Hey Guys! This is my first fic, so please forgive any errors. Go ahead and leave some comments if you have any feedback. I'm always open to suggestions! Enjoy the story everyone!
My phone was buzzing uncontrollably, bouncing, tottering on the edge of the nightstand where I tossed it late last night, right before I collapsed into my bed. The music of my alarm started in loud, strong, and just kept going. Rolling over onto my stomach I reached my arm out for the snooze button. The music stopped, and I rest my head back on the pillow, closing my eyes.
"MADISON! DON'T YOU DARE SNOOZE." My bedroom door swung open, my dad was standing there with his arms crossed. He was dressed for action, like he always is at five in the morning. His gray sweats were baggy, his green t-shirt tight; once a soldier, always a soldier, I guess. Every inch of him was war-ready; from his buzz cut, to his towering height, despite the fact that had been out of the military for three years now. "I want you up, dressed, and ready to run in ten minutes. Don't be late again." He growled at me.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him and untangled my limbs from the sheets. He turned around and went downstairs, to count down the seconds til 5:10, no doubt. My entire body protested each movement. My muscles were still aching from yesterday, but there was no skipping morning PT in this house.
At 5:09 I stepped into the kitchen, clothed in running shorts and a matching neon tank. Dad was waiting for me at the door, looking angry. It was going to be a long morning.
Five miles into our eight mile run, my calves were screaming and my lungs burning. I watched Dad's shoes kicking up patches of dust as he pounded at the ground in front of me. He was getting bad again, I could tell. PT was getting harder, and he was getting stricter, scarier.
An hour and a twenty minutes later, we were in the home stretch, our little house was next on the block. It was a good thing too, because a long run like this, in California's hot summer sun left me dripping in sweat. My hair was starting to fall from it's place in a ponytail, and my legs were getting shaky. Dad stopped on the porch just steps away from the air conditioning of the house.
"That was not your best work Madison, you could have done better. I want you at a nine minute mile. You were too slow today. Now work on your arms. Do as many pushups as you can." Dad's hands rested stiffly on his hips, as he looked down on me.
"But Da-"
"Do not test me today Madison. No arguing. On the ground. NOW." He stood waiting, getting impatient.
Taking a gulp of air, I bent down into a horizontal position, bending my arms, lowering my body until I was parallel with the green grass, and up again. After twenty I was getting sloppy. After twenty-nine, my palms were sweating, and I was struggling to not slip. At thirty five I was ready to stop. On the thirty-eighth down, I let myself go all the way down. The moment I hit the ground my arms were shaking, I could feel the blood pulse in my ears, laying there for a moment, not quite catching my breath, waiting for the inevitable "Give me ten more, or I'll make you wish you did ten more." speech from my father. I got that speech often, actually. And when I didn't hear his insults I looked up, searching for the disappointed face. But he was nowhere to be found. Rolling onto my side, I peeled myself from the floor, and went into the house, walking on trembling feet, searching for him.
Sure enough, there he was, at the kitchen island, with a beer bottle in his right hand, dripping with condensation. He didn't look at me when I closed the door behind me, just asked, "How many did you do?"
"Thirty-seven. Isn't it early for a beer? It isn't even seven yet."
"Madison. I am the adult. Do not disrespect me by telling me what I should, or should not do. Do you hear me?" The glare in his hazel eyes was worse than I'd ever seen before.
"Yes, sir." I looked down to the ground. Be small. Be small. Don't look at him. "Can I go shower, now?"
"Yes. Go. I am going out to run some errands. Don't expect me home for a few hours." He was still shaking his head in disappointment.
"Alright." I whispered, turning up to the stairs, but I didn't get past the second step.
"And Madison?"
"Yes?" I turned towards the kitchen.
"Thirty eight is not acceptable. Training will be long tomorrow. I expect no complaints."
"Yes sir."
I waited until I could hear the front door slam shut. Then I waited until I saw the truck pull out of the driveway, rattling down the street. I crawled into my bathroom, and pulled the shirt sticking to my ribcage over my head, shorts next, until I was standing in front of the shower in a sports bra and underwear. Turning on the shower, I let the steam fill the room for a moment, before stripping all the way down and stepping into the stream of water. I stayed there for a while. Too long. He would have a fit if he knew how much water I had used. Once the tension in my aching legs and arms was lessened from the heat, I turned off the shower, wrapping my body in a towel I walked to my bedroom in search of clothes.
I was only partially dressed when I reached into the top drawer of my desk. Moving around some things, I reached all the way into the back, pulling out a small wooden box and setting it on the desk. Opening the rose engraved box, I grasp tightly on to the tiny metal object, fingering the sharpened end. It was the perfect kind of tarnished shiny when the sunlight hit it just right. Easing on to the carpet, I let my legs slide out straight in front of me exposing my middle, and all the marks there. They are little stories, carved into my flesh. The roadmap of loss and disappointment and fear that seemed to make up every corner of my life.
Setting the sharp end against the pale area near my hip bone, I pushed down. Then across. Each line turning red with emotion. Another day, another mistake, and my day had hardly even started. One short line for each mile I didn't run fast enough. One long line for the beer he was having already. Three more for the years she's been gone. Each sketch in my skin opened the gates to my inside, crimson leaking out, slowly at first. The pain was sharp, intense for a few moments before it settled back into the pit of my stomach. But for those few moments my head was peaceful, the guns and grenades silenced, and for a moment there was bliss. Another line was stretched from just under by bust, straight and determined, pushed into my hip, for all the hurt stored inside me. It didn't used to be this way.
