If These Walls Could Talk
Chapter 12/?
A 7th Heaven Fan Fic by Lucky Star and Jordan
Victoria
I say nothing to Simon of my encounter with Kellian, knowing it would do nothing but upset him. And since I've been quieter than usual lately, for this once he doesn't guess that something happened, and for that I am glad.
That night I'm in my room doing homework. I can hear my parents' voices rising downstairs. Since this is a normal occurrence, I try to ignore it and bend my head closer to my books. But suddenly one word stands out clearly from their conversation, and my concentration is shattered. Raped. They're talking about me.
There's no use pretending to ignore them now, and curiosity drives me from my desk to the door of my room. I stand there, trying to listen through the wood, but their voices are quieter, and I'm forced to open the door just a crack.
They're standing at the bottom of the stairs, and their voices have subsided to whispers. I can see my mother leaning close to my father, speaking fiercely, and I'm struck by the difference in her. She never talks to Dad that way, but is always humble and subservient, doing everything he asks. We both are, for although he never hits us, something is frightening about his quiet anger, the way his eyes blaze and his face reddens. It's red now, and his eyes, silver like mine, are two hot coals burning.
Mom turns away from him and starts up the stairs, but he jerks her back down to the landing by the arm, hard. We both gasp, though mine is silent, and I make sure my door is only open the barest of cracks so they don't see me.
"Let go of me, Mark," she tries to pull her arm away, but his fingers tighten and she winces in pain.
"I want you to stop this nonsense, Angela. Victoria is fine. You know I don't want any kind of scandal in the middle of my campaign!"
"Fuck your campaign," she hisses.
His smack rocks her head to the side, blood flying from her nose to splash against the wall. She cries out, and it's all I can do to keep from rushing down there, yet fear holds me in place. He pulls her against him, his congested face only inches from hers, but she cringes and won't look at him.
"Don't you ever talk to me like that again." Spittle flecks his lips.
Now her body straightens and she lifts her head, looking right at him. "If you don't let me get Victoria some help, I'm leaving you and I'm taking her with me. We'll see what that does to your little campaign."
"You bitch!" His fist crashes against the side of her head, sending her reeling backwards. I can only watch as her head strikes the banister, then she slides limply to the floor.
"Mom!"
Dad stands over her, his face drained of all color. He starts and looks up to see me standing at the top of the stairs.
"Get back in your room, Victoria!"
I don't move.
"God damn it, I said get back in your room!"
I turn, stumbling, blinded by tears. In my room again I close the door and stand against it, palms pressed to the smooth surface. I wait for a long time to hear the sounds of ambulance sirens, but moments pass and there is nothing until the slam of the back door. I run to my window and look out into the backyard. My father carries a shovel and a long bundle wrapped in a sheet over his shoulder. The realization drives me to my knees, arms clutched against my stomach as sickness closes my throat. I feel as though all the blood is leaving my body at once, and I fall into darkness.
***
I'm not sure how much time has passed when I come to, but looking at the clock I see it's only nine. The last time I looked, just before I heard my parents, it was a little after 8:30. Has my father finished in the backyard? Is he going to come to my room and finish me too since he knows I saw? I want to look out the window again but I can't make myself do it. I need to keep all of my wits because I don't know what's going to happen.
I want to cut. Oh god, I want to cut so deeply I sever my own lifeline. In my head I see over and over again the image of my mother falling against the banister, I hear the sickening crack of her skull against the hard wood. I couldn't see her face, but I wonder if her eyes closed right away or if they glazed over as her life slowly left her, if she lay there suffering or if her death was instant. Or if...when he saw what he had done had my father knelt before her and closed his hands around her throat, tightening and tightening to make sure he had finished the job?
No! He didn't mean to, it was an accident. He's my father; he'd never do that. He only meant to hit her, not kill her. Dead, dead. Oh my god. My mother is dead and it's my fault, all my fault. Why hadn't I waited for Simon that day? Why had I decided to go walking by myself?
I choke on sobs as I stuff some clothes into my backpack, along with some money and my cell phone. All I know is that I have to get out of here.
***
I think I'll hear my father's yell as I slip out the front door. But I know that if I am going to make it, even if I'm not sure what I'm going to do, now is not the time to be afraid. Now is not the time to think of my mother. The faster I go somewhere else, the less likely my father is to find me. I shut down all thoughts of my parents and am driven only by the need to be as far away as possible.
I'm grateful for the fog that is closing around me on this damp night. Except for the swirls in my wake, I imagine it hides my passage as I begin to run. Despite my resolve to turn off my brain for the moment, I imagine there are footsteps behind me. My father, Gene Blackwood, a stranger. It doesn't matter; I run faster until my lungs constrict and I can no longer breathe, until I have to stop because blue and purple spots are dancing before my eyes. It's only then I realize I'm sobbing again and my cheeks are wet. I wipe the moisture away and try to silence the harsh intakes of breath that bounce from the houses around me. I'm still too close; this is still my neighborhood, and it's foolish of me to be out on the sidewalk, under streetlamps where my father could see me if he drove by. Trying to regain some composure, I vanish into the shadows, through yards, moving fast but not so fast I can't maintain my pace.
Chapter 12/?
A 7th Heaven Fan Fic by Lucky Star and Jordan
Victoria
I say nothing to Simon of my encounter with Kellian, knowing it would do nothing but upset him. And since I've been quieter than usual lately, for this once he doesn't guess that something happened, and for that I am glad.
That night I'm in my room doing homework. I can hear my parents' voices rising downstairs. Since this is a normal occurrence, I try to ignore it and bend my head closer to my books. But suddenly one word stands out clearly from their conversation, and my concentration is shattered. Raped. They're talking about me.
There's no use pretending to ignore them now, and curiosity drives me from my desk to the door of my room. I stand there, trying to listen through the wood, but their voices are quieter, and I'm forced to open the door just a crack.
They're standing at the bottom of the stairs, and their voices have subsided to whispers. I can see my mother leaning close to my father, speaking fiercely, and I'm struck by the difference in her. She never talks to Dad that way, but is always humble and subservient, doing everything he asks. We both are, for although he never hits us, something is frightening about his quiet anger, the way his eyes blaze and his face reddens. It's red now, and his eyes, silver like mine, are two hot coals burning.
Mom turns away from him and starts up the stairs, but he jerks her back down to the landing by the arm, hard. We both gasp, though mine is silent, and I make sure my door is only open the barest of cracks so they don't see me.
"Let go of me, Mark," she tries to pull her arm away, but his fingers tighten and she winces in pain.
"I want you to stop this nonsense, Angela. Victoria is fine. You know I don't want any kind of scandal in the middle of my campaign!"
"Fuck your campaign," she hisses.
His smack rocks her head to the side, blood flying from her nose to splash against the wall. She cries out, and it's all I can do to keep from rushing down there, yet fear holds me in place. He pulls her against him, his congested face only inches from hers, but she cringes and won't look at him.
"Don't you ever talk to me like that again." Spittle flecks his lips.
Now her body straightens and she lifts her head, looking right at him. "If you don't let me get Victoria some help, I'm leaving you and I'm taking her with me. We'll see what that does to your little campaign."
"You bitch!" His fist crashes against the side of her head, sending her reeling backwards. I can only watch as her head strikes the banister, then she slides limply to the floor.
"Mom!"
Dad stands over her, his face drained of all color. He starts and looks up to see me standing at the top of the stairs.
"Get back in your room, Victoria!"
I don't move.
"God damn it, I said get back in your room!"
I turn, stumbling, blinded by tears. In my room again I close the door and stand against it, palms pressed to the smooth surface. I wait for a long time to hear the sounds of ambulance sirens, but moments pass and there is nothing until the slam of the back door. I run to my window and look out into the backyard. My father carries a shovel and a long bundle wrapped in a sheet over his shoulder. The realization drives me to my knees, arms clutched against my stomach as sickness closes my throat. I feel as though all the blood is leaving my body at once, and I fall into darkness.
***
I'm not sure how much time has passed when I come to, but looking at the clock I see it's only nine. The last time I looked, just before I heard my parents, it was a little after 8:30. Has my father finished in the backyard? Is he going to come to my room and finish me too since he knows I saw? I want to look out the window again but I can't make myself do it. I need to keep all of my wits because I don't know what's going to happen.
I want to cut. Oh god, I want to cut so deeply I sever my own lifeline. In my head I see over and over again the image of my mother falling against the banister, I hear the sickening crack of her skull against the hard wood. I couldn't see her face, but I wonder if her eyes closed right away or if they glazed over as her life slowly left her, if she lay there suffering or if her death was instant. Or if...when he saw what he had done had my father knelt before her and closed his hands around her throat, tightening and tightening to make sure he had finished the job?
No! He didn't mean to, it was an accident. He's my father; he'd never do that. He only meant to hit her, not kill her. Dead, dead. Oh my god. My mother is dead and it's my fault, all my fault. Why hadn't I waited for Simon that day? Why had I decided to go walking by myself?
I choke on sobs as I stuff some clothes into my backpack, along with some money and my cell phone. All I know is that I have to get out of here.
***
I think I'll hear my father's yell as I slip out the front door. But I know that if I am going to make it, even if I'm not sure what I'm going to do, now is not the time to be afraid. Now is not the time to think of my mother. The faster I go somewhere else, the less likely my father is to find me. I shut down all thoughts of my parents and am driven only by the need to be as far away as possible.
I'm grateful for the fog that is closing around me on this damp night. Except for the swirls in my wake, I imagine it hides my passage as I begin to run. Despite my resolve to turn off my brain for the moment, I imagine there are footsteps behind me. My father, Gene Blackwood, a stranger. It doesn't matter; I run faster until my lungs constrict and I can no longer breathe, until I have to stop because blue and purple spots are dancing before my eyes. It's only then I realize I'm sobbing again and my cheeks are wet. I wipe the moisture away and try to silence the harsh intakes of breath that bounce from the houses around me. I'm still too close; this is still my neighborhood, and it's foolish of me to be out on the sidewalk, under streetlamps where my father could see me if he drove by. Trying to regain some composure, I vanish into the shadows, through yards, moving fast but not so fast I can't maintain my pace.