I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I've just been focusing really hard on Connected, my Alias fan fic, that I haven't been working on this one. Please forgive me, and please accept this chapter as my peace offering. Lol.
Chapter Three
Slinking down the stairs, Marie paused when she saw her stepfather passed out on the sofa. His breathing was heavy and thunderous snores erupted from him every once in awhile. With a sigh of relief, Marie slipped out the door.
The morning sun shone down on her and she breathed in a deep, cleansing breath. Waves crashed upon the shore and the familiar sound calmed her troubled spirit. After her break down in the shower the night before, Marie felt slightly better. She wandered down the beach, the sand squishing between her toes, knowing that she had a good two hours before her stepfather woke up.
Every morning when her stepfather was passed out, Marie would slip out of the house and try to enjoy the few hours of freedom she was able to steal. It was her own therapy. To see the sun shining across the water, the clouds scrape against the sky, and the waves beat upon the rocks never failed to ease her spirit, even if it was only for a little while.
Marie made her way down the beach, soon finding herself at Spanish Cove. She always seemed to retreat to that place. It offered her some odd sense of relief that she had never felt. Climbing up on the rocks, she tilted her face so the sun and wind hit it full force. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the surf. Breathing deeply, Marie filled her lungs with the salty air. She reclined on the rocks and watched the sun play across the water.
The waves crashed down on Bradin as he maneuvered his board through the water. The exhilaration and freedom he felt at riding the waves traveled through his body like a shock wave. Bradin hadn't been able to feel so free since his parents' death. He had always felt like a caged animal being poked with sticks by spectators. Then he had been introduced to surfing and everything seemed to fall into place. He was no longer angry at every little thing; instead, he was able to control his temper, even if it was only a little bit. As he steered the board through the water, Bradin caught sight of someone on the rocks. Stealthily he turned the surfboard toward shore and rode in on the waves. He picked up his board and made his way over to the familiar figure.
Marie's head was tilted back, her hair gently blowing in the breeze, and her eyes were closed lightly. It was as if she was living in her own little world and Bradin was intruding upon her. He stuck the board in the sand and climbed up next to her, being careful not to scare her.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, leaning close to her. Marie jumped slightly at the sound of his voice and turned her head to look at him with startled eyes.
"Nothing." She muttered, turning away from his gaze quickly.
"I thought you weren't coming 'til this afternoon." Bradin said, trying to make her open up to him.
"Yeah," she replied quietly. Bradin didn't know why Marie was withdrawn, but he was tired of it. She was a tightly closed book that was sealed with glue and locked with a key. She barely said anything, and when she did, she refused to look at him. What had he done to her to make her so frightened of him? Nothing, that's what. Bradin sighed and leaned back against the rocks.
They sat silently side by side for a long time, looking out over the ocean. Bradin stole quick glances at Marie when he thought she wasn't looking. She had a quiet way about her that with just one look she could say so much.
"Please stop that." Her voice startled him and he turned his head to look at her. Marie was looking at him with a deep sense of pleading in her eyes.
"Stop what?" Bradin asked, confused as to what she meant.
"Stop looking at me." She said, turning her gaze back to the ocean, "I don't like it when people stare at me." Her voice was so soft; Bradin had to strain to hear her.
"Okay," he said, still very confused.
"It's just..." Marie paused, as if she didn't know whether to say anything or not.
"What?" Bradin asked gently. She was just about to open up, and he was anxious to hear what she had to say.
"Nothing." She shook her head.
"Hey, you can talk to me." he said, tentatively reaching out and placing a comforting hand on her arm.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, startling Bradin and flinging his hand off her. He jumped back, scared at her outburst. Tears slipped down her pale cheeks and she screwed her eyes shut tightly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. With a sigh she opened her eyes and stood, brushing the sand off her. "I have to go." Bradin stood hurriedly.
"Marie, wait." He called, running after her as she fled the rocks, "Marie!" but she was already out of sight. Bradin sighed and kicked the sand angrily. He had screwed up. Grabbing his board he hurried back to the beach house.
Tears streaming down her face, Marie hurried up the steps to the front door of her home. She was just about to open the door when something stayed her hand.
"Oh no." she breathed. Her stepfather was moving about the living room. As he clutched his head in his hands, there was no doubt he had a hangover from the night before. Marie searched for a way back into the house without getting caught by him. When he had a hangover, that was the worst time to encounter her stepfather.
A large trellis stood off to the side of the wrap around porch. Marie hurried over to it. Looking up she saw that the trellis led up to the flat roof. From there she could easily walk over to her own window and climb in. If she hadn't locked the window that is. Glancing back over at the door, she knew she had no other options. With a steadying breath, she grabbed hold of the wood through the jumble of ivy and planted her foot on a step. Tugging herself up one step at a time, Marie finally reached the roof and walked stealthily along to her window. She reached her window and pulled at it, hoping that it would come open. Her wish came true. She climbed inside, but misjudged the distance between the window and floor and fell to the ground with a loud thud.
Eyes wide with fear, Marie closed the window hurriedly then ran and jumped into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Her bedroom door swung open and her stepfather hurried inside.
"What was that?" he yelled at her. Marie forced her heart to stop pounding and opened her eyes sleepily.
"What was what?" she asked, faking a yawn.
"That crash you stupid bitch!" he screamed.
"I didn't hear anything," she said.
"Like hell you didn't." he cursed, "Now get out of bed." He reached over and yanked the covers off her sharply. Marie stiffened as her stepfather's nostrils flared and his eyes grew wide. She looked down at her clothes, which still had sand covering them, and at the shoes, which in her haste, she had not taken off.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
"No...nowhere." She stuttered, choking on the fear that clogged her throat.
"You bitch," he yelled, yanking her out of bed by her hair, "where were you?" Tears fell down Marie's face. Her skull felt as if it was on fire and she could feel the hairs being pulled out by the roots. He threw her to the floor and kicked her in the stomach.
"Answer me." he screamed, delivering kick after kick to her abdomen. Pain overtook every other sense that Marie had. Soon it became so numbing that she could not even feel it, but the tears still persisted.
What Marie wouldn't have given right then for just one more minute with Bradin at Spanish Cove. But she had pushed him away; she wasn't ready to tell her life's story to a near perfect stranger. But he wasn't a stranger. It was weird, but Marie felt as if she'd known Bradin for forever. There was something about him that drew Marie to him. When he had touched her arm, his touch had been soft and gentle and strangely comforting. And that scared her more than anything.
Marie clung to the image of Bradin's face as her stepfather continued to kick her. She pictured the way the sun had glistened in his eyes, the way the wind blew his blonde hair across his sun-kissed face.
Finally her stepfather grew tired of beating her and went downstairs to watch TV and drink a beer. Marie pulled herself off the floor and fell onto her bed. Wiping the tears from her eyes she wondered why she put up with it all, why she didn't just leave. Then she remembered. If she left, what hope would her mother have? None, that's what. So, she resigned herself to the beatings and abuse. Closing her eyes tightly she waited for sleep to take her. The familiar blackness took her and shrouded her in dreams where she could forget who she was and what was happening to her.
Alrighty y'all, there ya go. I hope you enjoyed this chap and will review.
Gpotter: I'm so glad my story is able to touch those who read it, thank you.
Chloe: Thank you so much. I love when people tell me they love my story. And I'm glad I could keep Bradin in character.
Dolphinchick2568: Thanks for pointing out my mistake. I'm awful with names.
Blue-eyes: I actually planned on having a scene similar to what you suggested. But thank you for thinking of it. And if you have any more ideas, feel free to share them with me. You never know, I might just use one of them.
M: I won't let Marie become a Mary-Sue, you have my word. That is a real problem spot with original characters. I have stories that I write under another penname, and I'm always struggling to keep my original characters from becoming Mary-Sues. I'll work real hard though to keep Marie as real as I can.
Sam: I've learned before that it is wiser, and more mature, to allow the remarks of some reviewers to slide off my back. You can say all you want about my story, but you cannot stop me from writing it. You were right when you said that this is not an original idea, lots of people write about abuse. But the way that I write it will be original.
Has anybody ever told you that people only feel the need to criticize because they're jealous? Perhaps you may not be a very good writer, or you might be very good at it, but that does NOT give you license to be rude about someone else's writing. I don't get you people who feel the need to flame other writers. What's the deal? When you can answer that question for me, then feel free to write another review. But don't waste my time, and your time, by writing a flame.
Summerlandgirl, darkdestiney2000, Taryn Moran, chocolateluvr, Ms Vaughn, grullo-cowgirl, Scrabble Goddess, Ammanda, Alex, Kelly, SalsaDevil, atruwriter, beautyqueen321, sadlovepoet7, and n/a: Thank you all for taking the time to read and review this fic. I hope that you all will continue.
Chapter Three
Slinking down the stairs, Marie paused when she saw her stepfather passed out on the sofa. His breathing was heavy and thunderous snores erupted from him every once in awhile. With a sigh of relief, Marie slipped out the door.
The morning sun shone down on her and she breathed in a deep, cleansing breath. Waves crashed upon the shore and the familiar sound calmed her troubled spirit. After her break down in the shower the night before, Marie felt slightly better. She wandered down the beach, the sand squishing between her toes, knowing that she had a good two hours before her stepfather woke up.
Every morning when her stepfather was passed out, Marie would slip out of the house and try to enjoy the few hours of freedom she was able to steal. It was her own therapy. To see the sun shining across the water, the clouds scrape against the sky, and the waves beat upon the rocks never failed to ease her spirit, even if it was only for a little while.
Marie made her way down the beach, soon finding herself at Spanish Cove. She always seemed to retreat to that place. It offered her some odd sense of relief that she had never felt. Climbing up on the rocks, she tilted her face so the sun and wind hit it full force. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the surf. Breathing deeply, Marie filled her lungs with the salty air. She reclined on the rocks and watched the sun play across the water.
The waves crashed down on Bradin as he maneuvered his board through the water. The exhilaration and freedom he felt at riding the waves traveled through his body like a shock wave. Bradin hadn't been able to feel so free since his parents' death. He had always felt like a caged animal being poked with sticks by spectators. Then he had been introduced to surfing and everything seemed to fall into place. He was no longer angry at every little thing; instead, he was able to control his temper, even if it was only a little bit. As he steered the board through the water, Bradin caught sight of someone on the rocks. Stealthily he turned the surfboard toward shore and rode in on the waves. He picked up his board and made his way over to the familiar figure.
Marie's head was tilted back, her hair gently blowing in the breeze, and her eyes were closed lightly. It was as if she was living in her own little world and Bradin was intruding upon her. He stuck the board in the sand and climbed up next to her, being careful not to scare her.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, leaning close to her. Marie jumped slightly at the sound of his voice and turned her head to look at him with startled eyes.
"Nothing." She muttered, turning away from his gaze quickly.
"I thought you weren't coming 'til this afternoon." Bradin said, trying to make her open up to him.
"Yeah," she replied quietly. Bradin didn't know why Marie was withdrawn, but he was tired of it. She was a tightly closed book that was sealed with glue and locked with a key. She barely said anything, and when she did, she refused to look at him. What had he done to her to make her so frightened of him? Nothing, that's what. Bradin sighed and leaned back against the rocks.
They sat silently side by side for a long time, looking out over the ocean. Bradin stole quick glances at Marie when he thought she wasn't looking. She had a quiet way about her that with just one look she could say so much.
"Please stop that." Her voice startled him and he turned his head to look at her. Marie was looking at him with a deep sense of pleading in her eyes.
"Stop what?" Bradin asked, confused as to what she meant.
"Stop looking at me." She said, turning her gaze back to the ocean, "I don't like it when people stare at me." Her voice was so soft; Bradin had to strain to hear her.
"Okay," he said, still very confused.
"It's just..." Marie paused, as if she didn't know whether to say anything or not.
"What?" Bradin asked gently. She was just about to open up, and he was anxious to hear what she had to say.
"Nothing." She shook her head.
"Hey, you can talk to me." he said, tentatively reaching out and placing a comforting hand on her arm.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, startling Bradin and flinging his hand off her. He jumped back, scared at her outburst. Tears slipped down her pale cheeks and she screwed her eyes shut tightly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. With a sigh she opened her eyes and stood, brushing the sand off her. "I have to go." Bradin stood hurriedly.
"Marie, wait." He called, running after her as she fled the rocks, "Marie!" but she was already out of sight. Bradin sighed and kicked the sand angrily. He had screwed up. Grabbing his board he hurried back to the beach house.
Tears streaming down her face, Marie hurried up the steps to the front door of her home. She was just about to open the door when something stayed her hand.
"Oh no." she breathed. Her stepfather was moving about the living room. As he clutched his head in his hands, there was no doubt he had a hangover from the night before. Marie searched for a way back into the house without getting caught by him. When he had a hangover, that was the worst time to encounter her stepfather.
A large trellis stood off to the side of the wrap around porch. Marie hurried over to it. Looking up she saw that the trellis led up to the flat roof. From there she could easily walk over to her own window and climb in. If she hadn't locked the window that is. Glancing back over at the door, she knew she had no other options. With a steadying breath, she grabbed hold of the wood through the jumble of ivy and planted her foot on a step. Tugging herself up one step at a time, Marie finally reached the roof and walked stealthily along to her window. She reached her window and pulled at it, hoping that it would come open. Her wish came true. She climbed inside, but misjudged the distance between the window and floor and fell to the ground with a loud thud.
Eyes wide with fear, Marie closed the window hurriedly then ran and jumped into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Her bedroom door swung open and her stepfather hurried inside.
"What was that?" he yelled at her. Marie forced her heart to stop pounding and opened her eyes sleepily.
"What was what?" she asked, faking a yawn.
"That crash you stupid bitch!" he screamed.
"I didn't hear anything," she said.
"Like hell you didn't." he cursed, "Now get out of bed." He reached over and yanked the covers off her sharply. Marie stiffened as her stepfather's nostrils flared and his eyes grew wide. She looked down at her clothes, which still had sand covering them, and at the shoes, which in her haste, she had not taken off.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
"No...nowhere." She stuttered, choking on the fear that clogged her throat.
"You bitch," he yelled, yanking her out of bed by her hair, "where were you?" Tears fell down Marie's face. Her skull felt as if it was on fire and she could feel the hairs being pulled out by the roots. He threw her to the floor and kicked her in the stomach.
"Answer me." he screamed, delivering kick after kick to her abdomen. Pain overtook every other sense that Marie had. Soon it became so numbing that she could not even feel it, but the tears still persisted.
What Marie wouldn't have given right then for just one more minute with Bradin at Spanish Cove. But she had pushed him away; she wasn't ready to tell her life's story to a near perfect stranger. But he wasn't a stranger. It was weird, but Marie felt as if she'd known Bradin for forever. There was something about him that drew Marie to him. When he had touched her arm, his touch had been soft and gentle and strangely comforting. And that scared her more than anything.
Marie clung to the image of Bradin's face as her stepfather continued to kick her. She pictured the way the sun had glistened in his eyes, the way the wind blew his blonde hair across his sun-kissed face.
Finally her stepfather grew tired of beating her and went downstairs to watch TV and drink a beer. Marie pulled herself off the floor and fell onto her bed. Wiping the tears from her eyes she wondered why she put up with it all, why she didn't just leave. Then she remembered. If she left, what hope would her mother have? None, that's what. So, she resigned herself to the beatings and abuse. Closing her eyes tightly she waited for sleep to take her. The familiar blackness took her and shrouded her in dreams where she could forget who she was and what was happening to her.
Alrighty y'all, there ya go. I hope you enjoyed this chap and will review.
Gpotter: I'm so glad my story is able to touch those who read it, thank you.
Chloe: Thank you so much. I love when people tell me they love my story. And I'm glad I could keep Bradin in character.
Dolphinchick2568: Thanks for pointing out my mistake. I'm awful with names.
Blue-eyes: I actually planned on having a scene similar to what you suggested. But thank you for thinking of it. And if you have any more ideas, feel free to share them with me. You never know, I might just use one of them.
M: I won't let Marie become a Mary-Sue, you have my word. That is a real problem spot with original characters. I have stories that I write under another penname, and I'm always struggling to keep my original characters from becoming Mary-Sues. I'll work real hard though to keep Marie as real as I can.
Sam: I've learned before that it is wiser, and more mature, to allow the remarks of some reviewers to slide off my back. You can say all you want about my story, but you cannot stop me from writing it. You were right when you said that this is not an original idea, lots of people write about abuse. But the way that I write it will be original.
Has anybody ever told you that people only feel the need to criticize because they're jealous? Perhaps you may not be a very good writer, or you might be very good at it, but that does NOT give you license to be rude about someone else's writing. I don't get you people who feel the need to flame other writers. What's the deal? When you can answer that question for me, then feel free to write another review. But don't waste my time, and your time, by writing a flame.
Summerlandgirl, darkdestiney2000, Taryn Moran, chocolateluvr, Ms Vaughn, grullo-cowgirl, Scrabble Goddess, Ammanda, Alex, Kelly, SalsaDevil, atruwriter, beautyqueen321, sadlovepoet7, and n/a: Thank you all for taking the time to read and review this fic. I hope that you all will continue.
