She couldn't refuse. Amy was her friend even though she hated it. She never told anyone, but Amy came to her one day at the Ravine to tell her how her mom's boyfriend would assault her frequently. And it turned for the worse.
A sick guy he was.
Raping his girlfriend's daughter.
Well, Amy couldn't have a worse mother for not questioning. Not backing her up.
She was a weak ass drunk and druggie just like her mother.
That was one thing they shared in common. Both now had deadbeats as adult supervisors.
Kids were the adults. Parents were the kids. Bad role reversals.
She put on her raincoat and boots going to her friend's house, a run down mobile home in a scary ass neighborhood with no lights on but dogs barking.
No one was even in sight. She shivered as the wind passed her.
And clutched her purse.
It was times like this where she wanted the drunkest drink.
And then, hurl.
Amy was cussing and curled up in a ball. She was hit by a pipe.
"Ames," Emma ran to her side and turned her over. She gasped to see the blood and large multiple wounds.
"Shit, get out of here Ames!"
She lost the baby.
The emergency room wanted to swallow her up as she waited.
"Is- is she going to be okay," she asked someone and gulped. She was itching for some hand to grab.
Also, a cigarette to calm and appease her jumping nerves.
"Mam, are you a sister...?"
"Let her in," yelled Amy.
She was crying. Emma came in and ran to sit by her side, rubbing her arm.
"And I thought 'it' was a 'thing.'" Emma didn't know what to say. Just comforted her.
Next up: "Don't hit her! Don't touch her! Don't do anything to her...!"