Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Home is in His Eyes

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 155

 

Home Is In His Eyes

Prologue

When Trooper started barking, I knew we had found something. That bitch isn't far, now, I thought, running through a hall. Typical-- one of her least favorite place in the world to hide: her stupid, over-priced, big high school. 

"James!" I called. My friend came running, but not fast enough. "Hurry your fat ass up, we've got a bitch to catch!" 

He paused in front of me, and heaving breaths came through his nose and mouth. "I'm going as fast as I can, I just had to check all the bathrooms like you asked," he gasped. 

"Don't slow, or I'll drive off with her and leave your ass here," I said, slapping his back. He gasped one more time before standing upright and following me across the football field. 

"What are we going to do with her once she's back home?" James asked. I knew he wanted to fuck her again. "Have some fun…let her be the entertainment once I take care of her. She's been a disobedient little brat lately--she needs a good slap to be under my thumb, and once I'm done teaching her a lesson, then you can have her as long as you want, no charge."

He smiled wickedly, and I grinned. Thoughts of me bashing her head like she did to me came through my head, and I felt my little friend twitch. As much as I wanted to fuck her, she was a disobedient little girl. She needed to be taught better. More beatings is what she needed. More slaps. More room time. More…of me. More fucks. Maybe she could learn the meaning of blow-job now. I smiled evilly, and we walked through one of the last halls, and only three more doors faced us. After searching the whole fucking school at 3 am in the morning with a German Shepherd, and a dumb-ass physician, we might just get somewhere.

But when I saw a light flick on and off once, I knew she was here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

 

I felt the warm water washing over my pale burning skin. A pounding in my head made me groan in severe pain, and I forced my arm to lift and touch the tender, bloody, split skin that was on the side of my head. I groaned again whenever I felt how swollen it was. 

Damn it, I thought, and I attempted to sit up. I grabbed the handles that controlled the water, and pulled myself up. The towel that was wrapped around my fragile, petite body was soaked and stuck to me like my wet hair to my neck.

I was just attacked once more by my sadistic, pedophile step-father. He's been abusing me since I was nine--not long after my mom died. Carly. The most beautiful, intelligent, kind, thoughtful, generous, most wonderful mother anyone could ask for.  She  died in a car accident…a dumb-ass drunk driver. He ran a red-light going 70 miles-per-hour and hit my mom's side of the car. Sadly, I'm not regretting to admit, it didn't kill my stepdad. If only the collision had been on his side of the car…

Another groan of pain escaped my lips as I felt the pounding in my head become stronger. I held my hand on my wound and stepped gently out of the shower. I brushed my hand across the mirror, and tears escaped my eyes. I hate this, I thought, looking at myself. I hate this.

My bottom lip was puffy, swollen, bleeding, and becoming a lavender color in one place. There was a small cut on my cheek. Along with that, there was a large bruise forming on my cheek bone, the place where he punched me to knock me unconscious. Thank God my eyes were okay…last time, I had a black eye for four days. Then, I looked at my shoulders. They, too, had obtained a few scratches and bruises. I looked down the rest of my body…only my area, my head, and my face was hurt badly. My arms and wrists, however, were a different story…

Small white lines lined my arms, and the fresh, new cuts on my arms were bleeding, and burning. 

Suddenly, I heard voices. Deep, rough, serious voices. When I heard the second man talking, my heart dropped into my stomach and I felt the blood drain from my face. 

It was James. And not just him, but my stepfather too. Caslon Lawrence. 

Caslon had met James at a pharmacy a while after my mom died--about a year ago--and they had become friends…if Satan had followers, then James was a fallen angel. 

I closed my eyes and forced myself--physically and mentally--to stop crying, and prepare myself for whatever hurt and violence was to come to me next. I wouldn't give these demons the pleasure they wanted. I have been through more than I can talk of. Every time I try to keep the cruel, evil picture out of my mind…every time I'm called a name, or pushed into a locker at school, it comes back, and I begin to cry, remembering how much hurt, how much damage had been done. This entertains the abusers at school…and at home. 

A knock on my door left me frozen solid, rigid as a board. I heard murmured voices, and the door handle twisted. James peeked his head though the door. I had a vision of me shutting it, squishing him, hurting him, breaking his neck….

"Why, hello, little Emily. Let's take a look at you."

I felt myself tense, preparing to defend myself if necessary. But as usual, I felt his rough hands wrap around my shoulders, and pull me backwards. My hands had become red from gripping onto the sink too hard. As he led me out, my stepfather threw me an evil glint in his eyes, and that demonic smile. All that was missing was the horns and a pitchfork, and he could easily be called Satan. Blood trickled from my forehead to my eyebrows, and I wiped it away. I felt James's hands tighten and he drove me toward my room…An empty room with only a desk, chair, backpack, a small closet in the wall to hang my clothes, a bed, and bathroom with a bathtub that didn't work. A small medicine cabinet that I kept my remedies in: my last few cotton swobs, iodine, rubbing alcohol, a few pieces of torn cloth, Neosporn-ointment, and band-aids, was my small hero. I was able to get a hold of these by sneaking into the nurse's office at school and taking a few things without the woman noticing things were missing. Also, a few vitamins, and sanitary wipes. I have to keep them all inside my art n' paint's  case, and covered the top of it all with some folded papers that way if Caslon looked inside, he hopeful wouldn't ramble through it and just ignore it. 

I felt his arms release me, and he spoke a few hushed words to Caslon at the door. He closed the door, and locked it, like he always does. I knew that once he got me  wrapped up, or gauzed up or whatever, he would get to what he was really here for. I shuddered, remembering what happened last time…

I heard James reach into the deep pockets of his trench coat pocket, and take out a few things, like a needle, medical thread, gauze, numbing jelly, and iodine. Simple things, meant to put me back together before school on Monday. Horribly for me, today was Friday. 

James began his…evaluation. I sat on the bed, and waited. He cleaned my wounds first, then applied the numbing jelly. The sensation was tickling. I felt the uneasy tug and pull of the thread as it went through my skin, over and over again. Then, dried my hair with the little towel he found in my bathroom that was usually a spare incase I was out of cloth. But I would worry about that later. I knew that my time for suffering again was nearing--I felt his arms rubbing up and down my back as he worked, and each time his hand rubbed against my towel, it would lower, inch my inch, until most of my back was exposed. My whole body was cold, now. 

I gasped whenever he grabbed my jaw, and forced me to look at him. "Now, why don't you give thanks to old James right here, huh? Give me a nice little present for being so kind to you…"

Shit, I thought. Not again.

"Let's have a look under your towel, now, check the rest of you that way you heal properly…"

"In your dreams, bitch." The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. Unexpectedly, my cheek was stinging from the blow of his hand. I fell to my side, and onto the ground, and then he was on top of me. There was nothing I could do anymore--I could never in my life dream to stop a 180 pound full grown man--before he slapped me once more, and tears poured down my cheeks again. I didn't let one sound escape my lips. Not this time.

He did as he pleased, and I couldn't stop him. My small hands were under his, and my legs were trapped beneath his thighs. 

He raped me again. Again, nothing but agony…again, nothing but burning, tearing, horrifying, petrifying, agony.

When he felt pleased, he stood up, and pulled his pants up. I laid there, letting the tears come, feeling the blood pounding through my body like some mad bass beat. My heart pounded as my breathing became harder and harder. My chest felt like it was going to tear and my lungs seemed to burst with every breath I took, every bit of air I inhaled and exhaled. I forced my eyes open, and I saw him standing above me. I was not covered, but nude, and cold. Inside and out.

"Thank you for the gift Emily. Be sure to give it with more enthusiasm next time. I hope my next visit will be filled with just as much…pleasure…as this one."

I hate you, I thought. Burn in hell for all I care.

He walked out of the door, leaving me in the room that was slowly becoming darker. I attempted to stand, but I fell down. I was used to this kind of torture, but that didn't mean I could handle it physically. I ignored the white hot burning in my area as I tried to stand, using my bed as a support. Groans of pain escaped my lips with each lift I tried. Finally, after a few tries more, I made it up. I grabbed a pair of clothes out of my closet, not really seeing what I picked out. I grabbed my pillow and my feeble, thin blanket, and walked into my bathroom, and locked the door. I dressed painfully, trying to ignore the constant pain in my body. This pain had been in me for the last 7 years, now. I couldn't stand it, but I could stop it from showing on my face. I wasn't going to let them see it show with my stupid, incompatible emotions.  

I laid the blanket in two ways on the bottom of the tub, and I placed my pillow on the opposite side of the faucet. I laid inside, laying like a hot-dog, my mom would say, as I covered myself with the  half of the blanket. Listening to the grasshoppers chirp, the evening rain soak into the ground, splatter against the windows, and hit the roof through my bathroom window. 

My heart was at a normal pace, but the pain was still there. 

When can I die? I wondered to the sky, my mind straying to the small paring knife in the kitchen…it was the perfect thing to use to cut, to slit them, my wrists, and let the blood bleed out of me until I was no longer alive. 

I laid still, my hands folded across my stomach as if I was in a coffin, my body already cleaned, glossed over and ready for being lowered into the ground. I wondered what would happen if I died tonight. They would find me in the morning, easy enough. Caslon would break down the door, see my dead body, and try to explain the constant abusive markings all across my body to the police after my autopsy. Then, the cops would eventually find out, send Caslon to prison (or hopefully, executed, for all the years of abuse having happened to me), and take care of my funeral arrangements. I hoped they would dress me in fine linen, sprinkle my body with fragrances, like lilac, and lay roses and lilies about my corpse. No one would be there to see me lowered into the ground….Except my mom and my dad, I thought, tears seeping through my eyes. Spiritually, at least.

I let the exhaustion of today take over my brain, and shut me down. I felt my eyes close and darkness protrude into my senses, then, everything was dark.

 

 

 


Submitted: April 04, 2012

© Copyright 2022 Wyld Astradine. All rights reserved.

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