The Ordeal

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic


Hi there, this is a piece that is close to my heart, and I feel that I would like to share this story. There's not much else to say, but if it's not exactly for the faint of heart. I would
appreciate any feedback. Thank you.

Submitted: March 22, 2018

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Submitted: March 22, 2018

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"What's wrong you little cunt, you gonna cry again?" he hisses, a smug smile upon his face.
I sniff harshly and glare into his grey eyes. "I hate you." I mumble, barely audible.
"What the fuck did you say?" I grit my teeth
"I SAID I HATE YOU" I scream, spit spraying out like a wild dog. He grabs me by my collar and throws me into the kitchen, readying himself to hurt me again.
Not this time.
He takes a swing and I deflect his blow while bringing my hand up to punch his temple. He staggers backwards, clearly stunned. Now enraged, he reaches for a nearby set of pliers and swings them at my head as if to stab me with them. I move just in time and land another blow into his chest. The pliers drop to the floor and he stumbles back again, reaching for a knife from the block. Slashing maniacally, I manage to catch his arm and hold it above him. We are inches from each other as I push his had between the wall and the cupboard. He gnashes his teeth at me as if trying to bite me. I take his hand and proceed to slam it off the handle of the cupboard in order for him to drop the knife. He does. There's blood on the floor. It's his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's never been this bad. I mean, it's never been good, but this was the first time he had tried to kill me. He hurts me everyday, but this is new. I've never been a fighter, I can't believe I'm still alive. I look at my hands, they're trembling. There's blood all the way up the left leg of my trousers, and a burning sensation from the large gash on my face.
It's as if my whole world turned grey and something else took over. I sat, motionless on the white fabric sofa, now stained with the moist blood from my trouser leg. Four police cars and an ambulance had now been outside for about 10 minutes. The police had separated us and were taking statements from each of us. 
"Son I'm going to need to you to speak to me." one of the policemen said softly. I looked up at him.
"This looks bad doesn't it?" I asked, fearing the response,
"Honestly? Yes- but until we get the statements from you both then we won't know the story"
I explained the story, or what I could of it. It was all such a blur, it happened so fast, I barely had time to process it. The policeman nodded. "Thank you."
"So what happens now?"
"Well Mr Crane, I am arresting you on suspicion of greivous bodily harm with intent and possession of a deadly weapon. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."
I felt cold. A mix of shock and bemusement, I had no idea how to express this feeling. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream- but there was nothing. The policement raised me to my feet, cuffed me and took me outside. My mother had just arrived back home from a day of work. Her face was purple, her eyes bloodshot. She was screaming. I could but glance at her. Her words failed me, I could not comprehend them- it was almost like static. The police surrounding the house had to restrain her from chasing after me. I knew not how distinguish the emotions she was feeling. Rage? Fear? Guilt?
They led me to the backseat of the Astra estate and closed the door. I had always wondered how it felt to lean on your handcuffs behind your back. I imagined that it couldn't be very comfortable. I was correct.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They escorted me into the station after removing my cuffs. They had been very accomodating and pleasant to me, cracking jokes and smiling. I suppose that they would have been used to this kind of thing, but they made the whole experience as comfortable for me as possible. I was lead into a room and was told to wait for a moment. I waited. I was then escorted further into the station, to a room where I was told to undress in order to change into the regular attire. Upon asking why, I was told that the clothes I had been given had no strings as to prevent me from hurting myself. The idea hadn't even crossed my mind and was such a shock to me that I had to stifle a laugh. I was then checked over by a doctor to determine the extent of my injuries, which were almost non-existent, save the slash on my left cheek and somehow a bruised toe.
I was lead then to my cell wherein I would wait until a lawyer arrived. It was a small room; a large concrete bench to the left on which sat a foam mattress, and to the right, a metal toilet. I had always imagined these grey concrete cells to be very cold, but this was surprisingly warm. A pleasant temperature. 
I asked the escort, "How long is it likely to be until they arrive?"
"As long as it takes." This one, clearly, was not going to be as pleasant as the last group were- but so it was. I waited. I slept. I waited. I beatboxed a little. I tried to force out a piss in order to occupy myself at one point.
Eventually, the box on the large metal door slid open and a voice said, "Mr Crane? Your lawyer has arrived." The large door swung open and in came two guards. I rose from the mattress and followed them. I entered another small room and found my man. Short, skinny build, slicked back black hair, tailored navy suit and a red tie. He rose from his chair and pushed up his wide framed glasses.
"Hello there Mr Crane" he said warmly, extending his hand to shake mine, "My name is Andrew Bates, I will be representing you legally. Sit down and we can discuss the matter at hand. Gentlemen?" he smiled and signalled the guards to leave. I sat in the chair opposite him. The room was dark and padded, it almost resembled a cubicle you would find in a quiet diner. "So Marty, how are you?"
I looked him up and down, "I've been better, thanks."
"Haha, I'm sure you have." Andrew smiled. It was fake. There was almost a sadness behind it, like there was something missing. Like something had been stolen from him. "So, Marty, let's begin. I want you to explain to me what happened."
"Don't you have the statement I made?"
"Well yes, but I want to hear it from you. Obviously the police do a good job, but they can only take so many notes- whereas we are in a quiet room with no distractions." I knew he was trying to test me. He wanted to know if what I said now would match what I had said in the heat of the moment, as if I had lied about it. The thought of that sickened me, the thought of all these people doubted me. What if they thought I was guilty? What if they believed him-
"Marty?"
"Oh yes, sorry." I snapped back into the room. I told him everything I could remember. Everything was a blur and I had somehow survived.
"I see." He said, poking his pen into his lip, "did you touch the knife at all?"
"No, he had it in his hand the- oh fuck. I touched the knife. I had picked it up and set it on the table so that the dog couldn't get at it."
"Hmmmm." Andrew mumbled, clearly concerned. "That's not exactly the best situation to be in."
"I've fucked it haven't I?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I said I've fucked it. I fucked it all up by touching the knife," I stood up, pacing the room, "It didn't even cross my mind I just did it without even thinking I just didnt want the dog to get near it, I don't even know why he would I dont evenm know why I would even be worried-"
"Marty!" Andrew affirmed himself. He stepped over to me and placed his arm over my shoulders "Calm down." I looked at him. There were tears welling up in my eyes. I felt so pathetic, so stupid.
"I-I'm sorry." I sniffed.
"Look Marty, to be quite honest- I am more than convinced you didn't do this. You don't exactly fit the cold blooded killer archetype. However, it's not my job to decide whether you did or did not do it, it's my job to make sure that if you did do it, that you get away with it. Do you understand? The evidence will speak for itself if you didn't, so try to relax."
I nodded.
"So Marty, here's what's gonna happen" he explained, "I am gonna go off now and make some notes. You are gonna stay here and try to relax while you wait for your second statement to be taken,"
"Second statement?"
"Yes, second statement. They want to make sure that what you say now will reflect what you said previously." So... Andrew wasn't testing me? That was reassuring. "The next time we meet will be shortly before you are due to appear in court, should you be charged, alright?"
"Yes, I understand... Thank you, Andrew."
"Yeah, it's fine. Take care of yourself." Andrew packed his case and signalled the guards to come for me and I was lead back to the cell. Home, sweet home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Severl hours had passed. It was now very late at night, roughly 11pm. I had been asleep for most of them but for the last half hour or so I had been awake. I had started to do pushups out of sheer boredom until suddenly the box slid open again. 
"Mr Crane, your contact has arrived."
My contact? I never contacted anyone-
My mother rushed in and embraced me, tears streaming down her red face. 
"I'm so sorry Marty. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I hugged her back and squeezed. She continued to tell me how sorry she was. 
"We will be taking your statement now, please follow me." We followed, my mother gripping my hand like a vice.
"Mrs Crane if you could wait out-"
"Actually, she really needs to be here for this."
"But-"
"Please. You'll understand shortly. Please." I pleaded. There was a pause.
"Alright- but as this will be recorded, Mrs Crane will be required to remain silent." I looked at her. She nodded.
What followed was the most strenuous experience of my life. How do you tell someone you love above all else, someone you respect and look up to, that they have been forcing you to live with a monster; a demon? For that is what he was; an evil being- inhuman. I told them about everything. The past eight years and how they had been hell on earth. I told them about the beatings, I told them about the abuse. I told them about him watching me bathe as a child. I told them about how he would glue my books closed so that I would fail at school. I told them how he would steal from me, how he would tell me how worthless I am. I told them about the self harm, about the forced vomiting, I told them about the sleepless nights. I told them about the attempts on my own life. I told them everything. 
It had taken four hours. My mother was sobbing. I was sobbing. I was broken. Absolutely broken. I had nothing more to give.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" my mother asked me. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to answer her question but I knew that it would crush her. 
"You were never there, mum." I muttered. "You were never home, and any time I would try and tell you, you never listened. You were always so stressed." Her eyes were ruby red. She had been crying for hours. "How could I put more on you, you were always working, and when you weren't working you were sleeping, and when you weren't sleeping, you were with him" I hated myself for saying it. I felt sick. "...But one time I did tell you," I continued, reluctantly, "Remember the old flip phone I used to have? I recorded the audio of him beating me."
"I don't remem-"
"YOU TOLD ME TO DELETE IT MUM. YOU TOLD ME TO DELETE IT BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO LISTEN TO WHATEVER I HAD TO SHOW YOU" I screamed. I turned to her. She looked as if her very soul had been ripped from her body- completely hollow, aghast.
"I'm sorry. I never... I never..."
"I tried mum. I tried to tell you, and you refused it. I can understand if you didn't understand what you were listening to, or what I was trying to show you." I clenched my fists, "So I kept it to myself. I never spoke a word. You worked two jobs to support us all, and I wasn't going to give you more to deal with."


© Copyright 2018 Matt Clark. All rights reserved.

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