Hey. I know this chapter is really short and you probably all hate me for it, but believe me when I say this scene needed it's own chapter. This is a pretty dark scene, and it's ermmmmmm semi-violent, but I don't go into too much detail with it.
I have a question. Has anyone else ever tried to log on, but when you go onto the Login screen, the "Are You Human" thing is there, but with no box to decipher the words? That has been happening to be all the time (luckily not know), and it is driving me bananas. (Yes, I do say bananas, I also say "What the french toast?" and "Dosh DoodleCakes" My own secret language ;)) If anyone has any idea how to fix it, I will love you for all of eternity, read your story, and give a really long comment! (I always give SUPER LONG COMMENTS btw)
Today is a bad day. I can feel it. The way his feet crush against the hard wood flooring, the way everything in the house curls up inside themselves the moment he opens the door, the way I can longer tell the difference between black and white. All the signs are there. Closing my eyes and counting until the numbers fade away into my subconscious mind, I hold onto the little amount of strength that's still within my reach. His footsteps grow louder, heavier, deadlier, their mass pressing on the tension in the air until it's weighing me down. Rage travels out of him and possesses every object in the kitchen.
Just breath, I keep telling myself. It's so easy.
His shoes are on. Brief case is being held by his right hand. His eyes are those of an enemy in war, holding a gun and waiting for the perfect moment to shoot.
Breathing may be easy. But looking into those eyes and suppressing the urge to collapse on the floor and scream isn't.
He slams his briefcase on the counter and thrusts his foot against the garbage can. Left over food and crumbled up papers fall onto the floor, piling up against each other until I can't the pieces apart. Everything in this house seems to have an outlet for escape, a family of its own to hold onto until the storm is over. Except me. I'm left all alone; the odd one out; the only true victim.
"This f*cking shit!" His screaming voice slices into my skin. I can imagine it ripping away the flesh and allowing blood to pour out. "Can't you do anything right?"
I don't say anything. Any answer is the wrong answer.
"Say something!"
No answer is the wrong answer.
I still don't speak. I'm at lost for words. Fear is assaulting my entire body and shutting every part of it down. I lose all feeling in my arms. My legs are numb. My brain no longer contains any use.
My heart is still working, though. It's working so hard, beating so viciously and rapidly I can feel steam rising above it from overdrive. Are people supposed to get chest pains this young?
"God damn it, bitch!" He grabs my homework and holds it up in the air, ripping each page apart, one by one. I stand there and silently watch as the pieces of paper transform into little bits of scraps, bruises left behind from the brutal battle they have lost.
Hang in there, little papers. I know just how you feel.
When Paul Edwards, age thirty-four, six foot two, dimple next to his left eye, lifts his hand to hit is only daughter, I close my eyes and wait for it to be over.
I don't feel the pain when my dad hits me, because it feels as though I'm not the one being hit. I find myself watching a young girl being beaten, a helpless victim now an innocent bystander that watches the guilty get away with the crime once again.
When he punches her in the stomach, she quickly grabs where his fist once was, clutching on for dear life. When he grasps her shoulders and shakes her, she wobbles around aimlessly until her motionless body disintegrates to the ground.
He kicks her in the shoulder with a grunt, and a soft whimper of pain-both emotional and physical- lurches out of her body without warning. A tear or two may have fallen down her cheek, but it is so hard to decipher anything in this situation through the thick clouds of anguish and vulnerability.
I want to help her. I want to take the pain away more than I have every wanted anything in my life. But every time I reach a hand out to her for support, she shoves me away, resisting my aid. She claims she's got it all under control. She convinces me that this will all be over with in a matter of time.
She tells me to relax, and just keep breathing.
I try to tell her that I'm losing oxygen, but I'm too out of breath to speak at all.
Ohhhhhh dark! Do you guys like the whole "third-person" thing. I thought it was a good metaphor for how weak she really is.
Okay, I just have to say I love you guys. Seriously, the reviews for last chapter (especially that ultra-long anonymous review) just made me the happiest girl in the world. You guys are absolutely amazing! And I love to hear how the suspense of Eli not knowing is killing one of you. Made me feel good about my writing =) But really, you all are incredible. I love getting emails how my story has been added to someone's favorite. YOU GUYS ROCK! And so does that review button...;)