Embracing Life (9 page)

The idea of spending time with them lightens my heart.

“Ok, but we have to talk. I want to talk to you about Josh and my father.” As I wait for her answer, I look into my rear view mirror and notice a flash of blue and red dancing along the rain drops flowing down the back window. Crap! I didn’t notice the cop car pulling up behind me. That’s all I need. As if things were not strained enough between my father and me, a damn ticket is all I need.

“Damn it, Katie!” I yell, but the noise from the bar fills the phone line.

“Yes, Mel, sorry. The guys came over. What’s up? Are you coming or not? We can talk about Josh when you get here. I know what he said.”

As I look back to gauge where the cop is, I notice that his red and blues are no longer flashing. I take a deep breath and feel a little more relaxed. He must be stopping to check that I am OK. Straightening myself in my seat, I wait for the rap on the window.

“Katie, I have been pulled over,” I snap.

“You what? Damn it, Mel. You know you’re not supposed to drive and talk.”

“I wasn’t. I pulled over, Katie.” As I answer her, the cop makes his way to my door, signaling for me to roll down my window. “Yes, Officer?” 

“Mel?” I hear Katie question over the phone.

The rain is beating down fast now. The officer is wearing a cap, and his jacket is pulled up high over his jaw I can’t see his face. I blink as rain drops hit my face, obscuring any sight I may have.

“License and registration, please,” he orders.

“Mel??? Damn it, girl! What’s going on?” Melanie yells through the receiver as I fumble through my glove compartment to get the items I need. Katie is screaming in the phone now. I have to call her back, so I can search the small compartment.

“Sir, may I tell my friend I will call her back?”

“No, Miss Clark, she will have to wait,” he says, checking my I.D. and abruptly turning away from me.

“MELANIE!” Katie screams.

She is getting impatient now, but I can’t answer. She is freaking out. I can hear it in her voice. Her voice is changing, and it will not be long before she comes looking for me. I have to get this over and done with before she really does send out a search party.

I watch the officer return to his vehicle, but once he passes the back end of my car, I lose sight of him. The rain is just too heavy, and the sideways jets pour into my car. I try to wind up my window, but the handle is too slippery. I am getting soaked. Wiping my wet hand over my increasingly drenched jeans, I grab for my phone before the officer comes back.

Reaching my phone, I notice that the call ended. Checking my rear view and side mirrors, I begin to redial. Just as I hit the button, another call comes through. I don’t recognize the number, so I hesitate answering. “What the hell?” I say to myself and answer the mysterious call.

Before I can speak, I feel my head being slammed forward, striking the steering wheel with such force that I am blinded from the searing pain. I can’t see anything from the extreme thumping ripping through my skull. I can hear mumbles but nothing more. As I shake my head to try and clear the fog, words become clearer.

“I said she could wait. When will you ever learn Melanie?”

That voice I recognize that voice. I know it. My head is full of clouds. I can feel the warmth of something running down my face, and as I drag in a breath across my teeth, I get a sudden metallic taste in mouth. I am bleeding. The words sink into me as the realization hits me. I know that voice.  I am frozen. That voice turns my blood cold. It can’t be him. I must have hit my head harder than I first thought. It can’t be him. I am too scared to speak. It can’t be him. I am too stiff to move. It can’t be him. With every thought that passes through my head that simple phrase follows: It can’t be him. It’s not possible. I feel warmth spread along my hand as he grazes his fingers across my frozen skin. The warming sensation is short lived as his other hand finds its way to my knee.

“Melanie, my love, you should know by now that you must listen to the commands I give you. You know you will be much happier if you do,” he says, his voice low but tense.

It’s him. No one has ever used those words but him.

“St-t-eve-
nn?” my voice shakes.

The sound of his voice fills the car. The feel of his rough callused hands drags over my skin. The stench radiating from his body turns my stomach. The beating rain on my car unnerves me, and the realization that I am trapped in a confined space with him makes my whole body hypersensitive. I am beyond scared. I am terrified.

“Oh, my sweet girl, you remember. I never thought I would see you again.” I shudder from the words that flow so easily from his mouth. “I am here now, my love. We can run away together and have the life we talked about all those years ago, and we won’t have your mother in our way.”

I don’t need to look at him to know he is reaching for me. I am shaking uncontrollably. If there was ever a time for that fight or flight sensation to kick in, now would be it. But I can’t. I am cemented to my seat. My legs feel like thousand pound weights.

I
left my past behind me, but it just violently slammed into my future, and I am all alone. He was put away. How can this be possible? How is he here?

The man currently sharing the same air as me took my childhood from me. He almost took my mother’s life. For only one of those crimes was he
imprisoned. Nevertheless, he was put away, locked up like the monster he is. I took all the precautions I could, moving to San Diego, changing my last name.  Stealing a glance at my past, I see the heat from his eyes has not died. If anything, the flame has grown more furious. I can’t go back there. I will not survive it a second time. Pulling away my wandering eyes, I look straight ahead, watching the rain as it beats down on the windshield of the car. The air is muggy, and my head continues to thump after the blow. His hand has not left my knee, and his overly callused fingers rub continuous circles into my thigh.

Squeezing my eyes tight, I will myself to block his toxic words and mentally erase his touch. My cell phone continues to ring, and I go into panic mode trying to remember where I tossed my purse. I silently pray that it is Katie, and she will come looking for me.

Instantly, the flashbacks of my past that have plagued my dreams for so long are reality. The harshness of my existence is sitting here beside me, caressing my legs and leaning my head against his shoulder. His scent hasn’t changed. It made my stomach churn then, and it is doing the same now. I smell whiskey, smoke, and the strong odor of garlic on his breath.  I cannot stomach his smell. With each breath I take, the more and more I realize that I have no way out. It is now, as it was then. My body begins to drift, and my mind begins to seek the cold, dark unconscious where it feels the safest. I know I need to keep fighting. I need to stay awake because if the blackness consumes me, I know I will be his forever…

I am as curled up in my blankets as much as I possibly can. The room is so cold that I can see the breath in front of me. Mother forgot to pay the power bill again. She doesn’t take care of me or the house, and I don’t know why I even bother to fight with her about these things when she can’t even take care of herself.

Mom and dad divorced five years ago today, and she has gone all out this year. I have seen three men already, and I am pretty sure I heard an additional two come in when I headed upstairs. My room is my sanctuary and safe haven from the madness that goes on below. I don’t know what happened between my mother and father, but I can tell, from my mother’s deteriorating behavior, that this year has really taken a toll on her. The stench of alcohol and cigarettes looms around my house, and it is drifting into my room, making me want to throw up. I tuck myself under the blankets, trying my hardest to fall asleep, but as with most nights, sleep evades me.

I am fed, clothed, and taken to and from school, but that is as far as my mother’s love goes. Obviously, the love and compassion that I crave from my mother has long passed in her eyes. Rarely has my mother actually taken me to school. Normally, one of her male friends, who slept over the night before, takes me on his way out. Lying on my bed, I close my eyes and think of happier days, but I honestly cannot think of any. My heart died the day my dad left. I wanted nothing more than to stay with him. He wasn’t at home a lot, but I knew, deep down, he loved me. I wanted, more than anything, to be a daddy’s girl.  I can still picture the day he left as clear as the breath I see before me now. He drove us to this little house, unpacked the car, and left. No goodbyes, no hugs, no tears, no nothing. He just left. My mother wept for days. She got drunk occasionally, and I tried to be there for her, but she wanted nothing to do with me after the initial shock of him being gone passed. I was thrown to the side like a used rag. My heart broke that day. I knew I would never get my mother back. She was too far gone.

I had friends. I needed friends. Rebecca is the closest thing I have to a family these days. I want to believe that she doesn’t know what happens in my home because, one, I don’t want her sympathy. I want a friend, and, two, because I could not bear for her to be hurt by the toxicity of my life. My mother’s antics are well-known around town. I am sure, no, I am positive that is why Rebecca’s parents allow me to stay as much as they do. There were days were I could not stand being at home. So, I spent many hours listening to music, reading books, and generally trying to live the life that a girl of my young age should. I wish I was there now. Her room is warm, with a homey feel. Her walls are plastered with the faces of our favorite actors. Her bed is piled high with stuffed toys, and we spend hours lying underneath the giant heap, giggling and being carefree. Her mother, Rosie, made me the softest and warmest quilt you could imagine. It’s a sky blue material with purple hearts of all sizes encased in even bigger red hearts sewn all over it. I love it.

I shiver to the core as the room temperature continues to drop. I have to find something else to put on. I hesitate moving from my bed because the floor boards squeak louder
than a mouse on steroids, but needing the warmth and comfort of another layer of clothing, I risk the chance of being heard.

I unwrap myself from the mass of blankets that I have cuddled myself in and slowly make my way across the room, trying to memorize the squeaky floor boards. I tiptoe quietly across the ice-cold wooden floor to my dresser to retrieve another layer of clothing. Shuffling through the limited amount of items in my drawers, I find one of my father’s old sweaters. I bring it to my face, savoring the musky scent. It’s fading now, but I can still smell him. Closing my eyes, I envision him, his smile, and the way he held me. Then, the deceit and heartbreak that came after he left. I miss him. Sliding the sweater over my head, I begin to walk back to the bed. Not taking note of where I walk, I feel the cold board flex under my foot.

Squeak!!

Damn it! I pause right before the foot of my bed, waiting for the voices to boom through the walls. Frozen, I listen, but not a word is spoken. Taking a breath, I make my way to my bed, straightening the mass of bundled fabric which lies where I once was. With the blankets straight, I cautiously climb in, tucking my feet in first. As I bend to bring the mass over my knees, a shadow passes under my bedroom door. Once again, I freeze. Everything about this house makes me jumpy. My mother has never raised a hand in hatred towards me, but with her dwindling self-control, I know it is only a matter of time. With each second I am without the warmth of my blankets, my body shivers harder and harder. My jaw begins to involuntarily chatter, my hands slowly become ice bricks.

I must have being seeing things. Nothing passed in front of my door. Hauling the blankets up in frustration, I misjudge where I am seated and slam my shoulders into the headboard. I wince, not from the low pain now radiating through my cold shoulders, but from the sheer noise that echoed through my room.

Sliding my cold body down the bed, I wrap my feet like a figure eight, in and out, of the warmest blankets. I hear what I think is thunder. As I jump, startled by the noise, my eyes notice a stream of light slowly engulfing my room. A dark figure stands in the doorway with hands braced at its side. As my eyes become accustomed to the bright light, I realize that it is not my mother. Instantly, I feel the tiniest of hairs raise on the back of my neck. The figure doesn’t move. I look, stare, and try to guess who it could be, but I don’t know. For a split second, and only a split second, I fear I may be seeing things. I blink over and over, but the image is still there.

“Hello?” I whisper.

Nothing. I am left with nothing. No sounds. If it wasn’t for the clear, distinct, and horsey breaths, I would swear it was a ghost. I want to question this form looming in my doorway, but I am too frightened. I breathe deep, trying to engage some courage. Then, I smell it. Garlic, and the putrid smell of whiskey mixed with cigarette smoke. As I sit upright in my bed with the intention to scream for my mother, he moves, only placing one foot within the door, but nonetheless, it is movement. Quite frankly, it is just enough scare the crap out of me. Every vessel and molecule in my body is telling me to run, but I ignore them. An overwhelming shudder shakes my body as I watch the form move slowly in to my room. Something is not right, and my body knows it, but I can’t respond
or react. I just don’t know how. I am motionless, petrified as I watch him move closer and closer.

The closer he gets, the clearer he becomes. I look up. His face is still shadowed, but I can make out his glaring green eyes and his hair, short, dark and messy. He has to be at least six feet tall, and his shoulders are broad and tight. He raises his hands to remove his jacket, and I am taken aback by the sheer size of them. They are HUGE.

Why is he removing his jacket? With a flash and enormous strength, I am thrown onto my stomach. I am face down in the mass of blankets, and there is something heavy resting in the middle of my back. I try to scream, but the jolt from hitting the bed has winded me.

I try to wiggle from him, but he is too big and too strong. I cannot get free. I begin to cry, but my cries are drowned by the sound of his sickening laughter. Why is he laughing? Is this a game?

I feel his breath on the back of my neck, blowing away the hair that has fallen so he can get a better look at me. As my hair falls, it tickles my shoulder, and the sudden snap of cold air on the back of my neck makes me gasp as my body shivers and convulses. He is a big man, but he is not keeping the cold away. I feel him lazily drag a finger in a circular motion on the exposed skin of my neck. Again, I try to wiggle away from him, but my arms are locked below his knees. I try to kick my legs up to strike somewhere at the back of his body, but I just don’t have the strength nor the length to make an impact. He begins to laugh again, but this time, it’s not a humorous laugh. This time, it is one with a wisp of intent.

The finger that once caressed my neck has made its way across my shoulder blades, over my uncovered cheek, and is now making its way down the back of my night shirt. His body shifts, his warm breath now at the side of my face. Squeezing my eyes closed, I don’t want to see him. Willing him to leave. Willing my body to fight back. As if he hears my silent pleas, his weight shifts, allowing my arms to fall free. Was this a game? Did my mother send him up here to punish me?  His body leaves mine, but still, I don’t move. I tell myself the worst is over. I could not have been more wrong.

“My sweet little girl, you are so beautiful. Were you waiting up for me sweet lil’ thing? Hmmm? You knew I was here tonight.” I can feel the ball of his elbow as it sits in my spine. As he speaks, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes is overbearing. I try holding my breath, but the pain radiating down my spine is making it difficult. “I have seen the way that you look at me. Those eyes of yours burn holes in a man’s soul. I will make you mine, my sweet little lady. I will make those eyes mine, and they will never set upon another man. They were made for me,” he sinisterly flirts.

His hands are touching me. His breath is all over me. I cannot get out of his grasp. I feel him on me. I try to scream, but I can’t. He is pressing down on my chest, and just when I think I have enough air in my lungs to voice my unrest, he moves and winds me all over again. Every effort that my small body makes is in vain.

He begins to move his body further and further down.  I flinch as a hand makes its way up my calf and to my thigh. It doesn’t stop until it has a firm grasp on my buttock. As he grips, he flips my petite body, landing me on my back. With this jolt, I scream. I scream as loud as I can but to no avail. The more I scream, the more amused the eyes are that boring into me become.

“Melanie, my sweet, you are not going anywhere. That, I can guarantee. No one will be coming to your rescue. I think I gave your mother enough of a workout tonight that she may not wake up for a month, and now, my darling little girl, it is your turn.”

“Please stop! Please!” I scream. Desperately, I plead with him, but my pleas fall upon deaf ears. He has me in his sights, and he is going to take me. Where and when I don’t know, but he seems to be enjoying the chase. I am scared. I am fighting him with all the strength I have, but it is no use. He is just way too heavy. “Please, sir, please let me go. I won’t make another noise. I promise. Please, just let me go.”

“Sir, huh? Polite girl, you are, but I cannot allow your request. I have seen you. You have seen me. You have bewitched me with your looks, and now I will take you.” I never make eye contact with any of the men that walk through the door, let alone speak with them. My mother has always forbid it. She blames me for my dad walking away. I remember that being brought up in a fight before, but I never took much notice of it. My mother turned into a full-on drama queen once the relationship between her and my father broke down. My body has begun to go numb from the weight and pressure. I have an overwhelming need to relieve my bladder. I beg to get up, but all he does is laugh. I turn my face from him and cry, that’s all I can do. I am lost, forgotten, and being abused by someone who has invaded my home.