I woke up in the backseat of my mother's old Nova, images from yesterday's events rushing back into my mind. I took a deep breath and focused on getting myself as far away from him as I possibly could. Bruises and deep cuts still covered my back, arms, legs and just about everywhere else on my body. There was a dull ache between my legs that reminded me just how far he had gone the night before.
It wasn't the first time he had tore the clothes away from my body and had his way with me but it was the first time that he pulled out the knife while he was doing it. It was the first night that I without a shadow of a doubt believed that I wouldn't be waking up again in the morning.
After he passed out on top of me I forced myself to push the pain out of my mind and leave, get out before he forced me out. I somehow climbed out from underneath him and grabbed the things I couldn't live without from in his room. I got my mom's things-at least everything that I could find in that hellhole of a house- I grabbed all the money I could find, which was more then enough considering the amount he received from his side business which wasn't exactly legal. After I had it all together I snuck out and managed to get my mother's car to start and left.
It was surprising to say the least considering it hadn't been moved in almost ten years. Jackson never let me or anyone else touch it, he said that no one but her deserved it. I like to think it was her watching over me that made it work. Then again if she was watching over me, why did she let him do those things?
My body shook as I climbed over the center console and into the front seat. I could feel the tangles in my hair without even touching it and I knew that my face looked like it had gone though a meat grinder. Anyone in their right mind would call the cops upon seeing me. I gently turned the car on and nudged it out of the brush I had parked in, praying to God that it would get me a few more towns over and to a motel.
I ended up having to stop for gas but it got me three hours south from where I was before and for that I was thankful; but as I pulled into the parking lot of a shady looking motel and I knew it wasn't gonna get me much farther then this. I wasn't sure how I was going t get a room considering I wasn't eighteen, I didn't look eighteen and I didn't have an ID that said I was eighteen, but I was going to try anyway.
I forced myself out of the car and tried not to limp to the office of the motel. I would have held my head high but it would've only showed more bruises and cuts. When opened the door I was hit with a burst of cool air. The room wasn't large, just enough to fit a few chairs and a desk where an older woman sat behind a computer. She eyed me with a hard gaze and I found myself shrinking under it.
"What can I do for you girl?" She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at me dead in the eyes. I rested my hands on the top of the wood and could feel the weight of the money in my back pocket like it was a ticking time bomb.
"I…i-would like a room please." My voice sounded raspy, more then likely due to the fact that he almost crushed my windpipe. She looked me up and down, I had a feeling that getting a room wasn't going to be as easy as I would like it to be. She had dark brown hair and tan, wrinkled skin. Her eyes were also a dark brown. Everything about her screamed hardcore, she looked to be a women that you wouldn't want to mess with.
"What's your name?" She uncrossed her arms and began clicking the mouse next to the computer.
"Alexia." I said quietly. She looked back to me and sighed.
"First thing you should know about running girl." She gave me a knowing look. "Don't use your real name." She handed me a room key and I reached into my pocket for the cash. "Keep you're money; you're gonna need it." I wasn't sure what to say to her so I settled with 'thank you.'
The room looked just as shady as the motel did but I was just happy to see four walls that weren't that son of a bitch's bedroom. Locking the door seemed to take the huge weight off my chest that I've had for the last five years.
The first thing I did after bringing my things inside was get in the shower. It took me over an hour of trying to scrub the feeling of his hands off me before I realized that it wasn't going to work. The bottom of the tub was completely red and after looking down I saw the reopened wounds he left. Sighing, I got out the shower and started drying off, doing my best not to hurt myself further.
After I was dressed and recleaned all the wounds and patched them up as best I could before going though my mother's things. I still wasn't sure where to go and I was hoping that she had something in here that might point me in a nice direction. Jackson never let me look at her things, said that it was my fault she died so I didn't deserve to see what she cared about the most. Her journals had been inside a box that had been buried deep in the back of his closet, underneath about a month's worth of clothes that he piled on top.
They were mostly filled with gibberish about monsters. I was beginning to think that she hadn't been as level headed as I had once thought. As I read through it I became more and more confused about the stories that were told inside. After finishing the first one I came to the conclusion that she had an over active imagination and just liked to write, creating her own world. These weren't diaries, these were fiction.
It took me over three hours to get through all of them, it became easier to understand after I realized they were a story and it was enjoyable but I found the darkness a little unsettling. She even put me inside the story as well and Jackson but she made him out to be a good guy, maybe he was before she died. At the very end it was about the main character, her, knowing she was going to die, how she didn't want her daughter to grow up in her life and how she planed on saving her. Before she went into detail it cut off. Unfinished. The last thing in the book was a letter addressed to a Bobby Singer. He had been mentioned in books before when referring how she met the man she claimed to be my father. At least in the story. It was hard to tell what was happening in her real life and what was made up.
I hadn't ever really thought about my biological father. Jackson was the only man in my life that I had ever considered a parental role, that was before he decided looking at me like a whore instead of someone he was supposed to consider his daughter. I assumed that the man who added in my creation had died or wanted nothing to do with me, the latter seemed more realistic in my opinion. No one wanted to be around me, not when I was responsible of my mother's death.
I looked over the letter and debated on if I should open it. It seemed real, like it should have been mailed. Was he a real person like myself and Jackson? I went to open it before deciding not to, tossing it down on the bed while I went through the box some more. I found another book but this one was filled with names and numbers, places, and another letter, this one addressed to me.
I felt my heart begin beating faster as I looked over the lettering on the top of the envelope. My fingers shook, making it hard to grasp. I bit into my lip, tasting blood in my mouth. It took me longer then it should have to rip it open and pull the paper out from inside.
Her hand-writing stood out in front of me like some of the burns on my body. I wanted to read it but was horrified that it was going to say the same things that Jackson has been yelling at me, carving into my skin for the last ten years. I wanted to read it but my mind wouldn't focus on the words. It wouldn't turn the circles and lines into letters or words. My brain's last line of defense before the possible pain that could slash the strings that were connected to the last of my sanity.
Alexia.
I stopped at my name. Closing my eyes tightly and breathed in and out. I put the letter down on the bed next to the other one for Bobby. I couldn't do it right now. I went back into the book and found a number with Bobby's name next to it. I knew that the number was well over ten years old, more then likely didn't work and I didn't even know that I would say if he answered. I should've just dropped it into a mail box and be done with it. But, he knew my mother. He was the only way I was going to learn anything solid on her, these books were to hard to pick apart. I decided to try and get the car working again in the morning and go t the address. It was better then just calling, at least if he was real I could just hand the letter over and he could either tell me what I needed to know or I would leave and figure something else out. Either way I was finishing something that she wanted to do or have done. It was the least I could do.
Anyone want to read more? Leave your thoughts down in the comments please! Thanks for reading!
