Her beauty haunts me. The black curls that accent her narrow face and her rosewood eyes that sparkle in the light stay frozen in my mind. She's the exact replica of her mother at that age. I recognized her the first time I saw her, reading a Shakespearean play in her father's library at the Christmas party, a red backless dress hanging loosely from her frame. She turned and looked at me, resembling a character out of a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. She was so beautiful.
I just wish I could of have saved her. I should have known what was happening to her. In the back of my mind I always knew something wasn't right, but I didn't say anything. No one would have believed me if I had said something. The sheriff couldn't possibly be abusing his teenage daughter. That would hurt his image. But he was abusing her, and now everyone would know it.
She had always showed the signs of abuse. She always asked permission to do something, even eat. She never looked anyone in the eyes until asked to do so. I had never seen her wear clothes that showed her skin, except for that one red dress. She had been wearing makeup on her arms and back then. I should have realized this. She did say she liked the theatre because she could cover her wounds and become a different person.
It is too late to do anything now. She's in a coma at the hospital now. Her boyfriend found her on his doorstep with a letter stating it was on his head. Had he not been a black guy dating her, she would be ok right now. I don't believe that is completely true. He would have found another reason to beat her almost to dead.
I should have suspected something was wrong when she asked me to take care of her three headed turtle, Kerberos. She told me she couldn't take care of him the way he needed. She said it was only for a little while. She came to me in that red dress I had first seen her in. Her excuse for her attire was she had an event to go to. I should have known she was lying. The sheriff would never allow her to wear the same thing twice. All she wanted to do was leave me with a beautiful image to remember.
Lord, why didn't she tell me? She was standing in my office, her father no where near, and she didn't say anything. She suspected he was going to hurt her terribly and she didn't say anything. She didn't want to get me involved. She thought it wasn't my problem. She was horribly wrong. It is my problem when someone I love is in trouble, especially when they aren't strong enough to defend themselves. Her frail fifteen year old body wouldn't be able to keep him from hurting her.
I look at her pitiful face. It's still beautiful to me, even with the bruises and swelling. It makes me want to go back in time, but I know I can't. All I can do is sit here and watch her sleep. I talk to her, whispering my deepest secrets in her ears. I tell her about my mistakes. I've made too many mistakes in my life, but there was one that turned out beautiful in the end.
The real reason I'm angry about this situation has to do with that beautiful mistake I made. The truth is the sheriff didn't hurt his daughter. He hurt mine.