This is kind of a long chapter, but it's important, so I don't feel too bad about it!
Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! I love them!
It was no surprise to her that she couldn't go to school, or the show, for the next three days. She had locked herself inside of her room, and, from the other side of the door, had yelled to her mother that she had a stomach virus, and couldn't attend school or the show. Velma had never been one to deal with illness, so she bid her good riddance and left for the studio. Chip was finally out of the house, she had heard him telling Velma he was going to work, and Amber could breathe a little easier knowing that she was alone with her trauma.
No amount of make-up had helped. She had gotten up at her usual time for school the day after he had attacked her, and she'd intended to go. She wanted to be out of the house, but once she caught the sight of her reflection in the mirror, she knew that it was a lost cause. She hadn't washed the blood from her face, hadn't iced her bruises. It was obvious that someone, or something, had attacked her. One of her crystal blue eyes was shrouded beneath a purple and blue bruise, and her bottom lip was swollen and busted. She couldn't stand to walk through the halls of school like this, couldn't even begin to imagine showing her face on television. As if Velma would ever let that happen. She'd take one look at her and probably accuse her of doing it herself to accuse Chip of another crime that he certainly never could have committed.
So, she stayed in bed all day. Instead of laughing with her friends at lunch, she hugged herself, wanting so badly to be dead. Instead of twisting and dancing on the show, she had to grasp the wall, just to make it a few feet down the hallway to the bathroom. If the pain had been bad before, it was unbearable now. Her entire body was on fire, and in those days she fell into a restless sleep that left her with nightmares, made her wake up screaming, and sweaty. It was horrible.
She'd even thought about suicide. It would be so easy, she knew it. She could take one of the butcher knives in the kitchen. She could down the entire body of any one of Velma's various "prescriptions". She could, and no one would even care. No one would cry for her, or probably even come to her funeral. If she even had a funeral. They'd probably just drag her body to the dumpster and leave her with the trash. That's what she was slowly becoming: something that just belonged in the trash, like those torn, bloody panties she'd thrown away.
There was only one thing that stopped her from swallowing those pills, grabbing that knife. It was Chip. As much as she hated him, as much as she wished she were dead every time she heard him enter the house, she knew that if she did kill herself, he would win. It would be her ultimate submission to him, and he would know it. He would know that he had pushed her to do it, and she refused to give him that pleasure. It was bad enough that he treated her body like it was his personal dumpster; she would not let him take her soul.
In those three days, she learned so much. She learned to study the view from her window, learned which cars turned on which streets and the way their engines sounded. She knew that the birds began to chirp before the sun even rose, and the crickets carried on the job when the sun set. She learned that right before the sun rose, the light of the early morning would cast shadows over her room, and bathe the small space in a pink light. It made everything look so beautiful that sometimes, just sometimes, she forgot that she was in Hell. She forgot that there was a monster on the other side of the door, forgot that she was a victim, and sometimes let herself believe that this light was the answer to everything. Sometimes, that light made her feel like she was in Heaven, and took away all of her pain. Her thighs would stop hurting, and when she looked into the mirror all of her bruises and scratches had magically disappeared. She was beautiful Amber again, not the ugly victim.
Though, when the sun rose, and the bright light of morning spilled in, everything went back to normal. Her room went back to being her cell, her house the prison. Every morning, she knew it was coming, and yet every day when it actually happened, it broke whatever was left of her heart.
That evening, she was alone with him again. Her mother stayed until all hours of the night at the studio, just as she always had, despite the fact that it meant her boyfriend was left alone in the house with her teenage daughter to rape her whenever the hell he felt like it. Though the amount of solitude she had been in recently was enough to drive a person mad, she had become accustomed to it. It was never quiet inside her mind, anyway. She was always berating herself for doing something wrong, her temples were always pounding, her body throbbing. All of those noises were enough to keep her sane, enough to remind her that she'd rather be in here alone than out there with him.
When she heard the bathroom door shut and the shower turn on, she knew that she had enough time to get a drink of water, and walked as briskly as she could to the kitchen. She reached into the cabinet for a glass and then let the cool liquid spill down her parched throat, desperate for it to soothe the painful dryness in her mouth. As she began back towards her bedroom, the doorbell rang. She cursed under her breath, hoping that Chip couldn't hear it in the shower, and pressed her body against the door. Her fingers rested on the knob, and she opened it quickly, letting the side of her face that wasn't a swollen mess peer out at the person on the porch. Her heart began to pound in her chest at the sight of Corny, a small container in his hands.
"Oh God, what are you doing here?" She whispered the words to him desperately, and he smiled easily at her, pushing the container toward her.
"Velma said you had a stomach bug, so I brought you some soup." His naivety sent a pain through her chest, and she took a deep breath, pushing her face against the crack in the door as he watched her helplessly. Her eyes fell upon the container, and she bit on her bottom lip before remembering that it was split open, and whimpered softly. He watched her, still holding the container out to her.
"Uh, thanks," her voice was barely above a whisper, "Corny, you've got to go. You can't be here right now."
He cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Why?" He was challenging her. "You haven't even taken the soup I made for you."
She heard the stream of the shower shut off behind her, and her heart began to race. She had a decision to make, and needed to make it quick. She could either run as fast as her broken body would carry her back to her room, lock herself in. Or, she could join him on the porch. She could let him see the truth, let him inside of her world of hurt. Although she had made the decision to turn back to her room, the bathroom door creaked open sooner than she had expected, and there was no time. Without even thinking about it she stepped onto the porch and shut the door silently behind her, grabbing Corny's arm and pulling him around to a corner of the porch that couldn't be seen from the front door. She moved so quickly that he nearly dropped the soup, and she pushed her body against the brick house, holding her breath until they were fully covered by the wall.
"What are you do-" He peered down at her, and she, stupidly, looked up at him. His eyes grazed the bruises, the scratches, the busted lip. She saw his jaw go taut suddenly. "What the fuck." It was more of a statement than a question, and she turned her cheek against the wall of the house, quickly trying to hide the damage. She felt his eyes upon her, but made herself stare straight ahead, not looking at him, or anything in particular.
"Who did this to you?" There was a harsh edge to his voice, and when she didn't respond, he brought his hand to her face, lightly pressing his fingertips against the edge of her jawbone and turning her to look at him. She tried to keep her eyes focused on something, anything other than the concerned look on his face. Tried to focus on anything but the feel of his fingertips against her bruised skin, but she couldn't. She let her eyes meet his, her lips wrapping around words that she just couldn't say.
"No one." It was so ridiculous that she wasn't sure why she said it, and he clenched his jaw again, placing the container of soup on the porch railing.
"Stop lying to me." His voice was firm, and he let himself look away from her for a moment. "Your mother said you were sick. I brought you soup, to try and make you feel better." His voice cracked slightly, and she could see him swallow hard, "I can't fix this with soup."
For the first time since Chip had originally raped her, she felt the tears welling inside of her eyes, and bit her lip to suppress a sob. The statement had broken her heart, and though she knew he'd meant it in the kindest way possible, it took on a whole new meaning for her. It told her that she was beyond repair. She had been telling herself that same thing, but had been hoping that not everyone saw it the same way she did. The fact that the one person who was reaching out to her had stated it, made her feel utterly hopeless.
"Did your mother do this to you?" He looked pale in the porch light, and Amber looked up at him, her golden eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"What? No, she-" She quickly remembered that he knew nothing about Chip. He didn't even know the man existed. He had no idea that beneath those bruises, beneath her clothes, was an entirely different world. A deeper pain than even he was prepared to deal with. "It wasn't my mother."
"Who was it, then?" He was glaring at her, "Link? One of the other council boys?" His cheeks were pink suddenly, his eyes dark, "Tell me if it was one of them, Amber. I'll make sure they get what they deserve."
It would have been so easy to say yes; to pin this all on Link. He was part of the reason, after all, that she had been raped the first time. He was the reason she had done her make-up and hair so perfectly, the reason she'd been wearing her finest dress. The reason that she'd looked so much like a pin-up girl that Chip couldn't help himself. Still, she knew that it wasn't really Link's fault. He wasn't the one who had put these bruises on her. And though she resented him for not even trying to reach out to her, she couldn't do that to him.
"No, it wasn't Link," her voice was barely above a whisper. "It wasn't any of the council boys, or girls, for that matter."
"Damnit, Amber! Then who was it?" His voice was louder than either of them had expected it to be, and she flinched, pressing herself against the wall as she heard the front door open. Corny's eyes turned to look at the man standing in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe.
"Who the hell are you?" She heard his gruff voice, and bit on her lip, making sure she was concealed by the wall, her knees trembling as she watched Corny's face. She knew he was at least a good six inches over Corny, but he didn't seem intimidated.
"Corny Collins. Who are you?" He watched him with cold, untrusting eyes.
"None of your damn business, that's who." She rolled her eyes at Chip's words, holding in her breath until she thought she might explode. "What the hell are you doing on my porch?"
"Your porch?" Corny confronted him, "This is Velma Von Tussle's house."
"Yeah, well it's mine, now, too." He took another step closer to Corny, and Amber pushed herself back further, but it was too late. Chip had seen her, and advanced towards her quickly. "What the hell. Get your ass back inside, you little bitch."
She shrieked as he grabbed for her, and instinctively lashed out at him, moving quickly behind Corny and burying her face into his back, her fingers digging into his waist. She felt him tense in her hold, and she knew immediately that he had figured it out. He had come face to face with the beast.
Chip grabbed for her again, and Corny pushed him back, hard.
"Don't you lay a damn hand on her." She let herself hug him, harder, her arms wrapping around him. He was suddenly her savior. The man she had always annoyed, pushed in front of on television; the man whose skin she had always tried to get under. He was her guardian angel.
"Excuse me? Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? I should call the damn police on you for trespassing on private property. I know Velma sure would." He reached for Amber again, but Corny pushed him behind her.
"Call the police." Corny's voice was cold. "I'd like to see you explain how a seventeen year-old girl got that black eye, and that busted lip."
She knew that his words would get her into trouble later, but she couldn't think about that. Right now, he was here, and he was protecting her, and it was something that she so desperately needed, and craved. She needed to know that she was safe in the arms of someone, and he was offering to be that person. It was all she could concentrate on at the moment.
When Chip didn't respond to his words, Corny took it upon himself to speak again.
"Come on, Amber. You're coming with me." He turned quickly, grabbing her hand and leading her towards the steps. She heard Chip yelling behind them, but his words were a blur. She was moving quickly now, and then they were in his car. She felt the sob building in her throat as he pulled away, his face serious, his fingers clutching the steering wheel.
"Corny," she could barely speak the words, "you don't realize what you've just done. My mother could have you arrested…you could lose your job, go to jail…" she couldn't stand to think of the consequences.
She watched as he set his jaw, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
"And all of that would be better than what would have happened to you if I had let you stay there." His words were firm, and she knew they were true. It was painfully evident that he didn't know about the rape, didn't realize that she was a broken soul. He thought her wounds were superficial, and that she was only damaged on the outside.
And though she knew this wouldn't last, knew that the harsh consequences would inevitably follow, she let herself close her eyes, let herself relax. She couldn't deny it any longer. Corny had suddenly become her safe harbor, and she knew that he was the only thing standing between her and the monster.
The concern in his eyes, the white of his knuckles as he grasped the steering wheel, the way he looked at her worriedly when she began to tremble. Those simple actions suggested to her that maybe she was still capable of being loved by someone.