ImPORTANT NOTE: This fic is rated M for adult themes. This chapter isn't for the faint of heart. It's not very descriptive, but you'll get the point. Just don't say I didn't give you a heads up. Kay? Kay. On we go.
Chapter Three
After I shut Rachel up with that come-back, she didn't talk to me again.
The hour seemed to go by too quickly. I was actually liking this lesson, despite the fact that Rachel sat inches from me. It was nice having kids to talk to, even if I chose not to speak that often. I was quickly starting to realize that I got along better with older kids than I did kids my age.
Sitting there listening to them, I focused on a strand of my hair. Holding it between my hands, my elbows on the table. I considered cutting my hair when I went home that day, just so it'd be harder for Jack to catch a hold of.
It was a hard decision to make, as I knew that when I screwed it up, Rachel would have a field day with the insults. Should I make my life easier at home, just to make my life harder at school? Or should I leave my hair the way it was?
I sighed. I'd leave it the way it was.
Fifteen minutes in, however, Rachel began throwing things at me. The first three times, I ignored it. They were just little pieces of paper. Nothing worth getting upset over. It did bug me, but I didn't respond to it.
The fourth time, fifteen minutes until the end of the lesson, it was a piece of paper soaked in spit. I spun and slapped her across the back of her head, letting her know that shit wouldn't fly. The hit stung my hand, but I wouldn't let on about that.
"I'm telling!" She gasped, her hand massaging the back of her head. Nobody commented. Despite her threat, though, she didn't get up.
"Go ahead." I snapped, "Don't spit on me."
"I didn't spit on you, stupid." She said, "I spit on the paper."
"And you threw the paper at me. It's the same thing, and it's gross." I grumbled, rolling my eyes, "I get enough shit at home. I don't need you adding to it." I instantly shut up, not even breathing. Going quiet once I realized I'd admitted too much. I blushed, looking around at all the eyes on me, "So, uh.."
"Yeah." Mike, the boy sitting beside me said, looking back down at the text book. Obviously wanting to just drop it. The typical reaction. I was used to that. I was used to people avoiding the subject at all costs.
"What kind?" Edward spoke up. I looked at him, hoping it wasn't the question I feared it was, "What kind of treatment do you get at home?" Everyone's eyes were on me as they waited for my answer. That was something I wasn't used to. Someone actually asking. Especially the way he asked.
"I-Well, uh.." I was quiet for a few seconds. I was trying to come up with some stupid excuse about how an only child had too many chores, when Rachel decided to comment.
"Her mom probably hits her." Rachel turned around in her chair, "Even her own mom doesn't want her." My face flushed hotly, and my heart beat sped up in anger. Instantly, I was trembling. She was wrong about the first part, but the second part hit home.
I wanted to hit her so badly, and I glanced up. Noticing Edward's eyes directly on me. I wanted to hit her so bad, but my clenched hands on the table relaxed. Flattened, my palms pressed against the table.
"No she doesn't." I finally said. I was actually answering her second statement, agreeing with her, but she took that as further argument.
"I bet she does." Rachel laughed, "Nobody wants you, Leandra." Nobody but her laughed, thankfully. Though I knew they were paying attention again. Nobody found that funny but her, which really should have said something.
It was odd, and even through my anger I realized that I'd just been faced with a decision. A life altering one that would send me one way, or another, depending fully on what I chose to do in this moment. It wasn't so much a knowledge, but a feeling. An instinctive feeling that I felt in my stomach.
Do one thing, get one result. Do another, get a completely different result.
"Leandra?" Edward spoke quietly, trying to gain my attention. Trying to calm me down, obviously, but it wouldn't work this time. I looked up at him, and I knew he could see my emotions.
I sat there for a few seconds longer, trembling. Until finally, I pushed myself up so suddenly, my chair scraped loudly on the floor. Rachel cringed just a bit, watching as I leaned closer to her.
"You don't know shit about my mom." I told her quietly, "Say that again, and I'll fucking kill you." Her face had gone white with my tone, and she leaned further back as she stared up at me with wide blue eyes. Probably terrified. I didn't even know I knew how to use that tone, but I was sure glad I did now. It probably wouldn't have taken much to make her wet herself, but I wasn't willing to stick around to try.
The high school teacher had noticed, "Now what's going on over there?"
I had to go. Now.
Instead of waiting for my emotions to become too much, I stepped around her, and strode straight for the door.
I was tired, and after that dream this morning, I was done.
From what I could remember, the very vague details, I'd dreamed I was wanted. I didn't know what that felt like before, but now that I knew, it hurt worse than anything I'd ever felt to let it go. I'd lost everything, and here was Rachel, hurting me even more without even trying.
I'd found my limit, and as much as I wanted to punch her stupid face in, I couldn't. Besides that, I was seconds away from crying like a baby, and I didn't want to give the bitch the satisfaction of seeing it.
"Leandra?" Mr. Daniels asked after me, too far from the door to stop me physically.
"She's crazy." Rachel called after me as well, and that was all I heard before I slammed the door behind myself, heading up the hall as the slamming door echoed loudly through it.
Until I couldn't move anymore, and I could no longer hold back the emotion. Her words had hurt more than I could ever begin to describe. I stopped when I could no longer see where I was going, stepping back to the wall, and sliding carefully down to sit against it. The pain in my back only made me cry harder. Reminding me that no matter what it felt like, it had only been a dream. Just a stupid dream that was making me cry now. Hours later.
Mr. Daniels followed me out a short few seconds later, finding me easily.
"Leandra?" He asked, squatting down in front of me, "What happened?" I couldn't speak. Only cry harder. My eyes could hardly open to look at him. Tears spilled from my eyes too quickly to clear my vision, and it wasn't stopping.
Why couldn't anyone see me? It wasn't fair. I'd had enough. I was so busy, striving so hard to make everybody's life easier by keeping my mouth shut. I was protecting Jack, even though it was clearly involuntary, but what about me? I was tired of struggling, of making his life easier while I worked my ass off for more pain.
I'd lost so much. I'd lost too much, and this wasn't at all like it should be. I was scared, alone, and I didn't have what I needed to change that. I sobbed, my quiet cry echoing in the hallway.
Laying my head back, I hit it against the wall. Squeezing my eyes shut.
After a few minutes of waiting for me to calm down, and finding me unable to, Mr. Daniels sighed and stood. Taking my hand, he stood me up.
"I'm going to call your parents." He informed me, "I think you should go home." I couldn't blame him, but all that news did was make me cry harder. I knew what this meant.
Jack was the kind of person nobody wanted to cross. Not ever. He was tall, strong. Respectable looking guy, but had a firm personality that intimidated everyone he came across. Maybe it was just me, but he could intimidate me with just a glance. Not even looking directly at me. Just a glance in my general direction. Just the sound of his voice could petrify me if he wanted it to.
He was handsome. Not even that old, really. Only two years older than my mom's thirty. Nobody would ever suspect he had such a secret.
He had a way of changing faces at will. Honest, open one minute, sadistic the next. His eyes were a clear, dark ice blue that stayed a constant glare when they were on me. His dark brown hair never seemed out of place.
Jack was the kind of person who got what he wanted. Every time, mostly without much effort on his part. He could lie, and sometimes I couldn't even tell if he believed what he said as a lie or not. Not one thing could give him away. Not his voice, not his eyes, and definitely not the way he laughed. I'd only seen him have to lie only a handful of times. He very rarely let anyone look at me too long when I was with him.
Sitting there, waiting for him to make the trip through town to get me, I had a feeling I would see that again today. Mr. Daniels waited with me, trying to get me to talk about what happened back in the classroom, but I wouldn't say a word. I was far too afraid to.
I wondered what he'd do when he got there. What he'd say.
I knew when Jack got there, glancing up as Mr. Daniels noticed him approaching. Standing from his seat beside me, he watched out the front office window.
Jack greeted him with a very tense smile, stepping into the building. I could hear the smile in his voice, his tone only slightly strained. Fear had my heart speed up, but I kept my eyes on the multi-colored carpet.
"I'm sorry you had to be called down here, Mr. Wallace." Mr. Daniels kept his voice quiet, even as I felt Jack's eyes on me. I hardly moved, even to breathe.
"Me too." Jack replied, "What'd she do this time?"
"From what I understand, one of her classmates upset her." He answered, "She's not in any trouble, but I think she should be allowed to go home. I think she's just having a hard day."
"That happens." Jack chuckled understandingly, "She wasn't feeling the best over the weekend, but insisted on coming to school today, so I let her." His tone was easy. Only giving away a slight bit of his annoyance. Only to me, as I knew what to listen for. He sighed, placing his hand on the back of my head, "I had a feeling this would happen."
"I'm so glad you understand." Mr. Daniels replied, "I hope she feels better soon."
"Come on." Jack sighed, gesturing at me, "Let's go." I sniffled roughly, climbing to my feet immediately. I knew better than to hesitate. Hesitating would only worsen my punishment. I was to do as I was told the moment I was told to do it. That's how it worked. That's how it always worked.
I couldn't help admiring how easily he lied. I needed a few lessons if I would get any better.
Before we could leave, however, we were both stopped in the doorway by Edward. Standing on the other side of it. I looked up at him with a quiet gasp, startled into looking up. Normally, I didn't bother when I was with Jack. Tears slipped from my eyes even as I looked up at him. He looked from Jack, back down to me.
I looked down after just a second. Suddenly very afraid of what would happen if Jack even suspected I'd made a friend. No. No, that couldn't happen.
I prayed Edward wouldn't say anything friendly to me. Or worse, mention that I'd been caught smoking. I closed my eyes briefly, biting my lip. Just to keep myself from crying more at the thought.
Please. Please, please. Don't let him say anything that would piss Jack off. Jack knew I smoked sometimes, but if he knew I was stupid enough to get caught, he'd be pissed.
"You left this behind." Edward told me, holding my bag up. I didn't know what to say. I looked up at him again, glancing to Jack briefly.
"Well?" Jack prompted me, "What do you say?"
Reaching up, I slowly took it.
"T-Thank you." I mumbled, pulling it to me and tucking it under my left arm. I looked down again as Jack squeezed me into his side. Such a false display, as he was actually hurting me. He was tense, I could feel that. He was unhappy, very much so, and I had no doubts about what would happen once we were at home. Maybe this time, I wouldn't wake up.
I found myself actually hoping.
"She's very forgetful." Jack spoke firmly to Edward, "Thank you for bringing it for her." With that, he pulled me along, around Edward and his suddenly distrusting gaze. I felt it following us up the hall, and before we left the building, I looked back. Meeting his eyes one last time.
That last moment, that last glance back at him was all it took.
It suddenly clicked, my memories of the dream I had the night before. As vague and as dim as they were, almost like they were afraid of the present, I realized with a sharp drop of my heart that I knew Edward. I'd dreamed about him. About Alice, and even tense Jasper. Even the other two, even if I'd never officially met them yet.
I'd seen them before, but nowhere before today.
I didn't remember anything else about what I'd dreamed, but I knew him. I knew Jasper, and I knew Alice. That was where I'd recognized them from. That moment, that instant realization seemed to make time slow down for me. My thoughts rushing through my mind faster than I was used to.
My mind struggled, fought hard to remove the fog and see what I should be able to remember, but it was nearly impossible to with Jack tugging me up the hall toward the door. Part of me understood that something had just changed, but focusing on that was hard.
I kept my eyes on Edward for as long as I could, trying to figure this out. I'd never seen him before, that was clear, but I was absolutely positive that he and the others had been in that dream I woke from just this morning.
I managed just one glimpse of Edward's eyes widening in understanding, before we were outside. Practically running across the parking lot to his truck. Jack walking quickly, dragging me along behind him when I couldn't keep up.
As if instinct, those thoughts and that realization moved quickly to the back of my mind. Carefully stashed away for later. I had more pressing issues to focus on at the moment. Like what would happen when we got home.
I managed to climb into the truck on my own, thankfully, sniffling as I closed the door behind myself. Jack didn't have to grab my shirt and pull me up.
"Get in the back." He told me once he was in, and for once, he didn't yell at me. He didn't even seem too mad. Just tense.
Despite that, I got moving. Climbing over the center console, and landing in the back bench seat of his truck. Stepping on a few wrappers and empty cigarette packs as I did so.
As soon as I was on the seat, he started the truck, moving before I was even really settled. Glancing out the window, I noticed Edward now stood in the doorway, watching us leave. The fact that I'd dreamed about him confused me. Why would I dream about him or Alice when I'd never met them before today?
It had definitely been him, though. I was sure of it. Edward or Alice weren't the type of people easily confused with someone else.
I wished I could thank him. Even if I didn't die today, I doubted deeply that I'd ever get the chance to see him again. Or Alice. I'd remember them, though. I had no clue if I'd ever get the answers to my questions, but I wouldn't forget them. For showing me the kindness they really didn't have to.
The moment we stopped in front of the house, I knew the routine. I knew things had just slid from calm tension to survival. We were out of public now. This was where things usually got interesting.
Climbing from the truck as quickly as I could, I slammed the door shut, and I ran. Over the overgrown yard. I listened to Jack shut his door, and I knew I'd better move faster.
I jogged up the steps to the small porch. On the way up the steps, I heard him directly behind me. Throwing open the door, I didn't even manage two running steps toward my room before the door slammed shut behind us as he lifted me off my feet with one arm. His other hand balling in my hair and yanking my head back. I cried out a sob, the pain resounding loudly through me.
Both my welts, and my head protesting agonizingly, despite the fact that he was being gentle.
"What have I told you about running?" He growled into my ear, "Especially from me?"
"I'm sorry." I instantly cried, "It won't- Ow! It won't happen again."
"How'd the field trip go?" I knew what he was really asking. "Why was I called?"
"It went good." I answered immediately, "I was good."
"Why don't I believe you?" He asked quietly. He squeezed me tighter, until I gave a coughing cry, sobs shaking me.
"Some little bitch in my class made fun of mom." I explained tearfully, "Instead of hitting her, I left." He didn't reply right away, "Because I knew that would just cause more problems. I didn't mean to have you called. I swear."
I waited with bated breath, waiting for what he'd decide to do.
"Jack," I finally had to say, "It's hard to breathe." He chuckled, and for a moment, I thought I'd just made it worse, but when he let me down onto my feet, I stumbled a bit.
"Go to your room." He told me, and I obeyed. Not running, like I wanted to, but forcing myself to move slowly. With that, we'd gone back into the calm tension. I knew it wouldn't last, however, and at any second, it could turn back into survival. For now, I'd escaped.
I didn't have many clothes, but I needed to wash the clothes I'd worn on Thursday before tomorrow, and I didn't want to ruin the clothes I wore today with the inevitable fight later, so I took them off. Pulling on the one thin pajama tank-top I did have. It was thin, very thin and bloodstained, but it was something.
I'd given up wearing pajama pants, because they always tore and I ruined them more than I saved them. Though I longed for more coverage, especially on the colder days, I hardly ever got anything new to wear, so I had to protect what clothes I did have.
Around the house, things were both harder, and easier than at school.
Around the house, I didn't have to bother hiding the bruises. The only people that would ever see them were me or Jack, making it easier on me. My mom was never awake or somewhat sober long enough to give a shit, so neither of us worried about that, and nobody ever came around to wonder why there was a half-naked kid running around the house. Out here, nobody ever bothered us. It was just us, so why bother hiding anything he'd already seen or known about?
Things were harder by the fact that at any second, I could get more. I never knew when he'd get the urge to beat something. For whatever reason. It was constant tension, even if it was okay for the minute. Constant watching what I did, constant watching what I said. Like waiting for a bomb to explode, or a trap to spring, and never knowing when either one would happen.
I'd gotten used to the constant danger I was in, but I had a feeling it was effecting me more than I thought. It was a natural reaction, an instinct that made my heart pound harder just by being in the same house with Jack. Each movement more careful, hardly breathing in case he found me breathing as offensive.
During the day, it was easier, but I could feel it. Knowing the storm was brewing, but helpless to prevent it. Something I would do or say would piss him off, and I'd be right back on the floor. Crying my eyes out as pain rolled through me. Exactly like the night before.
That was how it always was. Sometimes, when the bruising got too bad, he'd leave me alone for a few days. It was never bad enough to avoid the slap upside the head, or man-handling. The gripping, shoving or throwing, but it was enough to avoid the belt. Or rope, or whatever else he chose to use on me. Hurt just as much, if not more, but did less damage than his boots or fists.
I doubted I was hurt enough for him to leave me alone, but I didn't bother hoping either.
After washing my clothing selection in the bathtub, and hanging them up to dry stiffly over the shower curtain rod before the morning, my next task would have been homework if I had any. Since I didn't have any, my next choice was cleaning up the house.
I wandered through the living room and the kitchen, picking up bottles and throwing them into a bag. Empty cigarette packs, and empty fast food boxes and paper bags that Jack decided looked best on the floor went into another bag. It was far easier to sort this stuff now instead of later. If I didn't pick these things up, it stayed. And I usually got into trouble for it.
I didn't mind picking stuff up. That was the easiest job in the world to me. Just wander around, and whatever's trash goes in the bag. I was pretty good at keeping up with it, but sometimes when moving too much hurt, I'd skip a day or two. I'd had to skip the day yesterday, which is why it took me the few minutes it did today.
I'd perfected the skill of picking wrappers and stuff up with my toes, just to avoid bending over or leaning down to pick something up. It still hurt, but not as much as bending over would. I learned quickly and built my world around what would hurt less. From the time I was little, a certain amount pain had always been a part of my life. There was no escaping it, so I adapted to live with it.
Since I was doing as I should be, Jack stayed in the bedroom. Probably resting since he had the rest of the day off. Gaining energy for later, when he'd take all the money he lost from those hours he could be working from my hide. After I got done with this, I'd be doing the same. I never got much sleep at night. This calm before the storm was the best time to snooze.
Looking over, I noticed my mom still laying right there. Right on the couch where I'd left her. My heart broke at just the sight.
"Mom, wake up." I called, "Go to bed already. Jesus." I wandered over, laying the bag of trash on the floor. She didn't budge, so I grabbed her wrist and tugged. She only woke a little. Enough to fight from my grip and lay back down.
"Mom." I called again, gaining no response other than her snoring starting back up thirty seconds later. Mother of the year, for sure.
"Mom!" I called louder, almost screaming the word, "Get up!" I was getting fed up. Fast.
I finally gave up, shaking my head and beginning to cry. I knew if she even did get up, she'd hurt herself trying to get to the bedroom anyway. I allowed myself to cry for thirty seconds more before choosing to just keep moving.
I gathered the fourteen empty bottles around the coffee table, the clanking sound in the bag loud as I tossed them in.
I sighed and wandered into my bedroom once the bag of paper trash was full and tied. There was a reason Jack gave me this room. Outside my bedroom window, was a small dog run. An almost rectangular covered cage directly against the outside wall, which had a locked door on it. Since we didn't own a dog, there was one use for it that Jack saw. Inside that dog run, nearly up to the glass of my bedroom window, was a pile of trash waiting to be burned.
That's where it stayed, since there was never any trash pick-up out this way, so it was up to me to get rid of it somehow.
The glass bottles, of course, didn't burn, but everything else did, so that went into its own separate bag. I'd learned long ago that it was faster to separate them before they were tossed outside, and bag them up for Jack to take into town. He never beat me for the bags of glass bottles I'd drop into the back of his truck. They'd just be gone when I came back with another bag another day. An unspoken sort of deal.
I hadn't burned in awhile, not feeling up to it, but if I didn't soon, I'd regret it later. Not today, however, and I tossed the bag of paper trash out the window. Watching it land on the pile, and I closed my window again. It would be difficult to escape when an attempt at climbing out the window would land me waist deep in old trash.
In the adjoining bedroom, however, that window was unblocked. So if I ever were tempted to escape, I'd just use that room instead of my own. I hadn't done it yet, though. Freedom wasn't an issue. If I wanted it that badly, and if I knew I could get away with it, I just wouldn't come home from school. Jack trusted me, however. He knew I wasn't stupid, and I'd be back. Just like I always was. Just like I was trained to as a small child.
Once my window was closed, I sighed. Crawling over the metal bars of the footboard and laid down on my bed. Curling into my caseless pillow, on the bare mattress. Hating my life, and everyone in it as I closed my eyes.
As I laid there, I hesitantly thought back to the mystery of before.
Why would I dream about the five of them if I'd never seen them before? Dreams, I knew, were just things you experienced thrown together into movies played while you slept. That's it. This was different. I had never seen them before. I'd never met them, or even heard their names. Yet, I felt like I did know them. I didn't know what the dream was, as I couldn't remember events, but they were there. All of them.
My conscious mind told me this was impossible. The part of me living now, in this hell hole, reminded me that this was real. However, another part of me, insisted I wasn't supposed to be here. That this was the fake thing, and I wasn't meant to be here.
I questioned my sanity, and yawned. Knowing full well that until I figured this out, I would wonder about it.
I never cried when I had moments to myself like this. Despite how I felt myself wanting to, I always held it back. Unless I was away from home, I never allowed it because at any moment, Jack could really give me a reason to cry. I'd save my crying for when I really needed to.
I was surprised by how tired I was. I must not have been sleeping very well the night before, because I fell right to sleep.
I didn't hear from Jack until much later in the afternoon. Passed evening, and closer to night. The way he called my name now told me that he was upset about something, but if I didn't go to him, I'd be in worse trouble.
I closed my eyes, trying my best to steel myself. Whatever it was, guaranteed he'd find something I'd done. Some reason, some lesson he had to teach me or remind me about.
My day was far from over.
He stood there in the living room, beside the coffee table as I came to stand in front of him. Feeling very vulnerable in my limited clothing. My mom still laid right there on the couch, but I could see she was waking up enough to move to the bedroom. Still asleep, but no longer unconscious.
I waited on trembling knees as he took a deep breath. Obviously trying to calm down.
"Why the fuck," His tone scared me, "Was I just called by someone asking to speak to you?" His tone was more pissed than it had been in a long while. My body tensed, waiting for the signal to run.
"I-I-"
"I thought I made it specifically clear never to talk to anyone." He interrupted, "I did, didn't I?"
"W-Who was it?" He was quiet. His eyes narrowed a bit. I could sense it. I'd just made a very stupid mistake, and I'd pushed my luck. My luck had just come to an end.
"It doesn't fucking matter who the hell it was." He finally growled, "I told you what would happen if anyone knew you were alive enough to bother me with stupid shit like this."
"I didn't tell anyone anything." I moved a step back.
"Then why the fuck would they call?" He demanded harshly, and I looked down.
"I really don't know." I replied quietly, shaking my head, "I swear, I didn't say a word."
"Don't fucking lie to me."
"I'm not lying." I insisted, "I swear. I didn't say anything."
Things suddenly snapped.
He got moving, straight for me, and as a repeat of the night before, I spun with a squeak and raced away. He followed me with a loud growl of anger, his eyes on me. Watching as I slammed through my bedroom door and shoved it shut behind me.
I'd effectively just trapped myself. Why couldn't I learn?
I slammed by back against the door, bracing my feet on the rough carpet. Hoping to just be strong enough to hold it shut. Squeezing my eyes shut, I whimpered. Waiting for it.
I yelped as he pushed it open easily and I jumped forward.
He stormed in and I ducked around him. My heart pounding quickly, darting passed him back out of the room. I felt his quick swipes for me, which only fueled me into nearly tripping in my haste. I was terrified, and for once, felt none of the new bruises.
I raced from the room, through the kitchen. My goal was the back door, but I didn't make it that far. His arm circled me, and he yanked me to a stop. Lifting me with one arm easily, much like he had before. I grunted, losing my breath as he whipped me around. Dragging me back through the kitchen, straight back toward my room. All while speaking.
"I warned you." He told me in a loud, firm voice, "I warned you. How many times have I told you how much I hate it when you run from me?"
I kicked free in the short hallway outside my room, darting away from him as he attempted to adjust his hold. I fell as he released me, but literally clawed my way back to my feet and I ran.
He followed quickly. I flew across the darkening living room, and I scrambled this time for the front door. The pure terror pulsing through me with each quick pound of my heart. I had just touched the doorknob when he lifted me again. My cries only got louder now. An urgent, breathless cry of denial clawing up my throat.
He held me easily, returning the both of us to my room. With his free hand, he slammed my bedroom door closed.
"How many times do I have to prove how stupid it is to fight?" Jack asked, a quiet chuckle in his voice. He'd learned long ago that speaking quietly to me was just as effective at scaring me as shouting was. Took a lot less effort, for just as much fear. If not even more.
I hated it when he talked soft to me, but I quickly realized that he was who I learned this tone from. The same tone I'd used against Rachel.
"I'm sorry." I sobbed out breathlessly, unable to keep my eyes open. I was too afraid, too scared to move now.
"Not yet you aren't." He sighed sadly, "Not yet."
"No, I'm sorry." I repeated, "I'm really sorry. Really, really sorry."
"Are you correcting me now?" My heart dropped, and I gasped for breath. Worn out from my fight, he seemed to sense it.
"No." I replied immediately, "No. I'm not."
A beating wouldn't do this time.
The rain poured down hard that night. Pouring down roughly in buckets. The sound of it hitting the house was the only thing I let myself concentrate on. Another sense of numbness, the same one I felt during the dream, wrapped me up in itself, and refused to let go. That was nothing new.
I kept my head turned, my fists clenched at my sides. Gritting my teeth but staying silent. Trying my hardest not to throw up, no matter how much I wanted to. The emotions swirling in my stomach made it hard not to, but I always managed to hold it.
The light outside gone, I laid there in the dark with him for a few minutes. I hated, absolutely hated the dark. Everytime he decided this punishment instead of beating me, it always happened at night. In the dark. I couldn't see him, and he probably couldn't see me.
I wasn't allowed a lamp or light in my room. None whatsoever, so when it got dark, was when I knew to fear. The kind of dark that left nothing visible. The suffocating darkness that made all the other senses work twice as hard.
Which was why I had a petrifying fear of the dark.
I was terrified of the dark, but not for reasons other kids had. Jack knew this, and for that reason, refused to let me have any sort of light in my room. No lamps, no candles or anything that would illuminate the room.
Aside from his breathing, it was silent in the room now. I didn't speak, I didn't even move. I was always petrified afterwards, so tonight was nothing new. How I was still fighting, I didn't know. I let my eyes close.
In many ways, I both preferred this punishment, and hated it more than being beaten. Usually, he used restraint with this one, and it didn't hurt near as badly as being beaten repeatedly. There were no marks left behind, no bruises I had to hide. No real lasting physical pain.
But this one scared me more than being beaten. Even when I thought I didn't pay any attention to what he was doing, there was always some part of my mind intently focused on it. I couldn't help that.
The only reason he did this to me at all, was because he could and because he knew it hurt me a lot more than physically. He knew I was scared that any moment, he could always hurt me more. Especially on the nights he made me participate. Just the thought made my stomach turn painfully, panic squeezing my throat closed.
Jack sighed, sitting upright beside me. Tears trailed silently from behind my closed eyes, deeply regretting each breath I had to take in. Already telling myself.
Trusting anyone was stupid.
My disappointment only fueled by the pain, the physical pain I was in, I was determined. I would never let myself feel this disappointment again. I told myself this every time. It had nothing to do with anyone else, only myself. I was only reenforcing my distrust of people, and I knew that, but being hurt this much taught me a lesson. Every time.
Nobody was good. Nobody was okay. Nobody was safe. Everyone was out to hurt me, and I wouldn't let myself be fooled into thinking otherwise. It was stupid.
When I made no move, continuing to lay there in the position he left me in, he chuckled behind me. He continued to sit and wait. I knew what he was waiting for, and soon, he got it.
The sobs started slow, quiet. Picking up in emotion, and soon, they were agonized. Choking cries, the ones that steals my breath. The kind that could only come from being scarred in more than one place at a time. My fear only fueled it, making me tremble where I laid.
This was the way it was every night. Every time the sun set, darkening the room, it turned out like this. Always ending the night with my cries in the dark.
He stayed, waiting for me to move, and eventually, I did. I finally allowed myself to move just enough to roll over. I rolled over onto my left side, facing the wall. My back to him, and I continued to cry.
He leaned over. I tried to scoot over, hugging the edge of the mattress against the cold wall. Trying to get away from him. Squeezing my eyes shut, clenching my teeth and cringing, inches from the wall as I felt him sigh into my hair, kissing the back of my head. Misery in my audible sob.
Breathing in, he sighed contentedly. Allowing a quiet chuckle loose in his sigh. He knew I hated him. He knew I hated everything he did, and that made him happy. He knew I hated everything he did, which was the only reason why he did them at all. I was so sure that if I stopped reacting to it, he'd stop doing it, but I couldn't stop myself from reacting. No matter how hard I tried. It would always bother me.
The last I heard of him that night was my bedroom door closing.
I appreciated this time I had after he left. This time I had alone. I always had. He was finally tired, so chances were he would leave me alone for the rest of the night. It was times like now that I could cry. Curse, bawl, beg. Hate myself in peace. Hate how small I was, how weak I was compared to him. I hated everything during this time.
I laid there, clinging to the edge of the mattress against the wall, sobbing quietly. That was the best I could do, was cry. I didn't know what else to do. My head ached, thanks to the emotion and the starvation. My stomach was in knots, pain and hunger turning it against itself. My heart broken, torn in more spots than one.
I was hungry, had very little energy, but somehow, I found myself able to think.
Maybe tonight, I would dream again. Maybe I wouldn't have to be confused for long. Maybe tonight, I wouldn't wake up. Maybe tonight, I'd die as I slept. I cried harder as I thought about that.
Maybe I wouldn't have to hurt anymore.
My thoughts drifted. Someone had called, asking about me. I sniffled quietly, thinking about that instead of the pain, and I found it easier to take a breath, and calm down. Despite how that phone call had gotten me into trouble, I couldn't help being surprised by it.
Who had it been? The only people I could think of, were Mr. Daniels or Edward. Those were the only two who saw how upset I'd been. Mr. Daniels had spoken to Jack on our way out, and he'd never bothered to call before, so it probably wasn't him. It didn't make sense to me, though, why Edward would have been the one to call. I was nothing. Why would he bother to worry about me?
I fell asleep to those thoughts. Curled into a tiny ball on my bare mattress. One bare leg tangled in the thin, scratchy blanket that I knew I'd eventually get cold enough to cover myself with. Keeping myself as protected as I could. Tears drying on my cold cheeks.
I woke stiffly the next morning, sighing heavily as I realized I hadn't dreamed of them again. My morning started all over again, including the very painful shower. It was easier to move, however, as most of the bruises and welts had just about finished forming. I had to at least be thankful he hadn't decided to renew them, which made me revisit the thought I'd had earlier the night before. I both hated that punishment, and preferred it. I could move the next day, even if I didn't want to.
Regardless, I chose a baggy, long-sleeved shirt. I didn't know what I'd do about warmth, but that wasn't Jack's problem. My one other pair of jeans was worse off than the ones I wore the day before.
Jack had already left for work, so I knew I had maybe half an hour to breathe before I had to leave. Mom hadn't come out of the bedroom yet, so I sat in the living room alone. Sitting in the silence, smoking a cigarette before I had to start walking. I shook today, weaker now. I absentmindedly watched the cigarette smoke curl lazily toward the ceiling, I stared off into space. My thoughts a jumbled, tangled mess.
I was disappointed that I hadn't dreamed about them the night before, but maybe it was for the best. Why bother trying to remember anything when I'd never see them again? Why bother to worry about whatever I remembered about the dream? Sure, it was nice to think about the safety I remembered, but that's all it was. It was only a dream. Some wishful thoughts my mind decided I needed to see to make life worth existing through for a few more days.
And it could easily have been a coincidence. Maybe those in the dream just reminded me of Edward and Alice. With as scarred as my mind was, it wouldn't surprise me that I'd make an instant attachment to anyone who looked at me twice. Clinging to them like a desperately lost puppy.
It was pathetic.
Naturally, I was confused at the knock at the door. It was quiet, almost hesitant, and it confused me. Deeply. I sighed quietly as I set my cigarette in the ashtray in front of me, fully intending to come back to it. Standing, I slowly rounded the small love-seat, and headed for the door. I really wasn't sure if I should open it or not.
We never had visitors. Nobody ever voluntarily came here. The last time anyone had come knocking at the door, was two years ago, and I had to hide in my room for that. I didn't even know who it had been.
I jumped at another knock, reaching out slowly and pulling the door open. Who stood there surprised me even more.
"Alice?" I asked, smiling a little.
"Good morning." She smiled in return, "I was wondering if you'd like a ride to school." I glanced behind her, spotting a very unfamiliar black car sitting in the driveway, "My dad's giving me a ride, and I thought we'd take a side trip."
"Oh." I mumbled, "That's a pretty big side tri- Wait." I cut myself off, "Your dad?"
"He's very nice." She assured me, smiling confidently even as my smile had faded.
"I-I.." I was trying to come up with an excuse, "I really don't know." I distrusted anyone with the title of 'dad'. I wasn't sure if I wanted to test that distrust. I didn't want to be proven right.
"Come on." She murmured, "It's just up the road, right?"
She had a point there. A few minutes, at most, didn't seem so bad to me. I liked Alice, and didn't mind going anywhere with her. Just because her dad was with her didn't make me like her any less, but it was hard to just trust her word. Especially after the night before. It was stupid to go around hating anyone male, but I couldn't help it.
I sighed, eventually nodding.
"Sure." I mumbled, "Just let me get my shoes on."
A/N: Another chapter down. A little more added to.
Same point about the reviewers as chapter two. :)
I'll be pretty busy until sometime about mid next week, so please bear with me. I'm hoping to have another update around that time. :)
Until four, my friends!