by Patricia Bell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by John Carmer/Cover Design Lara Wynter
Girl Unbroken is a work of fiction. All Characters and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, And saves such as have a contrite spirit. Psalm 34:18
Thank you to my Lord and Savior. The One who heals the brokenhearted. And to my husband, Cliff, who is my greatest earthly inspiration. Thanks to the sweet friends who inspire me to keep writing. Kristen Overholt Iten, and Lara Ann. And to my dad who reads everything I writes, and lovingly points out my flaws.
Want to connect? You can find me here –
http://pbellauthor.weebly.com/
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https://twitter.com/mrsbellaz
http://amazon.com/author/pbellauthor
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2598681.Patricia_Bell
All books by Patricia Bell
Karina series
From House to Home – Karina’s Journey book 1
From Good to bad – Karina’s Journey book 2
From Lies to Truth – Karina’s Journey book 3
Canyon Rock Series
A light in the darkness
An Eye for An Eye
The Light Leads to Love – Reflections of Faith Anthologies Book 3
Stay tuned at the end of the story for a sneak peak of From House to Home.
Chapter 1
As I stare at the off-white ceiling of an ambulance, my body is numb, my eyes blurred. Tight straps confine me to yet another prison. A gurney. For my own protection, they said. The muffled blare of the sirens echo in my ears. But even after all I’ve been through, all I can think about is that strange haunting voice. The girl on the other side of the door. It ricochets off the sides of my skull.
I’m not going to leave you? She spoke from the other side of my prison cell. The police are on their way. It was so gentle. Caring. So self-assured. What’s your name? she asked. Mine is Karina.
How could she be so calm? Soon the monster would be back and he would do to her what he’d done to me. I wanted to scream at her to run. Get out of there as fast as she could, but she was my only hope. Hope for what? There was nothing left to hope for. Still…
“How are you feeling?” the EMT asks as he wraps a blood pressure cuff around my bruised arm.
How does he think I feel after being tied to a bed for only God knows how long? “I’m okay.” I whisper as I try to keep the floodgates of emotion from bursting free.
“Are you having any pain?” he asks, concern paints his face.
As the memories of what I’ve been through overloads my brain, I completely lose it. Like a dam that has finally reached its breaking point, sobs burst from my mouth. My body shudders uncontrollably.
“It’s okay.” He pats my shoulder like he doesn’t know what else to do.
He must feel awkward with a crybaby teenager blubbering all over his vehicle. I try to stop but I just can’t. It’s like I’ve been locked inside my own mind for so long that it feels as though someone has just opened a window and let the blaring sun in to scorch my eyes. Only in my case, the sun is reality. And the burning is just as painful.
Each time I try to tell myself I’m safe, his black eyes haunt my brain and I can do nothing but weep. Never again will I be able to close my eyes without seeing his vile face. That dark brown skin, evil eyes and the one gold tooth that sparkled when he grinned greedily. A shiver rolls through my body.
You’ll make me a pretty penny, sweet thing. His voice plays in my head like an annoying song.
“It’s okay. You are okay now,” the man beside me says as he pats my shoulder.
He has no idea just how “not okay” I am. I will never be “okay” again. Not ever.
I turn my face away from him as he finishes taking my vital signs. Silent tears drip down my cheek and onto the white sheets of the gurney below. Every so often an uncontrollable tremor racks through my body making me feel like an icicle.
“Are you cold?” he asks as a warm blanket is placed over me. “We’re almost to the hospital. I just want to get an IV started on you, okay?”
I nod. I have no idea what I am agreeing to, but nothing he can do to me will ever be as painful as what I’ve endured for the last couple of months.
“Oww!” an involuntary howl escapes as the man shoves a needle into my arm. Apparently, the torture is not yet over.
***
As the EMT guides me the few steps from the gurney to the hospital bed, I feel as though my legs will fall out from underneath me. “Just two more steps. You’re doing fine,” he says.
Yeah right. You try to take two steps after being tied to a bed for weeks at a time. With that thought, tears rush back to my eyes again. Will I ever stop crying again?
“Okay. It’s okay. Take your time,” he says.
I suck back my sobs and take another step. I try my best to hold it all in as I make my way into the cold bed awaiting me. A long tube hangs from my arm. The sting of where he stabbed me still burns.
“Okay, there you are,” he says once I’m settled. “Do you need anything before I leave?”
I shake my head, wishing he wouldn’t leave me, but knowing he will.
“Good luck.” He squeezes my hand and turns to leave.
Yeah, same to you. I close my eyes hoping to get a few seconds of peace before the devil returns to invade my memory.
***
“Hi.” A familiar voice calls from the doorway and I open my eyes. It’s her. I’ve never seen her but I know the voice. Karina. The girl who…
“You saved my life,” I whisper as I raise my head to get a look at her.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
By the looks of her expensive jeans and name brand shoes, she’s not from the streets. She appears to be about my age. Her make-up is smeared as if she’s been crying. Where did he get a girl like her?
“I think so.” I shift uneasily trying my best to avoid another flood of emotion. “Thank you.”
She smiles at me kindly. “I’m so sorry for what you went through.”
She can’t possibly know what I’ve been through or what he had planned for me in the future. What he was grooming me to be. Night after horrifying night. Or did she?
“Are you okay?” I stare at her, hoping beyond hope, that she’s remained untouched. “He didn’t get to you, did he?”
“No,” she says. “I’m okay.”
And that’s where my emotions shift. I don’t know how or why but somewhere deep inside I’m angry that she didn’t. I don’t understand it. It’s not that I want her to have gone through what I did, but why me? Why not her? Haven’t I been through enough? Another tear escapes and I shift the anger from her to myself. Stop crying, you big baby. My mother’s words ring in my head. No one likes a crybaby.
“You have to go now,” the nurse says as she strides in and hooks me up to some kind of monitor. “She needs to be evaluated.”
The girl reaches in and hugs me gently. At first, I cringe at her touch, but then it feels good. It’s the first time in my fifteen years of life, I have ever received a hug.
Chapter 2
If one more person asks me if I am okay, I’m gonna go psycho on
them. I mean it. I am not okay and I don’t think I ever will be. But how can I tell these people what I’ve been through? I can’t, so instead, I nod and pretend that I’m fine. It’s bad enough that I have to re-live the horror every time my brain slows down enough to allow it to. I can’t imagine speaking it aloud.
If the fact that I’ve been here for six weeks and have woken up several times in the night, every night, screaming, didn’t clue them in to the fact that I am not all right, I am not sure they deserve the truth.
The doctor says I am doing much better. After weeks of antibiotics and IV’s I would hope so. I have physical therapy three times a day to bring my body back to full capacity. In the beginning I could do nothing but cry. My body hurt so badly I couldn’t bear the pain. Even so, it didn’t take long before I was sitting up and walking.
Now that I am pretty much back to full health, a social worker will be in this morning to throw me into some kind of foster home where the old man of the house will try to have his way with me. That’s what happened the last time I was ripped away from my home. At least my parents only knocked me around when I smarted off. Never once did I have to deal with the things I’ve seen since. But yeah, okay, my parents are not a good environment for me. Go figure.
My entire time in this place, that girl runs through my mind over and over again. Karina. My brain goes into overtime. Why does she have it so good? Why me? Why not her? I’m angry but I don’t understand it. She saved your life. You should be grateful. But I’m not. Why should I be? What exactly did she save me from? What is there to live for? Absolutely nothing. Death would have been a relief.
“Hi,” a woman peeps her head into the room. “Melissa?” She’s an older lady with graying hair and a pant suit to match. “Can I come in?”
What would she do if I said no? “Sure.” I answer. It’s a good thing I don’t care much for sleep nowadays, because around here, no one closes their eyes without a nurse or doctor walking into the room. I seriously think they have cameras to monitor when someone is about to get some rest.
“My name is Mrs. Lewis,” she says sliding merrily into the room.
“Hi,” I answer as if I care.
“How are you feeling?”
Ugh! I scream inside because if I let it out, they’ll think I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. A tear tries to well up and I squash it. Believe it or not being tough has never been my thing. “I’m okay.” I answer.
“You’ve been through quite a bit for such a young lady.” She tries to sound kind but I feel as though she is being more condescending than anything. It’s probably just me though. Cynicism has become my mantra.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I answer.
“Oh, honey, that’s okay. I’m not a psychologist, I’m just here to find the proper placement for you.” She smiles. “But I’m sure sooner or later you will be assigned someone to talk to.”
My head falls. I’ve been that route before. It’s a waste of time. People say they want to help but really, it’s just a big scam to get your money, or in my case, the state’s money.
“I pulled your file. It says your parents have been deemed unsuitable to care for you. It also says you have a younger brother. Is this correct?”
I nod. I’ve heard I do but I’ve never met him. He was taken from my mother before she ever left the hospital about three years ago. I don’t even know his name.
“Well I have some good news for you. Your little brother, Simon lives right down the street in Mesa with a nice couple.” She pulls a file from underneath her arms and opens it. “Sharon and David Mayfield.”
“Okay? So?” I’m not sure I understand her reason for bothering to tell me this.
“Soooo…” she draws out the word for emphasis. I stare as I wait for her to continue. “I took the liberty of calling them on my way here and they have agreed for you to come live with them.” Her voice raises an octave in her apparent excitement.
“Sure.” I answer and turn away. I have no interest in meeting my brother or staying with another foster family. I was doing just fine on the streets.
“The doctor says just a couple more days and you will be released. I’ll come back for you on Friday. Just in time for the weekend.” She bounces blissfully. “How does that sound?”
I stare at her. How does one person find so much joy on the inside of a hospital? I nod my head. “I’m tired. I’d like to get some rest.”
“Okay, dear. You do that.” She gives me that sickly sweet smile again. “See you on Friday.”
I close my eyes and feign sleep. Her high heels click across the tile as she exits the room. When I’m sure she’s gone, I open my eyes and am startled to see that there’s a small lady standing in front of my bed. She’s so tiny that I’m sure she meets the requirements for dwarfism. For a second, I wonder if she’s been here the entire time and I just missed her. What are they putting into my IV? I blink quickly but she doesn’t go away.
“Hello dear,” she speaks. “I passed your case worker in the hall and thought it was the perfect time for the two of us to meet.” When she smiles, there’s an annoying glob of bright red lipstick that sticks to her top front tooth. As her mouth moves, this becomes my focal point.
“Hi.” I answer again, hoping against hope that she will leave soon.
“My name is Minnie,” she says in a mousy voice, most befitting of her name, “and I’ll be your counsellor.” She extends a weathered hand painted perfectly with the same color bright red as her lips. All except for her index finger. This one has a chip that could probably be touched up by that chunk dancing around on her tooth.
“I don’t need a counselor,” I answer firmly.
“We could all use someone to talk to, don’t you think?” She pulls a chair over from the side of the room and hikes herself up onto it. “These chairs are a little tall,” she says. “Either that or I’m shrinking.” She chuckles at her own joke.
I can’t help but crack a smile. The lady is rather sweet. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to talk to her.
“Go ahead, dear. I laugh at myself all the time.”
I nod and smile.
“We’re gonna get along just fine. We’re kindred spirits, I can tell already.” She hops off the chair like a little kid and lands on her white patent leather shoes without a sound. A lop of strawberry gray hair bounces into her eyes. “I’ll see you next week, dear. Don’t be late.” She smiles at me one more time and then skips out of the room cheerfully. I have not an inkling of an idea why everyone in this place is so happy.
I close my eyes again. Only for a second.
Chapter 3
His breath deepens as he draws near. I try to shrink into the soiled bed I’m secured to but I can’t move. My wrists burn in pain as ropes twist into my skin making them bleed.
“Hey sweet thing,” he sings from the other side of the door. “Daddy’s home.”
The door rattles as he puts the key in the lock. Click. It opens.
“No! Please No!” I wake myself with my own screams. I sit up straight in the bed and stare around the room. My heart quakes in my chest. The machine I am attached to beeps erratically. A big heart on the monitor flashes red. Am I dying?
A nurse rushes into the room. “Are you okay?” she asks as she silences the incessant beeping.
I stare at her as if she’s from outer space. I don’t know lady, you tell me. That machine seems to think I’m not. “I guess so. I just had a bad dream.”
“Oh goodness.” She puts her hand to her mouth as if I’ve just said a bad word. “It must have been a doozy to get your heart pumping that fast.”
Ya think? I lay back down. Too tired for even sarcasm at the moment. The beeping stops as the numbers on the machine slowly descends to what I guess is a normal rate.
I lay back but I’m afraid to close my eyes. It’s okay though because it’s not long before someone else enters the room.
“Hi, Melissa?�
�� he says as he peeks his head in the door. I nod. “Can I come in?”
Why do people ask me that, like I have a choice? I nod again.
The man enters. The dark blue uniform and gaping belly gives him away. A police officer.
“Hi,” he repeats. “My name is Officer Roberson. How are you doing?”
By this time, it doesn’t even matter to me that everyone seems to ask that question. They really don’t want the truth anyway. It’s just one of those questions people ask. “I’m okay,” I say as I readjust the bed to a sitting position.
As the bed slowly hums its way up, another officer strides into the room. A woman. I know what this means. They are going to get personal. Ask me questions I don’t want to answer.
“Melissa, this is my partner, Officer Carron.” He waves in the direction of the female officer.
“Call me Leslie.” She smiles. “Please.”
I nod. I have no intention of calling her anything. Or speaking to her at all.
“Melissa, I know this is going to be hard for you but I’m going to need for you to tell me some of the details of your experience.”
I stare at her, refusing to answer. The same as I have done to every officer who has entered my room every day for the last six weeks. They can’t make me talk. Sounds childish, I know, but it’s just not something I want to remember, let alone speak aloud.
“Melissa,” the other officer says. “I understand how hard this must be for you, but Eric Munson is still on the loose. He won’t—”
“Who?” I glance from one officer to the other.
“Eric Munson. The man who held you captive.”
Something registers in my head. Of course. No one names their kid Easy Money.
Patricia Bell Page 1
