My Eyes Are Open
Chapter Fourteen
Jenny collapses on her bed after one of the longest, hardest days she's had in a long while. She had dropped Matilda off-begrudgingly-to Miss Hannigan after the library, then read in her bath until the water got cold. She didn't bother cooking dinner, Aunt Trunchbull uses Friday nights for extra long workouts and Jenny was just too tired to make a little something for herself. All she wanted was sleep. Before her bedside clock displayed '8:30', Jenny was asleep, lamp still on and book still open.
A little Jenny tentatively, fearfully, opens her eyes just as she does every time she awakens from slumber. She doesn't ever know what to expect from the day. But, she soon realizes, it is not day yet. The girl looks to the clock on the nightstand beside her bed, and it reads '1:31'. Why had she woken up?
Jenny looks around, hearing nothing, confused-until she feels it. Warm wetness under her. And she's immediately awake, a wave of adrenaline and dread forcing her out of the bed and to the dresser. She pulls the almost soaking nightgown over her head and throws on a fresh one. The little girl stands in the middle of the room-conflicted and frightened-wondering what she ought to do next. She really doesn't want to go back to sleep in a wet bed.
With a quick glance back to the clock, Jenny wonders if her father is home. But there's no way to know unless she checks to see if anyone is in the living room. If there isn't, Aunt Trunchbull would be holding up in her room and the path to her father's room will be uninterrupted and simple. But if there is someone sitting in the big armchair at this time of night, it's Agatha Trunchbull and Jenny is in serious trouble if caught. But there's no way to know unless she sees for herself.
Jenny silently, slowly tiptoes across her wooden floor, pausing each time the old house moans under her weight and holding her breath until it's clear the door won't slam open to bring terror. When she reaches the door, a cold and shakey hand turns the gold knob before the door lets out an echoing creak as it opens. Jenny sharply inhales, then covers her mouth from making any additional noise.
After a solid minute or so of continued silence, the little girl gathers the courage to poke her head into the hallway. She strains to see down the stairs at all from where she's standing, so Jenny slips through the door and stands at the top of the stairs, trying to give herself a pep talk to descend the stairs. The house is ancient and the wood, old, at best. Navigating the stairs silently takes precision and patience, two qualities that the five year old struggles with.
But, with hope in the possibility of gaining her father's help, the little girl starts down the stairs. The first one is quietest on the far right-closest to the wall-so Jenny's small feet delicately place themselves as close to the wall as possible. The second step needs to be hit dead center, so she silently proceeds.
Jenny makes it most of the way down the steps without tiring, only stopping to take a break a couple from the bottom when her thin arms and legs are sore with extended contraction. The little girl carefully wiggles out her arms while leaning against the wall before reaching across the step to the railing in attempt to pull herself across.
But her hands are slick with a cold sweat and her arms weak from the exhaustion of coming down this far, and little Jenny tumbles down the four remaining steps.
Laying at the bottom of the stairs, dazed, Jenny is actually surprised to see her aunt towering over her. And the woman is very, very angry. "Jennifer Honey, what in the Hell do you think you're doing?
The little girl scrambles to get up, only making it sitting before her aunt begins her charge and Jenny is forced to slide back on her bottom till she hits the wall. "I... I was j-just..." She tries to stutter out the words, but they don't come.
"You were trying to run away, weren't you?" The Aunt's eyes widen with wickedness, before she grabs the girl's arm and starts to drag her up the stairs violently, "I knew this day would come, but even you surprise me with your natural aptitude for especially vulgar delinquency." The woman smashes the girl's bedroom door open and throws the little girl on her bed, still damp from the accident earlier.
"There is only one way to expel this sinful evil from you; you've left me no choice, it must be done." Aunt Trunchbull shouts as she rips the nightgown off the girl's body and over her head. The woman kneels on the bed to begin tying the girl's hands, when she feels the moisture on the bed. If the Trunchbull wasn't already angry, the discovery pushed her past her point of rationality. In mere seconds, Jenny's arms were restrained and tied to the headboard of her bed. Jenny's whimpers and her aunt's grunts, along with the creaking of the bed, are all that's heard throughout the room. "Small girls should be seen and not heard. Small girls should not piss the bed." The woman emphasized her point with a whip with the belt from around her waist. She added, "Small girls do not cry when being punished for their offenses.", when the girl started sobbing.
The blows hit her all over; her arms, legs, chest, stomach. Her aunt did not seem to particularly prefer any area as long as it hurt the girl. Jenny kicked about the bed, hoping to land a hit on her aunt and escape, but she was neither strong or lucky. The girl's loud cries were quickly reduced to small whimpers and gasps and mumblings of "Daddy" and "please", and were indiscriminately ignored. Little Jenny felt the slight satisfaction when her aunt hit her head too hard and warmly embraced unconsciousness as it fell around her.
Jenny gasps as she sits up in her bed. "What a terrible dream." She mumbles to herself as she glances at the bed-side table. 12:31. Then she reminds herself that it wasn't just a dream; it was a memory of a nightmare. The young woman breaths deeply and allows the cold sweat drip down her body. But she can't stay in this bed, in this house, where the worst moments of her life transpired. Everywhere she looks, she's reminded of it. She can almost smell the odor of piss and perspiration permeating the room from that night. She has to get out.
Her nightgown had been sweat through, so she allows it to drop to the floor and quickly rushes to cover herself with a fresh, comfortable dress from her closet. She grabs her older shoes and slips them, then wraps her father's scarf around her neck, on before tiptoeing to the window. Little Jenny had learned plenty in her years with her aunt, including alternative means for temporary escape. She carefully skirts across the roof then down the tree close to her room.
Soon, the young woman is far enough away from her house to relax her muscles and begin to let her guard down. As she wonders the sidewalks, she contemplate the stars and the moon and the cool breeze that makes her hair blow in wild directions. But as pleasant as the night is, it doesn't hide the bruising and cuts on her arms or the pain she feels on her bottom that makes her walk slightly crooked even still.
The first thing a five year old Jenny sees when she opens her eyes is the navy blue sling around her left arm, making her groan internally as she thinks of how difficult it will be to write like this. The little girl then checked the rest of her body but moving each part, only to find mostly dull aches and afflictions beside the sharp pain in between her left shoulder and neck. Her clavicle, the girl's mind supplies.
She then takes the next few moments to look around her, it only now occurring to the girl that she was not in her bed in her room. She looks around the colorful hospital room, first noticing that the door is closed. As she continues her scan of the room, she jumps when she notices the kind-looking woman sitting to the right of her bed, surprised at herself for not noticing her before.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you." The woman states calmly. "My name is Doctor Cassidy Littleton, I'm here to make you feel better." Despite the woman's soothing presence, Jenny can't help but draw her knees to her chest nervously, and the woman's eyes flicker over the girl as she compiles a first impression of her. "Now you hurt your collarbone-" the woman starts, being interrupted.
"The clavicle." Jenny supplies, before slamming her mouth shut, not knowing if this woman is with or alike her aunt and hates children who speak. 'Small girls should be seen, not heard.' Her aunt's words ring in her ears.
But the doctor is only perplexed, "Yes, of course. You've broken it and a few ribs, and have quite a few good bruises and cuts on you. And these, these really concern me, so I've called my friend Olivia to talk to you. Is it all right if she comes in and asks a few questions?" Doctor Littleton scans the eyes of the girl, trying to gauge her reaction. All she receives is a nod, so she leaves the room with a soft smile to the girl.
Her seat is replaced by Detective Benson only a few moments later. "Hi, I'm Detective Olivia Benson, but you can call me Olivia. I'm with the police, and I just want to make sure you're safe, so I'm going to ask you a few questions, if that's alright?" All she receives is a tight, small, firm nod from the girl. "But it's really important that you tell me the truth, okay? I'm here to make sure you're safe, so I need to know everything so that I can do that. Do you understand?" Another, more timid, nod. "All right, so your name is Jennifer Honey, do you go by Jennifer?"
"I go by Jenny." The girl's small voice is timid but present.
The detective smiles warmly, "Nice to meet you, Jenny. How old are you?"
"I am five and a half."
"Oh wow, you're getting to be such a big girl!" Olivia is trying to connect to the girl, but she also is hiding her surprise. The girl looks to small to be anything over four, at very most. "Do you like being five?"
Jenny shrugs, considering if she should even be talking to this woman. "Is my Daddy around, I'd like to speak with him, if I may." She starts to get up from the bed, throwing the blanked off her, and ignoring the pain in her side.
"Actually," the woman stands between her and the door and drags the blanket back over Jenny's legs, "You and I need to speak for a bit, and then we can see about that. Okay?" Jenny nods, re-situating herself in the hospital bed, before the detective resumes her questioning. "So are you in school yet?"
Jenny shakes her head, before realizing she should elaborate, "I'm hopeful to start next fall."
"Are you excited to start school?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am." There's a spark in her eyes, even if for only a second.
Olivia notices, "What are you looking forward to the most at school."
The question falls flat with Jenny. What isn't she excited for? There'll be coloring and other children and nice ladies to teach them and recess and learning and freedom-however temporary-from her aunt. "Reading." is what Jenny decides on.
"You know how to read? Before primary school?" Olivia wants to be surprised, but suspects there is plenty about this girl to find surprising. Upon the little one's nod, the detective softly pries, "How did you learn to read?"
"My Daddy. He takes me to the library often and helps me figure out hard words so that I get better at it." Jenny informs, with the ghost of a smile on her lips.
This is a perfect segway for Detective Benson's next question, "How do you and your dad get along?"
"We're very fond of each other, I think. We read together a lot, and sometimes he takes me to get ice cream and to the library, when he's home." For as brightly as Jenny describes her father, the description dulls at the end.
"Is he not home often?"
"No, ma'am. Not very often. He's a doctor, like Miss Littleton. He has to make other people feel better, so he's away a lot." Jenny responds sadly.
"Does he take you to work with him, usually?" The detective probes.
"No, not a lot. He has before, however, maybe one or two times. Not very much at all." The girl shrugs.
"So what do you do when you're home and your dad is at work?"
The girl's eyes drift to the left as she thinks of the little activity she's permitted during the day, "I read a lot, visit the library. I play with my doll. Maybe draw a picture. Sometimes I'm allowed outside, if the weather 's right."
"Are you left home alone?" The woman's eyebrows furrow.
"No, ma'am. Never. My aunt has been staying with us for a while, so I stay with her at the house when Daddy leaves."
"And how do you and your aunt get along?"
TBC