I'm really so sorry this took forever. I've had so much work, considering it's the end of the semester for me, but all of that is done and I will be on Spring Break now! Yay! I hope to update quicker next to time, so I do apologize for the longer than usual wait.
Once again, thank you for the reviews and feedback. I love it and I hope it keeps on coming! This chapter is a bit intense and includes CHILD ABUSE and so if that makes you feel uncomfortable, please don't feel obligated to read it. Child abuse is horrible and I am NOT trying to offend anyone whatsoever.
This chapter is really important because it breaks the surface on Tate and Emma's pasts and gets us closer to the question on why Emma is in the mental hospital, amongst other things. I hope you enjoy! Thanks! -Beth
I remember the day it first started. I was sitting on the couch, petting my puppy. His name was Happy, a name Oliver, my older brother, had named him. Our father had bought him for us, but after he left, Happy seemed to be the only remaining link to my father. We cherished that dog, loved him more than we could dearly say. It was a Saturday night, and I was in my pink, flower night gown. I was a girly girl back then, anxious and inspired by everything.
I was hyper, outgoing and demanding. I wanted everything to be mine, but I wanted to share it with the world. I had a determination, a dancing glimmer of hope settled in my young eyes.
I was five years old.
Oliver, eight years old, was favored by my mother. It was his birthday, his eighth birthday, and she had made him a cake and his favorite dinner. We never had any money laying around, ever, so I knew that a cake and a full-blown meal meant that she must have loved him a lot and saved for it. She had forgotten my birthday so many times, not even bothering on celebrating with me.
She liked to ignore me. I had no idea why.
"Honey, did you enjoy your birthday cake?" I remember hearing my mother's kind voice in the kitchen as I sat on that ripped up, brown leather couch with Happy. I patted his head and snuggled into him.
I heard Oliver reply back and an exchange of "I love you"'s were given. She had never told me she loved me. My dad had, so many times, and called me his little princess, his little girl, but as days went on since he left, his voice and those words, while comforting and helpful to endure the day, were always slipping away from me.
My mother had just started dating the Minister. The bell had rung and I knew it was him. As a five year old, I had no opinion on him. I didn't know him, but I knew I didn't particularly like him. What five year old would welcome a new father figure into their family? Oliver ran to the door and I saw him and the Minister high five. I slumped back into the ratty couch, wishing I could be apart of that.
The minister looked into the den, where I was. "Howdy, Emma! Isn't it passed your bedtime?" I swallowed hard, tired, and shook my head. I heard my mother come in and she stared at me.
She wanted me gone.
"Esmeralda, get to bed. Now." I gestured to the TV. "But Spongebob is on and I really want to-"
"Esmeralda! You already tried to ruin the night by not eating at your brother's birthday dinner. You were being selfish then and you're being even more selfish now, not to mention being incredibly rude to the minister. I work a long hard day and I don't want to deal with you right now. Go to bed." Her tone of voice was always angry when she spoke to me, as if she were blaming me, but I didn't know what.
I stared at her, long and hard, and I remember those tears in the back of my eyes. I felt one of them slip as I got up, kissing Happy on the top of his fury, little head and began to walk out.
I heard them kiss, whisper sweet-nothings to each other. I looked back, innocently. "Mommy?" Such an innocent word.
She broke away from the minister and glared at me, like she wished I were never born at all.
It sent shivers down my spine.
"What?"
"I just...I was just wondering if Happy could sleep with me...You always let him sleep with Oliver and-"
Before I could so much as say another word, my own mother grabbed Happy from his fur and looked over at me, with wild eyes.
Happy yelped out in pain and I screamed. "No! Happy! Stop!"
"Do you want me to throw him out of this house and let him deliberately get run over by a car, because I will, Esmeralda! Don't test me! I don't even understand why you're so attached to this stupid, mangy mutt!" She yelled at me and I started to cry.
"Let him go, Mommy, let him go! He's Daddy's favorite, he's Daddy's favorite! Don't hurt him!" I sobbed, rushing over and grabbing the whimpering Happy out of my mother's arms.
She let go, her eyes a bit wild, even now. The minister watched, detached from the situation, as my mother shook her head. She glared down at me, her teeth grinding together and smacked me, hard, across the face. I fell over, in shock.
"You and your stupid father! Don't you understand that he's not coming back for you? You're the reason he left! We were perfectly happy with just one child, but no! He insisted that I have you and then he realized what a mistake you were and left me!" She screamed, kicking me in my side. I cried into my hands and I watched as she grabbed Happy by the fur again and led him over to the front door.
"No! Mommy, no! Don't get rid of Happy!" And with that, she hit him with a belt she had and he went running away into the darkness. Into the darkness where cars could hurt him and people could try and hurt him, too.
I screamed, attempting to run after him, but my mother grabbed me back by my own shirt and pushed me back. I was hysterical.
"HAPPY! HAPPY, NOOOO! NOOO! HAPPY, COME BACK!"
That was the last time I saw him, my beloved puppy. I still think about him, his golden fur and his cute, little brown eyes that made me melt, that made me think about my father for some reason.
I looked back at her, horrified and angry. "Why would you do that? WHY! He was the only one who loved me!" I screamed. She grabbed my arm again, raising her hand to slap me.
I flinched and then I saw the minister take my mother away, stopping her from hitting me. The moment she let go, I ran up the stairs, sobbing. I burst out into my room, small as it was, and fell onto my bed. I cried and cried in my pillow until I couldn't breathe anymore. I knew Happy was my only friend, considering I was a freak in school that no one liked. I was hated and bullied for being different, to wanting to be different, and at home, I was hated and bullied for it, too. Happy was the only one who loved me.
I cried for what seemed like ages when I heard a soft knock at my door. Red faced and tear stained, I looked up from my pillow.
"GO AWAY!" I cried, thinking it was my mother. But it wasn't.
The door creaked open and I heard footsteps coming over to me. I looked up and my red, glassy eyes focused on the minister. He looked down at me, with sad, sympathetic eyes and for a moment in time, I actually liked him. Maybe I was just desperate for love, for attention, for any kind of affection that I never received.
"There, there, child. It's okay. I'm sure Happy is okay, out there with his friends," He tried to comfort me, but I sniffled, still crying.
"He-he doesn't like the dark! He's-he's scared!" I bawled and it was then that the minister sat down on my bed. He began to soothingly rub my back, as an act of kindness.
"Shh, shhh. God takes care of all his creatures, Emma. He won't let Happy get hurt." I felt somewhat comforted as I sat up in my bed, those pink sheets covering me. I remember them like yesterday.
"My-my mommy doesn't like me." I stammered and the minister stopped stroking my back. He shook his head.
"No, no, child. She loves you. She's just...She's just a little confused right now and tired. She does love you," He tried to convince me, but I knew it wasn't true. I knew he knew it wasn't true.
"No. She hates me. She's told me. She remembers Oliver's birthday and forgets mine. She reads him bedtime stories, but she doesn't read any to me. Not even when I ask her to. She says mean things to me, calls me names. She likes to hit me with hard things and...And she says I drove away my daddy. She said that she wishes I was never born." I whispered, my voice cracking. It was evident she did, I'm sure, and the minister knew that. He had no words to say.
"Sometimes, mommys and daddys make mistakes, too. Your mommy has made a lot of mistakes, Emma." I didn't know how that was supposed to make me feel better, but it did. I took in a few shaky breaths and looked up at him, with sad, wet eyes.
"I don't know what I did. Did she ever tell you why?" I asked, and I could tell that took the minister back. He shook his head.
"No, child, I'm afraid she never has. Maybe she does love your brother more, but God loves you, Emma. He loves you more than anyone ever could." I nodded, pretending to act like that made me feel better. It didn't. I didn't care about God.
I just wanted my own mother to tell me she loved me, to tuck me in at night with a bedtime story, to hold me when I cried, to tell me I was pretty and beautiful and to make all the monsters go away. For as long as I could remember, I always did all those things by myself. I read myself a bedtime story, tears usually streaming down my face as I heard love and laughter from Oliver's room that clearly had no room for me and I looked in the mirror every mirror and told myself I was pretty and beautiful. I remember reading in a magazine when I was that age that if you feel worthless or down, you should say that to yourself.
I always felt worthless and down.
I made all the pretend monsters go away, but some stuck with me and still are stuck with me everyday. They're just the real kind, the kind that creep up into your mind and set camp there for ages.
The minister began to stroke my hair. "You look tired, Emma. Why don't you let me tuck you in?" My eyes lit up a little bit. I sniffled, remembering how excited I was to have an adult like me.
"Really?" He smiled at me. "Sure. Lay down. I'll be right back."
I did as I was told, lying down comfortably on my bed. I began to doze off a little bit, and it felt like ages, waiting for the minister. I waited and I waited and just when I was about to fall asleep, I heard my door open again. I lifted my head.
There the minister was, standing before me. He was naked, from head to toe. I saw him lock the door. Suddenly, fear and panic snuck into me and he must have seen this. He rushed over to me, slapped me with a new force and made me look at him.
He covered my mouth and his eyes, I remember, went pitch black. They were no longer sweet or sympathetic; they were manic, greedy and hungry.
"Don't make a sound, you little bitch, or I'll have your brother and precious mommy killed. I'll kill you, too." I began to shake right away, feeling as though my entire life had frozen.
My lips trembled, tears falling down my cheeks. He slapped me again, causing me to tumble over my bed. "Stop crying, you weak little whore! Oh, come on, don't be scared. It'll be fun."
I felt sick to my stomach, trapped, as he got on top of me. I tried to squirm around, to get his body off of me, but of course, I was too small and too weak to do such. He pinned my arms down and smiled at me, licking his lips. He traced my face with his fingers.
"Poor little girl. Mommy hates you, daddy left you and no one seems to love you...No one at all..." He stated and he leaned down, his hot, gross breath on my cheek. He kissed my cheek, then my other one, and then my neck.
I whimpered at his touch.
"I can teach you what love is. I can show you." He began to undress me, pulling my pink nightgown off of me and tossing it on the ground. I was now only in my underwear and I had never felt so exposed, so degraded. I cried for mercy.
"Please...Please, I don't like this.." I remember whimpering to him, but he just slapped me instead. Every time I spoke, he slapped me.
It wasn't until I was entirely naked, in front of him and everything that I attempted to run. It was a bad idea, I knew that then, but I didn't want this to happen. Not to me, not to me.
"You little BITCH!" He yelled as I tried to run away from him, hitting him in the nuts. I remember reading someone like that once, if a man attacks you. Naked and cold, I began to run to my door, but it seemed like it was a mile away.
Legs shaky and scared, I tripped over one of my toys and I felt the minister grab me up by my hair. He made me look at him and he was smiling, that evil smile.
"You're a feisty, little one, aren't you? You're so tiny, but you're big. Hmm, just like your mother." He punched me and it felt like the wind had been sucked right out of me. He slapped me hard again.
"Huh, you like that, little bitch? You like that? You like it rough?" I couldn't speak, my mouth was glued shut. I remember wanting to die, wanting him to just kill me because nothing in the world compared to this, nothing at all.
He tied my bare hands and ankles to my bedpost and I had nowhere to run, nowhere to go. He gagged my mouth with a sock and found his way on top of me. He slivered like a snake, touching every part of me. My chest, my face, my hair, my vagina, my legs, my thighs, my lips. He kissed me, hard and greedy, and I remember he bit my tongue.
"Mmmm, yeah, mmm. You taste so good."
I felt vomit in the back of my throat, but I held back. He whispered other sweet things in my ear and then finally, he entered me. He moaned out in delight, in pleasure, and I cried out in pain. My screams were muffled from the sock in my mouth, but I remember feeling like I was going to split in two. I remember the clock next to me read eleven thirty-three. I remember how he kissed me all over, and pounded into me until blood trickled down my legs.
He hit me from time to time, to stop me from crying, but the pain was unbearable. I felt as if my head was going to explode. I had never been so humiliated, felt so dirtied and trashed. When he stopped, he got up, put his underwear back on and smiled at me.
"See, child? God loves everyone. He sends messengers to show you how much he loves you." I felt the vomit come up on me, but I knew if I did, I would choke. He came back over and kissed me, licking his lips.
"Sweet, sweet little girl. Best I've ever had. Remember, Emma, if you say one word, I'll kill you and your entire family." And with that, he walked out of my room. He kept me tied there the entire night, like an animal, and all I did was cry and cry and cry. Blood seeped through my sheets and I thought I was dying.
Why hadn't he just killed me? I was already dead now. Gone.
When I woke up the next day, and for several days after that, I was always untied. That meant he had come into my room and finally untied me during the night and the fact that he had even come into my room at all made me throw up. I didn't eat, sleep or speak for so long and the worst part was that no one seemed to notice or care. I remember crying all the time, not being able to walk or play gym. The nurse asked me what was wrong, but I never told her and she didn't care anyway. No one cared about little Emma Rowe.
He crept into my room every single night until I was twelve years old. I never uttered a word to my mother or Oliver, knowing that at least my mother wouldn't have cared. She just would have insisted that I brought it on myself and when push came to shove, even though I desperately wanted to be proven wrong, I wasn't.
When I told her, she slapped me, punched me and kicked me until I was a bleeding wreck on the floor. She called me a slut, a whore, accused me of always trying to ruin everything for her, and told me she wished I were never born at all. She told me she wanted to kill me, have me aborted, but she didn't want to get into trouble, that I wasn't even worth it to her. She never spoke of it to the minister, ever again, but she didn't seem to mind either way.
The next day, she moved in with him and announced she was pregnant with a little girl. I remember running to the bathroom, vomiting all over the place for three hours. I remember the harsh light of day each morning I woke up untied, but forever scarred.
That was the day I died. I died when I was five years old, at the hand of a raping minister who knew I had nothing left.
I went into the hospital a few days before she moved in with him, but that was another story, one that consisted of the why.
I plucked at my own scars, my own hands, at the bandage that now covered my right hand. Doctor after doctor, nurse after nurse, came and checked on me, giving me my medication and checking my eyes, my face, my hands, anything to prove that I was broken enough to fix. They tried to talk to me, tried to console me, but I stayed on the floor, knees to my chest and face hidden.
I didn't want anybody to hear the thoughts in my head.
"Well, girl, you've been in here for about a week now and haven't said a word. If you want to get out, just say something. Anything," Alaina said, entering that door that many have entered before her to try and get me to open up. I felt tired, so tired. I slept.
"They think this was an emotional break through for you, whatever that is. They think maybe it was good for you, the fact that you showed some other emotion besides sass," Alaina desperately tried to make light of the situation. She knelt down to me, checking my eyes with her light, but I kept looking away.
"I know this is probably the last thing your skinny ass wants to hear, but you need to eat something. Your blood pressure is dangerously low," She informed me and I still said nothing. I just shook my head, nuzzling my head into my shoulder.
I wasn't hungry.
Alaina sighed, anticipating that response from me. She got up and pulled a chair over, the chair that a nurse had to sit in the room constantly to make sure I wouldn't kill myself or something.
"Look, I know so many other people for the past few days have tried and talk to you, I get that. I also get that you're not ready to share, but...But if you want to talk, I'm here."
She then smiled, slightly, and I did, too. She pulled out a magazine, crossed her legs and began reading. I kept thinking back to the voices I had in my head. That one voice, a tone so cruel and unfeeling that it sent shivers down my spine. It wasn't my own, or my mother's or the minister's or one that I have ever heard before. It sounded like a demon's voice, always echoing in my head and haunting me ever since I could remember.
She doesn't mean that. She doesn't want to listen to you. No one wants to hear your sob story, Esmeralda.
I winced, the harsh tone and volume getting louder. You're being weak, you know that, right? You're being a little pussy. You've been in here for five days and said nothing, nothing at all, and all you want to do is die. That's weak, and that kind of weakness will stay with you forever, sweetheart. Always.
I bit down on my lip, trying not to cry. I had become so much more prone to crying, and it really fucking bugged me. I never cried, never before, but when that voice talked to me in such familiar tones, I wanted to sob openly. I wanted them to hear me cry, to realize how fucking monstrous they were. I wanted them to stop, to realize, just for a moment.
Awwww. Tough little girl wants me to stop? Wow, that one word: Stop. Stop. Hmm. I remember Torch saying that to you every time you called her Torch. I remember Colleen saying that to you when you tortured her about her past. I remember Julie telling you that when you called her a fucking bitch who can't keep her own. I remember Olivia telling you that as she sobbed, pleading for you to stop calling her a fatass. And Beth, let's not forget, when you berated her time and time again. And you know who else I remember saying that? I seem to be blanking for a moment...
"Stop. Stop! No...NO!" I exclaimed out loud and Alaina looked over at me, alarmed. She narrowed her eyes, confused.
"Emma?"
You know who I'm talking about, or should I say whom?
"NO! STOP IT, STOP IT! STOP IT!" I screamed, sobbing and banging my head, covering my ears. Alaina got up immediately and made me look at her with her thumb.
"Emma, Emma, honey, look at me. What is happening?"
You didn't stop for them. You didn't stop, not at all. You remember the blood, right? You remember the screams? They begged you to stop, begged you to just smile for once...
I cried out in pain, the visions smearing all over my head again, as if it had just happened. I felt unable to breathe as I cried out in pain. Alaina called for some other nurses, but there was nothing they could have done. I kicked and screamed, banging my head against the cement walls, the pavement so cool and cold against my hot, mangled and tortured head. I screamed and cried.
"GET OUT! GET OUT, PLEASE! PLEASE! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" I'm not in your head, Emma. I'm part of you. I'm with you always. I'm never leaving. I'm here until you die. Besides, I would say until I die, but that ship seems to have sailed, hasn't it, Emma?
"NO! NO! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY..." I cried out, breathlessly, and slid down against the wall. I felt my eyes close from exhaustion and I finally felt the sleep deprivation I've been avoiding. Not sleeping for five days, not even closing my bloodshot eyes never seemed to hurt me, but now, now all I wanted to do was sleep.
Alaina stroked my hair as she gestured for the other nurses to leave. She shushed me, soothingly, and laid me down on the bed.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." I kept singing, over and over again. My eyes felt heavy, my entire being felt heavy. I felt blankets, cool blankets and a washcloth on my forehead. The shushing from Alaina...
"Shhh, now, girl...You best close your eyes and relax. It's okay, it's going to be okay," I heard Alaina's voice ring over and over.
"Alaina, I'm not hungry, don't make me eat..."
"Hush, girl, don't worry...You're fine. Don't worry about that, you just put your head down and rest. Everything is going to be fine."
With Alaina's own blessing and power to shut out the voices, I closed my eyes and drifted off to a place that didn't taunt me, didn't haunt me or try and take me back to a place I had never wanted to be in. I felt her smooth hand stroke my hair as she shushed me still, and kept shushing until I couldn't hear anything but the faint, peaceful silence of the day, a day where I could sleep for once without screaming or dreaming of things that made me cry out every single night. It was peaceful and I was grateful.
I heard screaming again today, which had meant that she was having another episode again. I rolled my eyes, leaning my head back as I walked down the hall with that new hot nurse. God, it had been a long time since I've fucked someone...
I saw her sigh, heavily, as she got to Doctor Paterson's office and then ran off to help in the quiet room. I rolled my eyes. As far as I was concerned, that bitch needed a wake up call.
"Hello, Tate. Please, take a seat," Doctor Paterson greeted me and I entered his office and sat down, cross-legged.
"How have you been adjusting?" To be honest, things weren't as horrible as I thought they were going to be. Besides the encounter with the wicked bitch of the mental hospital, everyone else was really supportive and nice. Courtney clung onto me, but I didn't mind. She reminded me of Addie, so I was used to it.
I shrugged. "Okay, I guess." He nodded, taking out his clipboard. I played with my hands, nervously. I hated being questioned and having to talk to people. Why couldn't they just leave me the fuck alone? I just wanted to go back to the room and read.
"Now, we've talked a lot about the high school and all that and while I do want to come back to that because it is so vital, I want to mention your relationship with a certain patient," I narrowed my eyes at him. As much as I might have wanted to fuck that skinny twin girl, or the rich girl with the blonde hair, I hadn't.
"Esmeralda Rowe." Aw, fuck. Her?
"What about her?" I asked, the displeasure in my voice evident. Doctor Paterson leaned back in his chair, pen in hand and stared at me, as if he were genuinely curious.
"As you probably know, Esmeralda is a bit of a handful. She has been here for three years and has an abusive relationship with many of the patients in here. However, what you have said to her the other day was hurtful and I just wanted to-"
"Wow, wow, wow. Wait? Are you trying to blame me for what happened to that bitch? Because as far as I'm concerned, Doctor Paterson, she had it coming."
And she did. What kind of person goes around taunting disabled people, or takes joy in hurting others? I may not be perfect, and I know I have hurt tons of people, but I've never stooped that low. Thinking about her made me angry, made me want to punch something in the face. I have never hit a girl before her, and it wasn't like I meant to, but when she mentioned the word retard like that, I knew I had no control.
"No, Tate, I'm not trying to blame you. However, Esmeralda is a patient in here, however, and she deserves respect just like everyone else." Fuck that. I narrowed my eyes.
"With all due respect, Doctor Paterson, she gives no one in this goddamn place respect. Not the patients, not the nurses and not the doctors either. She has no respect for anyone. Why does everyone let her get away with saying that shit?"
He just shifted in his seat and clicked his pen. My eyes were widened with anger, frustration. It was like this place was a couple of pussy parents and that bitch was the spoiled brat that got everything she wanted, all because she stomped her foot.
"Why does it bother you so much, Tate?" Nice spin.
"I don't know. It just seems...unfair. She constantly calls Courtney a retard to her face and it makes her cry! Colleen was sent to that fucking room for a day and when she came back, clearly still shaken, the bitch taunted her about it! Why is she even here? Why haven't you kicked her out yet?" I seemed to be angrier about the topic more than I thought I would. I didn't know why.
Doctor Paterson smiled, like he had just figured out something magnificent and I just cringed. Great, another doctor trying to figure me the fuck out. Fanfuckingtastic.
"Tate, do you see the connection here at all? You hate injustice, just like the bullies at school that preyed on your sister, and it enrages you like no other. You don't like things that are, like you said, unfair. Esmeralda is someone who can be classified as a bully, just like in school and-"
"Okay, okay, I get it. I get the connection, but still. This is supposed to be a fucking safe place and that cunt is-"
"She's another patient here as well, Tate. You must understand that. She has disorders and problems just like you and everyone else. When she is out of line, she is punished."
I scoffed. Yeah, right. The cunt had everyone wrapped around her fucking finger. Someone needed to beat the shit out of her.
I played with the hole in my jeans and took a deep breath, calming myself down. I said nothing as Doctor Paterson sighed.
"Have you met the newest patient in here, Tate? Donavan?" I looked up and shook my head. I had met him, just a simple hello and greeting in our all guy group with Danny, but that was it. Most of the time Danny just rambled on about shit no one ever listened to and I fell asleep. It wasn't until last week, in group with the bitch and all that I knew why he was even here in the first place.
Rape and murder. He had some balls.
"Well, he's on the same treatment as you. I can't disclose too much information, but you two should very much talk. Besides, due to the shortage of rooms, I'm afraid he will be you and Esmeralda's new roommate, at least until someone is discharged," Doctor Paterson paused and I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Wait. Are you saying that a rapist and a killer has the same diagnosis as me?" Doctor Paterson shifted in his seat.
"No, Tate, you both are different patients and people, but all I was saying was that you two are similar in some ways. Don't judge a book by its cover, Tate. You should know that."
I continued to play with the ripped hole in my jeans and realized that if I had actually gone through the entirety of my act, I would have become a full-blown killer. Donavan said he had killed only two guys, but I would have killed eleven kids. I hadn't raped anyone, no, but I think murdering a bunch of kids proved to be worse somehow. To be honest, I didn't think of it much, because it all seemed like a blur to me right before my eyes.
I dreamt about it. I saw it happening, the whole thing. Me screaming at them, their faces red and their voices broken and pleading with me, and they were finally listening to what I was saying. The cold hand I had that gripped the gun, the sound of my combat boots on the floor, the agonizing cries.
I kind of laughed about it now. The first cry was from a girl named Julie Bowen. She was the head cheerleader and most popular girl at my school. She was a bitch to Addie, my little sister, and always had been. I wanted to shoot her so badly, and I relished in hearing her screams, her cries, and knowing that I had brought that on. Addie came home so many times, sobbing to our drunk of a mother who didn't love her at all, and I had to comfort my little sister in the best way I could. We were both so deprived of love, but as she shook in my arms with sobs, I was certain she was the only person I had ever truly loved.
My mother was a cocksucker and my father was dead.
If I had gotten to shoot someone that day, it would have been Julie Bowen. I wish I had gotten the chance to tell Addie that now.
"Doctor Paterson?" He looked up from writing.
"Yes, Tate?"
"Uh, tomorrow's Saturday. I read that Saturday is visiting day."
He smiled, nodding.
Turning slightly red, I shifted on the couch. "Do you know if, by any chance, anyone is coming to visit me?" He shifted through another sheet on his clipboard and went down the list.
"Hmmm...No, I'm sorry, Tate. Maybe there was a mix-up, though," I knew the truth, though. The cocksucker would never let Addie come and see me, her demented, psychopath of an older brother. I looked down and I wondered when I would get to see Addie again.
She had no one but me. I'm such a fucking idiot, leaving her behind like that. Fucking douchebag.
"You can, however, use this time to call someone. Ten minutes and I'm afraid it can only be a family member. We have caller ID, so if anyone does go against the rules, they're punished accordingly, but I don't think we'll have that problem with you, Tate," He smiled at me and I could tell he was relieved not to have a complete and total psychopath in here for a change.
I had to beg to differ, though.
I nodded, as he left the room to give me some privacy. I reached for the phone on his desk and stared at it in my hands. I was nervous, my palms sweating. I had missed my darling little sister, the only one who could make me smile and make me feel like I wasn't such a dick. She was the only one who loved me, too. The only one.
I slowly dialed the numbers and paused, hearing the beeping and waiting for the other line to pick up. Please don't be Mom, Please don't be Mom, please don't be Mom...
"Hello, this is the Langdon residence. This is Adelaide, how may I help you?" Instantly, I beamed. I had taught her that. Her eight year old year old, peppy little voice rang through my ears for the first time in about a week in a half and it felt great.
"Addie? It's...It's Tate." There was a pause and then a delightful scream of joy at the other end. I smiled, chuckling to myself.
"Tatey! Tatey, I miss you so much! I hate it here without you! Tatey, come home! I miss you!" I adjusted myself on the couch, beaming.
"I know, I miss you too, cutie. I miss you, too."
"How is your long vacation going?" I slightly frowned. The cocksucker must have lied to her, to keep her innocence about her big brother trying to shoot up the entire school.
Addie wouldn't know any better anyway.
"It's...it's good, but I miss you. Hopefully I'll get to come home and see you soon." I heard her gasp, happily.
"Home isn't the same without you, Tatey," She paused, as if hesitating to say something. I grew concerned right away.
"How do you mean, Addie?" Again, another pause.
"Mama's been real mean lately...She got a new boyfriend and Mama still doesn't like me...Says that I'm a burden," I heard the sadness in her voice and I suddenly felt rage and sadness and everything rush right into me. That stupid fucking cunt.
"Addie, you know none of that's true. Has she hurt you, Addie? Physically?" I was almost afraid to hear the answer. I heard her sigh on the other end.
"Sometimes...just as much as before." It broke my heart to realize that now that I wasn't there, I couldn't protect her. That never seemed to cross my mind when I attempted to shoot up my own school. I wanted so desperately to protect my baby sister, but I just ultimately ended up hurting her also.
What a fucking idiot I am.
"Adelaide, who are you on the phone with?" Cocksucker.
"Tate, Mama!" I heard Addie cry out in the background and a loud, popping noise. I knew what had happened-the cocksucker had slapped Addie across the face.
The phone rustled and I felt my fists clenching.
"Hello? Who is this? Tate?" I found my tongue and voice again.
"Constance, I swear to God, if you harm on more hair on her head, I will-"
Dial tone. She had hung up.
I stared down at the phone in my hands and I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill someone. My baby sister, my responsibilty, was going to be abused because of something I had done. I felt tears come into my eyes, helpless tears, and I had no control. I threw the phone, hard against the wall and it instantly broke. Doctor Paterson came rushing in, looking alarmed.
"Tate? Tate, what is the matter?" I glared at him, getting up and keeping my fists clenched together.
"I want to get the fuck out of here, that's the matter!" I yelled and stormed out of the office, slamming the door. I ignored the help and questions of the nurses, and even Courtney who asked for me. I stalked right past them and straight in my room.
Luckily, it was empty. No Donavan. No crazy bitch.
I slammed the door, found my bed and felt a few tears escape my eyes. I screamed out loud, into my pillow, like the pussy I was and cried. Hearing Addie's voice, hearing her be slapped like that, hearing that cocksucker's voice again-it drove me crazy.
It didn't matter what the whole world thought of me. I didn't care. All I cared about was protecting Addie, making sure she is safe, and now that I'm here, I have no control and it made my insides want to tear apart. I sat up and grinded my teeth together.
I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here.