Authors: Nicola Haken
“Yes, sir,” I muttered, fixing my eyes on the marble floor. I was forbidden from addressing him as ‘Dad’. It took only a handful of slaps across the face to learn that. It was a power thing, I assumed.
And then it came… a harsh, smarting slap to the side of my cheek – swinging my head to the side and making me stumble.
Enough!
A brave voice buried deep in my subconscious bellowed and suddenly I refused to be afraid of him any longer. I breathed a defiant laugh.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I goaded him, feeling bold and rebellious. His blue eyes widened and for a moment he was paralysed with disbelief. Then I saw the veins in his neck begin to bulge under the pressure of blood rushing to his cheeks and I knew what was coming but for the first time I didn’t care.
I watched as his hand clenched into a fist and transformed into a blur as he rammed it into my side with excessive speed, thrusting me into the wall. I slid to the floor against it and watched vacantly as his fist retracted and flew back again, then again… but I couldn’t feel it. My eyes locked onto the bottom stair and I completely tuned out of my body. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t hear anything. I could see hazes of movement in the corner of my eye but my mind was firmly focused on the plum carpet hugging the stairs.
“Don’t ever talk to me like that again,” he said sternly, forcing his boot into my thigh and snapping me back into consciousness.
I stared after him, feeling physically sick with revulsion as he retreated to the magnolia living room. My mom was still stood in the doorway and her eyes met mine for a brief second. Part of me wanted her to rush to my side and hold me, but the rational part of me knew she was too selfish to bother. I was proved right when she turned away and headed back into the kitchen – to pour another glass of gin no doubt.
I used to love her… I
think
. Or at least I used to believe she loved
me
. I was only a young girl – five, six maybe – when she first witnessed me scream as my dad jabbed his fist into my ribs and yet she did nothing to stop him. Too young to know any better, children love their mothers instinctively and so I used to believe she was too afraid to help me. It was only as I grew older I began to see her for what she really was – a selfish drunk who blamed my entrance into the world for my dad turning into a violent monster.
I ran to the bathroom taking two stairs at a time and slammed the door closed behind me before bolting it and sliding to the floor against it. I hugged my knees and thoughts of razor blades slicing into my flesh overwhelmed my mind. I tried to ignore it, rocking back and forth, closing my eyes and fighting desperately against the urge, swearing I wouldn’t visit that dark place again.
But the craving was too intense.
I opened my eyes and found my hands picking apart the plastic casing on a razor from my vanity case and not remembering how I got there. Perching myself on the edge of the bath I rolled my pant leg up to the top of my thigh. A faint voice in the back of my mind was telling me to stop but I defied it, craving the relief I knew it would bring.
I glided the blade through the skin of my thigh slowly, meticulously. I needed to see it. I needed to physically
see
the excruciating pain I felt reverberating throughout my insides. Again, I tuned out of the pain as I focused on the rich, red blood spiralling down my pale leg. I sighed contentedly and repeated the process, trying desperately to carve away
his
touch. It was deeper this time and I felt an even greater sense of release. And pride. I felt fulfilled and I smiled inwardly at the knowledge that my dad couldn’t hurt me as much as I could hurt myself.
I noticed spots of blood dripping onto the white marble floor tiles which stunned me back into reality and I realised I needed to clean myself up. After cleaning the floor, wrapping the blade in tissue and flushing it down the toilet, I took a steaming shower – feeling similar relief as the hot water stung my thigh. Then I took myself to bed, applying pressure to my cuts with a hand-towel. The house was eerily silent but I savoured the still and drifted into a heavy sleep.
**********
When I arrived home from school I was relieved to see my dad’s car wasn’t there. I hurried inside and headed straight upstairs without bothering to look for my mom. I knew she was in the house somewhere – she hadn’t ventured farther than the mailbox in years.
I emptied my school satchel and placed the textbooks in a neat pile on my dressing table, making room for my clothes for the party tonight. I’d arranged to get changed at Julie’s so we could go together, and the fact that meant being away from this godforsaken house for even longer was an added bonus.
Next, I placed my journal and notebook under my mattress. I had to either carry them with me or hide them since my dad burnt the others. They were the only way I could share my thoughts before my mind exploded under the pressure. I wrote for hours some days. Mostly stories – immersing myself in a hope-filled fantasy world to escape from the harrowing one I actually existed in for a while.
I headed to the en-suite and ran a bath overflowing with lavender bubbles. I gasped as I tentatively lowered my thigh into the stinging foam and delicately trickled the steaming water over the dried blood. The seeping scars were a welcome distraction from my life and my thoughts and running my finger over them caused the urge to build once again so I quickly dismissed it and clambered out of the tub before I succumbed and prized open the healing wounds.
After towelling myself dry I patched up my leg with a dressing from the draw under my bed, threw on my most unflattering pair of grey sweats and gathered my things for Julie’s.
**********
Romy’s porch was alive with fairly lights of at least nine different colours and a swarm of people were spilling out of the house. Julie breathed one last tut of disapproval as she eyed up my formal black pants then she hitched her already too short ivory skirt up a little further before dragging me towards the blaring music coming from inside.
We were plied with alcohol the second we stepped through the door and I glugged it down eagerly without knowing what it was. It tasted like vodka mixed with some kind of tropical fruit juice. Julie went off to find Adam Berry – the guy she’d been lusting after forever – while I drained my glass and then followed my fellow partygoers towards a large bowl filled with emotion-numbing liquid on a high-gloss aubergine island in the kitchen.
“Amelia Hope right?” a boy who I thought I recognised from my History class asked as I topped up my glass.
“Amy, “ I corrected. My birth name reminded me of my parents.
“We have Chemistry together,” he said with a suggestive wink.
I knew he was in one of my classes.
That annoying voice in the back of my mind was screaming ‘back off, loser’ and I was pretty sure my expression was saying the same.
“Let’s spice this up a little,” he said, producing a bottle of vodka from inside his jacket like a magician and emptying the lot into the punch bowl. I raised an impressed eyebrow and found myself warming to him immediately.
We knocked back a couple – maybe even seven – glasses of now tropical vodka with a hint of juice and I lost all sense of time and purpose. I couldn’t remember why I was here or
who
I came with and I didn’t care. The boy from chemistry was entertaining me and I suddenly noticed just how attractive he was. His tight-fitting white shirt hugged the muscles of his chest and my eyes kept wandering back to them. His eyes – popping out from under the wisps of his jet-black fringe – were a dazzling blue and sparkled under the halogens.
My pulse quickened as his face neared mine.
“Fancy something a little stronger?” he whispered into my ear and then pulled away, keeping his eyes just inches from mine as he gauged my reaction. The people around me were moving blurs and I was sure if I stood up I would fall straight back down.
“I think it’s strong enough,” I replied, angling my head towards the nearly drained punch bowl and feeling sure just one more sip would floor me.
“That’s not what I mean. Come with me…” He took my hand and pulled me from the breakfast stools we’d been perched on for I don’t know how long. The room swirled and I stumbled but the strong grip of Chemistry Boy’s hand steadied me. I looked up at his amused face and followed his lead to the stairs.
We weaved our way through a mass of drunk and amorous teenagers hogging the stairs and after peering into a series of rooms he pulled me into an empty bedroom, tossed me onto the bed and kissed me… hard. Instantly it felt wrong and I didn’t think I wanted to be there anymore. I knew I was intoxicated, my thigh was throbbing and I would only be doing it to feel close to someone for a few minutes.
I pushed him away and he raised a mischievous eyebrow as he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small, clear
bag which
looked to be half filled with something white. My mind’s voiced yelled ‘oh shit’ as I realised what his idea of something stronger was and I was both afraid and excited.
“Wanna forget your troubles for a couple of hours?” he asked and the thought was overwhelmingly tempting. A tiny part of me knew I should leave but a greater part knew where I’d be going.
Home.
“Sure,” I replied, feeling intrigued… and hopeful that it really would erase my problems for a while.
I had no idea what to do so I just watched him and followed his lead. He sprinkled some of the mysterious powder onto the dresser by the window and I perched on the edge of the bed to watch him, fascinated as he separated it into two perfectly straight lines with a cash card from his wallet. Next, he removed a ten-dollar bill and rolled it until it resembled a straw.
“Wanna go first?” he asked as he offered me the rolled up note. I shook my head and hoped I didn’t look as nervous as I felt.
He shrugged and I stared at him as he slipped the ten-dollar straw into his right nostril and pressed his left one closed with his finger as he bent towards the neat lines and snorted one from bottom to top in one fluid motion. Then he tipped his head back and rubbed his nose. His face looked instantly relaxed. He looked so calm, content. I was eager to experience what he was feeling so I quickly took the rolled up bill from him and copied what I’d just seen.
The powder burned the back of my nose and I now knew why he rubbed his afterwards. I did the same before flopping back onto the bed laughing.
Minutes later I jolted back up, bursting with energy. I felt so alive. My veins were physically buzzing with vigour. It didn’t last long before I started to feel flushed and my heart started to race. The boy from Chemistry pulled me backwards onto the bed and started kissing me again; slowly at first, pulling back every few seconds as if to test the water. I gripped his face with both my hands, fixed my mouth firmly onto his and searched his eyes – they never met mine. His touch electrified my overly sensitised skin and he was on top of me before I could undress fully. I felt incredibly brave and rebellious – completely lost in the moment. His breathing accelerated. His skin felt clammy. He was excited.
He wanted me.
Me.
But then, without warning, my eyes sprang open and it was as if I’d abruptly been pulled out of a dream.
What the fuck am I doing?
I mentally chastised myself.
My stomach felt nauseous and the boy’s every thrust pushed the threatening vomit a little further towards my throat. I could feel his lips slobbering all over my bare skin and the stench of his stale vodka breath repulsed me. I tried to focus on the ceiling rose above me, breathing steadily in an effort not to throw up before he’d finished. But then he wrapped his arms underneath me and lifted me up so I was straddling his lap.
Oh shit.
The sudden movement gave my stomach ammunition and it violently spilled its contents. Chemistry Boy was stood at the foot of the bed, shaking
himself
down and cussing before I’d even finished hurling. I’d never felt so utterly disgusted with myself.
After wiping my mouth on the corner of the bed sheet I flopped backwards onto the bed.
Ugh…
I didn’t remember falling asleep (or passing out) but when I woke up I was alone and naked. I didn’t know where Chemistry Boy had gone or if he was coming back so I gathered my wrinkled clothes from the floor and threw them on quickly. My head started to pound as I bent to slip my shoes on and every throb of my pulse thudded violently in my ears. My vomit infused sandy-blonde hair flicked my face as I stood upright and after feeling my wrist I realised my hair-tie was missing.
I decided to rummage through the dresser drawers in search of one after looking around the fairly neutral bedroom, noticing a pink vase in the corner and assuming it must belong to a girl. There was a small plastic Tupperware box in the second drawer down crammed with every colour and style of hair-tie you could dream of. I picked up the first one I came to – a black band with red plastic cherries – and scraped my hair into a ponytail with my fingers.
After rubbing the smudges of mascara from under my eyes with the pads of my fingers I picked up my clutch bag and headed for the stairs. Mocking stares bored into my back as I hesitantly made my way down them. Giggles and whispers burned my ears and I knew immediately that Chemistry Boy had filled them in. Flushing redder than a prostitute’s lipstick, I bowed my head and picked up my pace towards the front door.