Author's Note: This chapter was difficult. And I didn't expect to post it any time soon. But, when I sat down to write, this is what came out. So, you get this tonight, so that I'll actually post it.
The italics are Ria's memories. I'm not sure I like the way I had to set this chapter up, but I think I like the overall effect. Let me know if you get confused, though.
This chapter isn't quite rated M, but its a little bit graphic. I won't say its nothing big, because the situation in itself is huge. Its a semi-detailed account of the abuse Ria suffered as a child. Child abuse, and spousal abuse. So, be warned before you read it.
Gillian nodded, and waited for Ria to proceed down memory lane.
Its early. He's getting ready for work. She's making his lunch.
"What is this?"
"Your lunch?" Her voice is soft. Its a question.
"What the fuck is this?" He's yelling now. There is a crash as something hard hits something hard.
Its his lunchbox that hit the wall. There is tea everywhere, because the bottles weren't closed properly.
They're Pepsi bottles. She reuses them to save money.
He's getting closer to her. She's backing against the wall, fear in her eyes. On her face. In her posture.
He lashes out. The slap rings, the loudest thing I've ever heard.
Her head turns with the force, her hair flying.
I take a step forward, and then one back.
I want to help. I'm scared.
His head swings towards me. He has a smile on his face.
My back hits the wall. My hands are flat against the wall behind me.
I'm completely vulnerable. There's no fight to it. He won't fight.
Wrong.
His hand comes across my face. Hard.
I don't feel it. I taste blood.
Its not her. Its not her.
He jerks me forwards, just to shove me back. Knocks the wind out of me.
My head falls to my chest. So do my tears. His hand is on my chin. Jerking my face up.
He's close to me. In my face. Telling me not to cry. Not to be a blubbering bitch like my mother.
She's on the floor, sobbing in the corner.
Its not her. Its not her. Its not her.
I push my chin up, out of his hand. My face is hard.
So is his hand, across my face again. I feel it this time. It stings.
My teeth hurt. I bit my tongue.
He wrenches my arm up, tugging me to my bedroom.
He tosses me onto the floor and storms out.
Back to the kitchen.
Back to my mother.
All Gillian can think about is that little girl, who can't be any more than five, taking on the threat so that her mother doesn't have to. And as she's thinking, she's looking at that girl sitting on her couch, nineteen years later. How much she's grown. Physically. She was grown up at five years old.
Its early afternoon. I'm just getting home from school.
I rush forward, between the two of them.
She's pregnant with my baby sister.
He tosses me across the kitchen.
Its not them. Its not them. Its not them. Its not them. Its not them.
He jerks me back up by my throat, shoves me against the wall.
I'm bigger now. Big enough to fight back.
Young enough to try.
He's still bigger.
He shoves me towards the table.
I fall hard. My ribs hurt.
Its not them. Its not them.
I turn to face him. It hurts to stand up straight.
His fist knocks my teeth together. His rings tear at my face.
My mother taught me to use makeup. That's good.
He throws me down, kicks me in the side.
I'll be carrying my backpack on one shoulder for awhile.
I don't need a story.
Nobody asks.
Gillian is watching Ria. Watching the words fall from her lips, but not really seeing her. Not in the present time. She's seeing her, barely nine years old, fighting off her father again. Except, her mind whispers, Eva's only her half sister. This isn't even her father. The surprise is all over her face as she realizes this. She wonder's briefly if it was Ria's father in the beginning. There isn't time to ask before she's launched into another memory.
Its late. Past midnight.
Eva's crawling into my bed, a tattered old Bible in her hands.
I wonder where she found it, and that's when I hear them.
The shouts that mean he's awake. And drunk.
They're in the living room. We're in the back.
Still, I can feel the thump as she hits the wall.
Eva is pushing her way into my arms. Shaking.
"Please God, make my daddy stop."
That's why she has the Bible.
I pull her close, bury my head in her hair.
She smells like my mother.
I'm still young enough to think that this will stop.
She's five, six at the oldest.
She's praying to God to make it stop.
She looks at me, her eyes swollen. Too afraid to cry.
That's okay. So am I.
I tell her about how we're going to go away.
How I'm going to take her far away and he won't be able to touch her.
"Can Mommy come?" I nod, but she doesn't see.
It doesn't matter.
"God will protect us, right Ree? Save Mommy?"
"Yes." I say softly.
There's a crash as he puts her through the dining room table.
I'm old enough to know that it will never stop.
I stop believing in God.
It isn't lost on Gillian just how much that one experience changed Ria. How she lost not only her innocence, but her belief in anything bigger. Any reprieve. Anything good. She wonders how old Ria was the last time she cried. She asks, and believes it when she hears that its been nineteen years.
Little sister went into Daddy's room again.
She's not allowed to do that. It doesn't matter that she was looking for Mommy.
Mommy isn't the one who found her.
She's standing in front of the couch, her arms braced on the arm.
He's taking his belt off.
The black one. With the silver buckle. The thick, leather, one.
He lashes out at her. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Would you leave her alone already?"
My mouth is open, its my voice, but I don't remember deciding to talk.
He turns, looks at me. Steps towards me.
I'm big enough to fight back. Old enough to know not to. Mad enough to try.
God won't save her. Maybe I can.
She's my baby sister.
This isn't the first time I've fought for her.
This won't be the last time.
He comes at me. Pushes me. I push back. He stumbles.
He's mad. I push him again. Harder. He crashes into the counter behind him.
I step back, away from Eva. When he comes at me, he won't be able to get to her.
He's more than mad now. He shoves himself up, towards me.
Its not her. Its not her. Its not her.
The belt hits my legs. I trip. His hands come together around my throat.
The buckle is cold, on my chin. I claw at his hands. Draw blood.
He lets go, and I dash across the room, into the kitchen. Down the hallway.
He follows, swinging the belt after me. The buckle catches my hip. My ribs. My back. My shoulder.
I reach the end. Don't turn around fast enough. Nowhere to go.
I face him. Just in time to see the belt coming for me.
Watch it as it gets closer. Don't even try to duck.
Its not her. Its not her.
This won't be the first time I'm face to face with his belt.
This will be the last time.
They sit in silence as Ria finishes. Those, by far aren't all of them. But they're the ones that keep her up at night. The ones she sees when she closes her eyes.
"Was that the last time?" Gillian asks softly, when she's sure that Ria isn't going to start talking again.
"No."
Gillian can't keep the tears in at Ria's whispered answer.
"Don't cry." She's choking on her own tears, trying to keep them back. She's still afraid to cry.
Gillian reaches out, and Ria flinches away. But Gillian doesn't back off this time. She slides next to Ria, taking the younger girl into her arms.
"Somebody should cry. For Eva. For your mother. For you." Gillian whispers into Ria's hair. Still, the younger woman holds onto her anguish.
"Somebody needs to show you that its okay to cry. You're safe here, with me." It only takes Gillian a moment to realize that the tears staining her shirt are not her own anymore. She rocks Ria gently back and forth, letting her cry.
A/N: I think there may only be one chapter left in this fic. I could be wrong, though. Depends partly on what you guys want, and mostly on what my muse decides to do. You do get a vote though. You just can't cast it until you read the next chapter. I have no idea when that will be up. This story is pretty much writing itself right now, but if I tell you I'll have it for you tomorrow, you won't get it until next year. So, we'll see. :) Reviews help a lot, though.