just ignore

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Kenyas a normal teenager so everybody thinks bt behind her bright smile and beautiful eyes lies a life of pain and great distress and sadness.why? because of the people that are closest to her...

A MUST READ

Submitted: June 22, 2008

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Submitted: June 22, 2008

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A A A


Just Ignore
In here is so lonely, these damn machines won’t stop beeping.
My blood pressure’s high and I’m bed ridden. My lower back pains viciously and my ankles are heavily swollen. I would have been taking my exams today, ‘the 12th of May is doom day’: that’s what we said. Instead, I am in here, staring at these beige curtains enclosing me. I never would have thought I would be here. At home, life was monstrous.
I am not even going to call it a home. My father walked out when I was just 11months old. My mother despised me as I was an unwanted pregnancy, that fact alone sends shivers up my curved spine. All my life she abused me, placed my small bare hands upon hot stoves, battered me badly with base ball bats, I was constantly deprived of food, love, and affection.
* * *
I don’t understand why that women got involved with him anyway. Damien, that was his name. (Tears started to flood Kenya’s eyes). Him, It was him. He put me here. He made me feel this way. He stole my innocence…but not alone. She helped him. I was in my room, crouching in the corner quietly confiding in Jaida about the days before abuse. Jaida has stuck by me through thick and thin unlike any other person ever had. It was a Friday night in August, I know this because Damien was drunk from watching the world cup.
The door swung open with vengeance like a large army of policemen breaking an entering.
“Call you back” I said panicking as I quickly hung up the phone.
Two large superior figures stood over head, their evil eyes burned me like the scorching sun above: that never seemed to shine on me. Pain instantly ran over me, I took a blow to my head, it struck ferociously, and it was Damien. Apparently I blacked out for a few minutes. I don’t remember much between then but when I came around I found myself pinned down by my mother, like the oppressive clutches of a scavenger on his first feast. Her hand was crushing my arm. His smells, the alcohol, the cigarettes, the ‘all night at the bar’ smell pierced into my brain quickly. That was the smell that inspired the fear. The room was dark; Damien seemed to be hovering over me like a wasp waiting to sting its prey. The panic rose inside of me.
“Do it, do it now”. My mother ordered Damien persistently.
“Do what? Please, please don’t”. I pleaded.
They both sniggered maliciously like two Siamese cats.
He had struck me once; shock ran through my body franticly. I could feel blood sliding down the slope of my cheek. He had punched me in cold blood again, this one didn’t hurt as much as my body was still paralyzed from the first blow. He continuously layed in to me like I was his very own punch bag. Bold and cruel, Damien stunned me with the fury and violence of his assault. He was usually villainous but not to this degree. All the while my ‘so called’ mother just stood there, her eyes chanting him to go on…to go further. I jerked ,trembled and trashed weakly, but it was too weak and I was too frightened to put up any real defense. Every time I would attempt to call out, he would hit me.
Damien continued to reveal two of his old dusty ties, the South African cobras slid out of his pocket. Handing them to my mother, she cold heartedly restrained my red wrists to the bed posts, the posts watched in horror an anticipation. Straight out, straight out the door she left not saying a word. My mother always ignored the abuse I was clearly receiving from Damien, she ignored me around the house and she even ignored the fact that I was her daughter. My heart raced competitively. Beads of sweat delivered from my pores. Again and again, he used his ring as a weapon, used it to inflict maximum pain as he forced himself on top of me. Black, pitch black that’s all I could see. I could hear sounds, sounds I have never heard before.
In regaining consciousness, I re-entered the nightmare.
I found myself bleeding and bruised, partially unclothed, in agonizing pain. Dazed and disoriented, I had no idea if the danger had passed. I looked down on to my chestnut coloured skin, it wasn’t me. Blood ran from every opening of my traumatized temple. My head was pounding intemperately like large African drums. I just needed to take a shower. It had to be hot, scalding hot. His filth, his touch, it had to go. I couldn’t raise my arm above my head. It was hard to undress. I saw the blood ... I started vomiting. Then I collapsed in the shower. I sat there, curled up in the shower, scrubbing until my skin was raw, until I could scrub no more and my skin had become wrinkled like a dried prune. I resembled an 87yr old woman; I wish I was that women as I know my life would soon be over. I rubbed my skin with the ragged towel vigorously, my skin swollen with the impact. Shutting my eyes tight like two bolts and screws, I wished all of this was a horrific dream but it wasn’t. I woke up that morning with black eyes, a busted lip and a severely bruised body: my ribs clicked as I walked, like the clock on the wall counting down my days I had to live in misery.
Suddenly I dived into the floor unwillingly.
“Take that you ugly little b***h”. My mother snapped after booting me harshly in my back like a wild horse. I struggled to get back to my feet.My mother then doubled her manly fists and punched me in the stomach and on my upper right thigh and twisted my left nippleas though she wanted to detach it.
“Get out my sight”. She shouted moving closer and closer to me. I made a dash for it and locked myself into the blue tiled bathroom. The hot water beat down on my bruised skin like how my mothers punches had just beat down on me. It a hurt a little but it soon began to soothe my injuries, I once again tried to remove his touch, it just wouldn’t leave me the memory just would not disappear. The ceramic door handle slowly turned to the right and opened, I could have sworn I locked it. It was Damien; he just stood there and lingered over my exposed body.
“Get out you pervert!!!” I yelled at him in disgust while covering my dignity: the little I had left.
Damien gropped me, it felt like my world had once again ended and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. He started to talk, I just stared at him with anger bleeding through my pupils. I looked right through him.
“You better not tell your mummy,’ he warned, “or you get a beating and everyone knows you a damn liar, not that she’d care anyway. Yesterday was her all her idea even though I’ve been wanting that for months, she just made it come true.”
Salty water trickled down my face, the distress stabbed me deeply. God strike me down!!! Please, please, what have I done to deserve this? I thought to myself. He went out of the door and I heard his footsteps travel down the stairs. When it was safe, I sneaked out of the shower and quickly got dressed and left for school, avoiding giving my mother any reason to hit me.
Teachers at school always enquired about the injuries that I arrived with, but I just said I got robbed over the weekend or I had fallen down the staircase, they knew I was lying but quickly stopped asking questions after my mother had warned them. She even told Ms Golby that she would have killed me by now if it wasn’t for that seventeen pound fifty a month child benefit she receives. School was a getaway from the torture. I ran up to Jaida and held her tight within my arms, like a bear holding their newly born cub. I felt safe when with her, she was my rock. I told her everything that had happened, tears gushed from my organs of sight.
* * *
A middle aged nurse strolled in with clip-board in her hands, she began doing her routine checks.
“How are you this morning Ms. Wilson?”. The nurse inquired politely.
“I’m fine, just a bit weak. I can’t wait to get out of this bed though”. I answered.
“Yes I know it can be hard, only a couple weeks to go then you’ll both be out of here”
“Yeah I know, o finally that machines calmed down”.
A strong medicinal smell perforated my nose unexpectedly; all of a sudden the atmosphere seemed different. The expression on the nurse’s face told me something was terribly wrong.
The nurse bellowed into the corridor. Two senior pediatricians rushed in within seconds, everyone seemed to be buzzing around me incredibly fast, my head started to spin like a Frisbee cutting through the air.
“The baby’s heart rate has dropped dangerously low, we need to induce her now otherwise an emergency caesarian will have to take place”. Dr. Mclain ran off her tongue.
O my gosh, what the hell is happening. Am a dying? Please please someone wake me from this horrific nightmare.
“No no no, you’re not dying. Calm down for me yeah, we don’t want to distress the baby any further. Your baby’s heart rate is increasingly dropping, the normal heart rate is 144-148 and your baby is currently at 87.We need to induce you know and deliver your baby as soon as possible. Is there a family member I can call to be here for you?” Dr. Mclain explained.
“NO, I don’t have a family. Please call Jaida Jackson. Is everything going to be ok doc?”
“Ok, we’ll do that for you”. The doctor replied, totally ignoring my question.

My heart thumped so hard I couldn’t hear my own thoughts neither anyone around me. Before I knew it Jaida and her mother was at my bed side dabbing my forehead with a wet flannel. Her mother was a thick set woman, with Nubian silky skin. Her hair was in a short hair style with a tint of deep brown. It felt so good seeing dark beautiful women around me.

After they induced me the contractions began to come frequent and intense.

I cried out in excruciating pain, it was as if down below was in flames, it was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Within just 1hr of suffering pain and intense pushing a newly born baby boy lay beside me in the cot, he had short soft silky wavy black hair, his eyes were little slits with long lashes shooting out from them. I wonder what that woman would have to say.
* * *
Jaida walked me home that afternoon, it felt so good having someone to turn to, not everyone’s so lucky. I thank God for her every day. A couple weeks later nothing had changed much, the same old abuse was happening, I was under so much stress. Teachers in my ears about exams coming up in a few months and my Mother and Damien constantly beating me, throwing piping hot water on to my bare flesh. Most of my bruises could be hidden. My mother was smart about were she hurt me. The last thing she wanted was a nosey social worker sniffing around here.
“Mum, I think I got a belly bug”. I told her weakly holding my upset stomach as she sat at the table eating her four course meal with Damien. I knew there was none for me so I didn’t bother asking.
“Do you think I f*****g give a s**t”. My mother hollered in to my face.
“Ha ha ha , yeah get the hell out of here can’t you see that were having dinner you stupid ugly big piece of s**t”. Damien shot at me following a giant gulp of his fourth beer for the night. The rage boiled inside of me, but there was nothing I could do. Coldness was being shot at me from every angle, the impact of it would be life lasting.
Vomit pelted out of my mouth like a shot gun spitting bullets right on to her brand new beige suede pumps.
The vulgar smell only made me vomit more. I was instantly winded by my mother’s large size 9 pumps in my abdomen. When I managed to get to my feet she ordered me to clear the table and wash the plates. I protested, after all I hadn’t eaten, but she only punched me in the back and told me to shut up. The plates were all washed and dried and put away, afterwards I went straight up to my room and cradled myself.
“Your fat ass is too easy on that girl. You don’t know how to discipline her you need flipping discipline, you are so damn stupid, you’re a stupid black cow that is not good for nothing except for milking” Damien bellowed at my mother taking a gulp of his brandy.
“What??? (kiss her teeth) not now D am not even in the flipping mood right now to put up with your drunk crap again”. Mother snapped back at him while trying to clean her shoes.
Damien stood up holding the empty brandy bottle high in his right hand.
“What are you going to, bottle me now are ya? Huh Damien? Huh? In my own house, with my own bottle. I paid for that shirt you got on you back. Before I met you you had nothing! Nothing Damien nothing!” My mother exclaimed.
One swift swing of the bottle knocked my mother to the ground, beads of blood rose up from were the bottle had parted skin in a jagged line. The red syrup skied down the side of her temple and entered the carpet fibres.
“KENYA…COME NOW…QUICK!!!” she roared like a lion that had just been shot down by medics. I rushed down the floor as fast as I could but it didn’t seem as if I was moving anywhere after all I was still severely bruised and battered. I reached the door way of the sitting room and saw what I had never seen before only heard: For once my mother was the one begging me for help.
Damien let out a violent cry and lunged again at mother, continuously ripping in to her broken skin. The living room had been turned upside down, white porcelain plate pieces lay all around my mother’s body.
“STOP, Damien please stop. Kenya HELP ME PLEASE!!!” my mother leaned towards me grasping nothing but air. My mother herself resembled a new born baby trying to protect herself in the foetus position. She began crying hysterically. Damien didn’t let up.
Should I help her? No, why should I she helped him rape me! But she is my mother. Forget that she abused me for all these years. But look at her there crying, helplessly begging me to rescue her. I should shouldn’t I??? She put this burn on my arm, she put this scar on my cheek. Well she didn’t kill me. She ignored me when I was bleeding from every opening, she ignored mw when I used to beg for a grain of rice, she ignored my crying, she ignored my pain, she ignored my suffering, she ignored the fact that I was her daughter.
Thoughts were buzzing inside of my brain going bezerk. I felt drenched in my emotions.
Blood began to splatter across the room. Damien’s Timberland boots moulded their self into my mother’s abdomen and skull. Straight up, straight up the stairs I went, not saying a word. I lay down, turned off the light, covered my head and went to sleep. I ignored the crashes off the plates, I ignored the screams, I ignored the roars, I ignored the abuse she was obviously receiving. I had now learned to ignore the fact she was my mother, this fact alone allowed me to a have a restful sleep that night.
That night was the last time I ever heard her scream at me…scream at all.
That morning I woke up feeling free. I opened my eyes to be in a bed I had never been in, it was king-size with cotton white sheets. Mrs. White my neighbour greeted me and told me everything. She was a married middle aged women with seven children and a massive home. Everything seemed so happy here.
“Morning baby doll, I know you are wondering why your around her but I have got some important news to tell you, I know your young and everything but I just need you to listen ok.” Mrs.White explained while sitting down beside me and hugging me.
“Damien brutally murdered your mother in the early hours of this morning, he apparently called the police himself after beating her to death and then inhumanly severed her head. I’m only telling you these details because I know you’re mature enough and strong enough to handle the truth. Are you ok baby? ...Don’t fear he’s been taken away, far away and he will never ever hurt you again. Do you hear me? Never.” She said holding me tighter and tighter.
My face was emotionless; it felt like someone had just washed away all my fears. I know that may sound wrong, but I am free. Free from heartache.
A few weeks later I moved in with Jaida’s family in to their six bedroom house, life was good, for once it seemed like God was on my side. Weights had been lifted off of my shoulders although I still had that stomach bug, throwing up was constant, every smell made me sick. I stopped getting my periods but Jaidas mother reassured me it was just because of stress. My breasts seem to always be tender like Damien still had a way of hurting me. Weeks on end still the same symptoms finally revealed I was expecting. Life was ruined; they have come back to haunt me I would say to myself. My heart sank deeply and my shutters wept uncontrollably. I would miss my exams, my childhood.
Jaida and her mother assured me that they’d help me through this and when the baby did come her mother would help with the up bringing. I detested the fact that I would have a connection with that creature but I vowed not to treat my own child how my mother had treated me.
* * *
A small high pitch scream shrieked.
I rolled over and saw a little bundle in the cot beside me, wires and machines were everywhere. I pulled back the cotton blanket that the nurse had layed over me and attended to the baby’s cry. It just lay there yelling at the top of its little premature lungs. For the first time he opened his small chinky brown eyes. Then I saw it. Damien, it was him, a spit ten image of him lay in a baby form beside me. The sight grasped my breathed, I was speechless I stood there frozen. The baby’s yells got louder and louder. Rage boiled inside of me. I started to tremble.
“Stop it…stop it now” I whispered angrily. “It’s you, you’ve ruined my life, you should have never of been born. You were a cancer inside of me and finally you are out. Stop f*****g crying now!” My voice rose. Cold blood rushed through my veins. The ward was quiet everyone asleep, the nurses far away. The tick of the clock rattled my brain as if a rattle snake had slid inside of me. My memory transported me back to the sight of those ties not so long ago. My left hand slowly raised the pillow over the noise and thrusted slowly downwards, flashbacks of all the abuse and pain Damien had inflicted on me over the short time I knew him flickered like a slideshow in my mind. I did what I have been taught to do. IGNORE. Ignore the abuse and torment I was imposing on this innocent infant. . Ignore his high pitched cries. Ignore his suffocating pain. Ignore his suffering until he suffered no more. The noise dissolved into the large fluffy white pillow that had turned black with death. A smile crawled onto my face perniciously: peace at last.
Karinah Hines


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