Chapter Two- Six years previous
The sound of glass breaking sent a ten year old Sicily scrambling under the covers just as there was the cry of one year old Carley in the next room.
"Make that baby be quiet!" her dad yelled from downstairs, and turned the tv up louder. His words were slightly slurred, and she could tell that he was drunk. Going into Carley's room, she desperately prayed that the baby was just fussy, or even dirty, but not hungry. She didn't want to go downstairs and face her dad.
Paul Jamison was what was called a mean drunk. He would break things, yell at Sicily, get mad at her for the little things, or beat her. Just a few days before, he had shoved her into a wooden bookshelf because she hadn't gotten him his refill drink fast enough. She'd missed four days of school waiting for the bruise on the side of her face to go down to the sickly yellow color that it was now.
She would take any punishment that he could dish out as long as it protected Carley. That baby meant the world to her.
Now, standing beside her crib, she was looking into the face of pure innocence. Startling blue eyes, set deep in her small, pale face, gazed up at her from under jet black hair.
"Up?" she asked hopefully, extending her arms to Sicily.
Smiling to herself, she picked her up, and the one year old's thumb went back into her mouth almost immediately.
"Blankie?" she asked, sleepily, and her big sister handed her the white blanket with baby circus animals on it that she'd had since she was born. As the two of them settled into the old well- used rocking chair that stood in one corner of the room, the baby had three more questions. Well, two more questions and a statement.
"Dada mad," she stated simply.
"Yes, baby, Daddy's mad."
"At Carley or Cissy?"
"No, baby."
"Oh. Story?"
"A princess one or an animal one?"
She thought for a moment. "Pwincess," she finally decided.
Sicily smiled, she had already known that Carley would want a princess story, she always did. Beginning to slowly rock back and forth in the old rocker, she made up a story about two young princesses named Mercy and Kassia, who lived with their parents, the queen and king.
The baby was asleep within minutes, and there in that creaky old rocker, she felt what her mother must have felt ten years ago while holding her the same way; a deep, undying love and desire to protect.
Where are you when we need you, mama? Why did you have to die and leave us alone? Unbidden, tears leapt to her eyes as she thought about her mother. Belle Jamison had been killed in a car wreck when her car skidded on a patch of ice and hit a tree.
Several minutes later, after making sure Carley was sound asleep, she gently placed her back in the crib just as her father's angry yell split the air.
"Girl! Get down here!"
Mentally counting to ten to calm down, she shut the door and went downstairs. He met her at the bottom of the stairs, red- faced and livid.
"What took you so long?"
She knew that if she answered that she would be punished, but she also knew that if she said nothing, she would also be punished; so she chose to say nothing and was rewarded with a backhanded slap across her face.
It felt as if she had been hit with a shovel. She saw lights pop in front of her eyes, and almost cried. Lifting her hand, she touched her burning cheek; it burned red hot, and she traced the area with her fingers.
After she did what he wanted and he finally let her go back to bed, it was nearing midnight.
As she shut her bedroom door gently behind her, the emotions of the past few hours suddenly hit her, almost like a piano falling from the sky. She felt crushed by the weight, and felt as though she couldn't draw any air into her lungs, and slid down the side of the door, sobbing. She leaned into the door and pressed her face into her hands, knees drawn up to her chest letting the tears come freely. Her shaking rattled the door and she knew that if he heard it she would be punished, but she couldn't stop, so she moved to the bed, burying her face in the pillow and wailing into it, trying to muffle the noise. She couldn't stop, she felt possessed by fear, anger, and outrage. Mostly fear. She trembled and sobbed, soaking through her pillow.
Sicily cried until there were no tears left to cry, then continued to sob dryly into her pillow, lungs hitching for breath, her body wracked with a host of incredibly strong, uncomfortable feelings. Before her mother died, she had never been so much as spanked, but now she found herself fearing for her physical well-being. It was a new fear, one that wrenched her guts into knots and pressed her lungs for air. It crawled under her skin and into her brain, turning over and over in her thoughts. It touched the back of her neck and ran its fingers down her spine, blew against her face and hissed in the darkness. If she kept the light on, she saw it crawling in the shadows. If she turned the light off, the shadows found their way into her head. She could not find refuge.
She lay awake for as long as possible, willing herself not to fall asleep. At first, it wasn't that difficult- it was if she was lying on a bed of nails, rigid and alert, waiting for alarms to sound. As the night progressed, though, she began to feel an overwhelming physical and emotional exhaustion that eventually took over, forcing her into a fitful sleep. Every few minutes, she roused herself into consciousness, afraid that she would be face to face with him again.
A few hours later, she awoke, just as the sun was beginning to rise. She shot up in bed, fear from the night before flooding her. When she found no immediate source of danger, though, she relaxed a bit and brought her hand up to her face. Her cheek was swollen and still warm.
She crawled out of bed and cracked her door, peering down the hall. He was still asleep, so she walked down the hall to the bathroom and flicked the light on, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. Her cheek was defiantly swollen and still pink, obvious finger marks streaked across the side of her face. As she surveyed the damage, she heard the familiar creak of his bed, and she froze, eyes glued to the mirror as her face blanched, making the hand print look even brighter red than before.
Back in her room, emotions still running high, she dug through the assorted junk in her desk drawers until she found what she was looking for; a pink disposable razor. The once white pad was stained red with blood. Without her permission, a Bible verse that her mother had taught her jumped into her mind. Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple and that God's Spirit lives in you? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy him, for God's temple is sacred and you are that temple. When she was younger, she actually believed in God, but now she wasn't so sure she believed in Him. She had to find a escape from the multitude of emotions that flooded her. She had lost of what semblance of control she had, and she had to get get it back, one way or another.
Searching her wrists for a place that wasn't bruised or cut, she placed the blade on a small patch of clear skin and regained that control. There was always a chance that she would push too hard and not be able to stop the bleeding, but the pain was the only thing that she coould control.
She cleaned herself up and got dressed, thankful that it was cold so that she could wear long sleeves, then went to get the baby. Fifteen minutes later, both she and Carley were ready. Both her school and the babysitter were only a couple of blocks away, and her dad usually dropped them off, but on days like today when he was hungover, they walked. So, after bundling up and making sure that they had everything that they needed, they left the house.
She arrived at J.R Dury Middle School just as the warning bell sounded. After hurridly cramming her stuff into her locker, she hurried to her math class where her best friend, Sydnee, met her.
Sicily and Sydnee were complete opposites, not only in looks, but also in attitude. Sicily had medium tan skin, emerald green eyes, and straight black hair that reached past her shoulders. She was the shy and insecure one.
Sydnee, on the other hand, had looks that boasted of growing up in California. Long, sun streaked blond hair fell almost to her hips, and her bright blue eyes always seemed to be smiling, her skin a dark tan. Where her best friend was shy, Sydnee was confident.
Somehow, the two complimented each other.
"What happened to your face?" she asked, almost as soon as Sicily walked up.
"Nothing. Come on, let's go."