Post by Slater on Feb 1, 2012 1:13:26 GMT -5
Hey guys, This is the first half of the first chapter of a short novel I'm Writing that I've named, the fragile. The story focuses on 2 individuals who are heavily damaged emotionally since their childhoods, and this emotional damage brings them together into a fight for survival.
This first half of the first chapter focuses on the male lead of the story. The second half will focus on the female lead.
All I ever wanted was a normal life. A good job, nice house, a great wife, a few kids and possibly a dog or two. You know the American “dream” life. But that's not how things happened for me. My mother was a lush and a whore. My father was a drug dealing piece of crap. Both of them abused drugs. When ever there was an argument, I'd end up as my mother's punching bag because she wasn't as strong as my father. They were the kind of people that were the perfect example of why some people should have to be licensed to have children.
I don't really remember much from that period in my life as I was so young. The earliest memory I have is from when I was 7 and was being pulled out of a burning house by a firefighter. Official records state that the meth lab my father had set up in the garage exploded. Both of my parents burned to death in that fire. Good riddance, they got what was coming to them. I some how managed to come out of the ordeal with no real injuries, which was miraculous considering my room was right next to the garage. I had no living family other than an uncle I had never met.
He was a big guy, Muscular, shaved head, just a generally scary looking individual. He just carried that look about him that said, “don't screw with me”, yet he was the total opposite of what you would perceive him as. He was the friendliest, most selfless person there was. He didn't have any children of his own, and he didn't have much for money, he was a hard worker and was happy to have me around. I finally had someone to take care of me that actually gave a crap that I existed and didn't use me as an outlet for their frustration. He taught me about the importance of hard work, showing others the respect they deserve, giving back and helping others. He taught me many things, things that I would would be following to the nut today if it weren't for the way things are now.
When I was 9, a looming sense of paranoia started to follow me about. I always had this feeling that I was being followed around, that someone was watching everything I do. I was never to sure as why I had this feeling, it was just there. My uncle said it was trauma from the way my parents had treated me. All the abuse I had suffered was making worried that everyone was trying to hurt me. He tried to reassure me that I was going to be ok, that no matter what or who tried to take me, he'd be there to stop them. It wasn't long before I would find out if he would be able to follow through on that claim. I was walking to meet my uncle after school one day. He had made arrangements to get off of work early to spend the day doing whatever I wanted since he was forced to work a double shift on my birthday. My sense of paranoia was making me think that I was being followed as usual, just this time it turned out that it wasn't just paranoia.
It all happened so fast. The black car pulling up onto the side walk at an angle to try and block me from running away in the direction I was heading. The doors on the car flying open and 2 men stepping out and coming towards me. My uncle told me to run as fast as I could if any thing like this were to ever happen, and that's what I did. My flight instinct kicked in and it kicked in hard. I'm not even sure how I managed to clear the front of that car, but I did, and the whole time I could here my uncle's voice in my head saying “run, just run. Everything will be alright. I wont let anyone take you”. Fortunately for me, I was close to the job site my uncle was working at, and he happened to just be walking out the gate in time to see me booking it around the corner towards him, with 2 men and a car in tow.
I remember seeing him drop his lunch box and hard hat and take off in my direction. I could here him shouting at me to keep running until I was inside the gates of the construction site. I was so tired, but I kept running as hard as I could, and he soon went flying past me right into the 2 men chasing me. I didn't look back, I just ran inside the gates like he told me too, but I could here the initial sound of bodies slamming against a car hood and then my uncle's co-workers came flying past me. I peaked outside the gates to see that one of the men that was chasing me was getting back into the car, and the car backing away swiftly, spinning around sharply and speeding off. The second man that was chasing me was laying on the ground, having taken several powerful hits from my uncle. It wasn't long until the police showed up, and when they did, I saw a side of my uncle I never thought I would see. He was furious for some reason, and it wasn't about the men trying to kidnap me. I never understood it, and my uncle wouldn't say anything else about it, but from what I over heard from a few of his co-workers talking, the police couldn't arrest the man and had let him go.
After the botched kidnapping, my uncle had packed up our things and we moved. His boss had a brother that owned a construction company of his own in another state and out of sympathy for what happened, managed to get my uncle a job working for his brother, and some extra cash to help with the move. No one ever tried to take me again, but that didn't help to stop the night terrors. The whole ordeal had left me scarred. I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night sometimes. I wouldn't say anything to people I didn't know. I became kind of a shut in, and it only managed to get worse.
For the second time in my life, I was being pulled from a house fire by a firefighter. I remember waking up screaming again, only this time, the house was ablaze. I was trapped in my room, and I couldn't hear my uncle at all over the crackling of the flames. I wasn't sure if he had left me, was still somehow asleep, or dead. I remember the the firefighters breaking down my bedroom door and pulling me out, the whole time I was screaming for my uncle, equal parts do to the concern for him and because a strange man was taking me away. My uncle would never come to rescue me this time though. He had been pinned by ceiling rafters in his sleep and burned to death. They said he never even knew what happened as the rafters had rendered him unconscious while he was sleeping. He died a painless death, and I was alone.
My life after that was just being in and out of foster homes. My uncle's death had left me torn apart inside and unable to connect with anyone. When I turned 18, I went out on my own. I used what little money I had been saving combined with what was left my uncle's savings to rent a small apartment. I had also found a small, crappy job which I used to pay my bills and help push me through technical school.
I found being a disconnected loner much easier this time then when I was in middle and high school. Because it was a technical school, that meant the other students where a bit older and more mature, thus I had no worries about anyone bothering me. I was able to go about the same routine everyday. Go to class, go to work, go home, eat, sleep, repeat. I ignored all human contact other than what was required normally. Even after I finished school, I still remained disconnected from society. It would take a miracle to change me, and that's exactly what happened.
I had finally managed to score a job with the degree I had. A decent, boring, bland desk job. As I was being shown around the building my first day, I noticed her. I've noticed women before, even done a little more than notice them, but I've never had a desire to have an actual relationship with any of them. My mind would always backtrack to the abusive, drugged up whore that was my biological mother, and ruin any thoughts of a relationship that wasn't purely physical, and even those proved to be to much to keep for more the a day or two. But this one, there was something else about her. She wasn't the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, not that she wasn't attractive, but something about her just wouldn't leave me alone, constantly in my mind. Every night I would lay awake in bed for hours thinking about her. Her long, red hair burned like a glorious, but calming fire. Her blue eyes where the same shade as the sky and made me feel as if I could just lose myself in them and float away. Her smile bright enough to pierce the darkness that I was surrounded in and help me see the light. When she spoke, it was like all other noise just ceased to be so that she could be heard in full clarity. She may not have been the most beautiful woman there is, but to me, she was the only women in the world. I just couldn't stop thinking about her.
I contemplated asking her out so many times, but I was afraid of being rejected.
I was always a bit jealous of people who's fathers ran on them. Mine was a womanizing drunk. My mother died giving birth to me, and I'm almost positive that he felt it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Until I was about10 years old, I was nothing more than a tool for him to use when picking up women. He would give me a dollar for every woman I played the “cute game”, which was nothing more than a way for him to trick them into sticking around long enough for him to sleep with them. There wasn't much use for me for anything but that and child labor, and once I hit 11, the “cute game” wasn't going to work any longer so he had to find new ways to bed them down. I knew he resented me for it, mainly by the way abusive way he showed it. I often contemplated running away, but where would I go and how would I take care of myself?
I was like a real life Cinderella, forced to cook and clean everything with not so much as a real once of positive reinforcement, but tons of the negative kind. The only difference between me and Cinderella was she was being abused by her step mother and sisters. This was the only other real use for me in his life, especially after the “cute game” wasn't going to work any more. I had to come home right after school and clean everything until spotless, go forbid that the women he brought over see any more of the house other then his bedroom. Dinner also had to be ready and on the table waiting for him, and I had to be out of sight. If something wasn't perfectly clean, or dinner wasn't ready and waiting, and sometimes even when they were, He would “discipline” me. I honestly think he got off from beating me, what other reason could there have been to beat me like that?
The time I spent at school wasn't much of an escape either. I had no friends, was constantly picked on. Every so often the other kids would go beyond teasing and making fun of me and beat me up. To this my father never did anything but smack me a few more times for not fighting back. It's kinda hard to fight back against several people at once, especially when you don't know or wouldn't know what to do, even if you could tell what they're thinking. Of course it you tried to explain it to him, he would just beat me even worse.
I didn't care much for being around other people either. There was always just this stinging pain in my head, as if someone was repeatedly poking my brain with salad fork. It was always worse when I was around large groups of people. In order to avoid it all, I would lock myself in my room and bury myself in books, school work, basically anything that I could find that would allow me to concentrate on it only. I found that concentrating on one task helped to alleviate the stinging pain in my head, that and it helped to drown out the sounds coming from my father's room when ever he had a “friend” over. My sanity however was slowly drifting away.
My 15th birthday was a complete nightmare. I woke up a few minutes later then normal, which meant breakfast was late, which meant “discipline”. He hit me twice in the stomach, harder then usual as well. He said that that was my birthday present and that I should be careful not to ruin it. A girl I had never met, let alone ever seen before, busted my lip for no reason I could discern other than because she found it funny. At lunch, a boy that sat a few seats in front snuck up behind me by the trash can and grabbed my ankles, tipping me into the trash can. After school, I was beat up by several girls for the 40th time.
The walk home was going to be no better as it had suddenly started to rain and I had no coat or umbrella. I arrived home to find that my father was there. He normally didn't get home until several hours later. When I approached the door, I could here the sounds of him and one of his “friends”, so I snuck around to my bedroom window and crawled in quietly. I quietly dried myself off and switched into dry clothes. I sat in my room, doing my school work when my father came bursting through the door. He had a furious look on his face, and was screaming at me, wanting to know why dinner was not ready. He grabbed me by the arm, dragging me into the kitchen and throwing me at the refrigerator, yelling at me to stand up and get to work making his dinner. The woman he had over surprisingly came to my defense, but it did nothing more than cause him to turn his rage on her. He yelled at her to get back in the bedroom and wait for him, but she refused. She stood up to him, unafraid, until he struck her. That was the last time he would have any “visitors”.
I noticed on several occasions that a black car would follow me nearly all the way home from school. I went to my school counselor about it because my father would never have cared. He probably would have called me a liar and then hit me for lying. My counselor wasn't much help. He said it was nothing more than a coincidence and not to worry about it, but if I ever felt to scared, he would be there to talk to. I just repeated to myself over and over that it was nothing more than a coincidence, nothing more nothing less, Which worked out fine until it turned out to be more than a coincidence. I was walking home, this time the black car was nowhere to be seen. I was about half way home when the car showed up. It came speeding towards me, coming to a screeching halt in front of me, partially pulled up on to the sidewalk, as if attempting to block me from running in that direction. 2 men stepped out of the car and headed towards me. I was frozen with fear, unable to move. This would be the end. Yes I would finally be taken away from my piss poor excuse for a father, but where would I be taken? If they were expecting a ransom, they were sadly mistaken, my father would never pay a ransom, regardless as to if he had the money or not. I fell to my knees just as they were upon me, and than I blacked out.
When I came to, I was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. My whole head felt wet, but with what I didn't know. When I reached up to touch my face to make sure it wasn't a dream, and when I retracted my hand, it was covered in blood. I began to scream, panicking and attempting to get out of the ambulance. The EMTs were trying to restrain me when I caught a glimpse of ground outside. There were 2 bodies under tarps, blood on the ground. At the hospital, the police had shown up and asked me what had happened. I tired to explain to them as best as I could, but I didn't have all the answers, like what happened to those 2 men and why had been covered in blood. I was told that both of the men had what appeared to be gun shot wounds to the head. I was silently grateful to whoever saved me, My life may have been terrible, but I didn't want to be held hostage by someone else. Who knows how far someone else would go.
When I was 17, I got my GED. I was finished with studies that others my age would only see if they managed to get into a university. I had gotten a part time job to fill the time that was occupied by school, and also because my father told me it was time for me to start pulling my weight around the house. Those last 2 years weren't as bad as the previous years. My father was still abusive, but less so. He was often so drunk that he would pass out and forget about me. He also hadn't had a “friend” over since he struck the one that tried to defend me. One night, while I was in my room reading, he came stumbling into my room, drunk as normal. He wasn't yelling, he was acting rather bizarre, he rambled on incoherently, and then he turned upon me. He began clawing at my clothes, telling me how pretty I was. I was trying to fight him off, but he stronger than me. I fought and fought, all the while him saying it was time for me to become a woman. I screamed for help as loud as could and fought just as hard. I reached around for something to use as weapon and found the lamp. I struck him in the head with it as hard as I could, the lamp giving off a sickly crashing sound. He stopped moving. I was scared and shaking, crying like I never did before, all the while staring at his motionless body. Blood was following from the large hole in his head, but I still held the lamp in my hand, and it was still intact. When I regained my composure, I gathered up my things, and took one last look at the lump lying dead on my bed.
I found an abandoned house to stay in for the time being. I found new places to live temporarily every so often. There was also several more attempts by unknown men to try and take me, but I wasn't scared any longer. I was able to sense them before they ever got close enough, and they were never able to find where I lived, only guess where I might be. I still managed to go work everyday as normal, even managed to get them to bump me up to full time. When I had the money, I found a small place to live. I had nothing but what I was able to salvage from my room when I left, but it was all something I could call mine. I Eventually got a better paying job as a secretary. A decent job, one that actually made me feel more human then I ever had, and I stayed there. I didn't run into any black cars with people trying to kidnap me again. Everything was good for once, and it only got better.
He was of average height and build, dark hair, green eyes and this ever present aura of pain, much like mine. We never talked much, normally only greeting one another when passing by, or giving off a friendly smile. His thoughts betrayed him for the most part. He wanted to make a move, but was too afraid to do so. I myself was no braver though.
Things would change for the better soon enough.
Please leave any comments and notes you may have. Hope you enjoyed reading this bit.
This first half of the first chapter focuses on the male lead of the story. The second half will focus on the female lead.
Marcus
All I ever wanted was a normal life. A good job, nice house, a great wife, a few kids and possibly a dog or two. You know the American “dream” life. But that's not how things happened for me. My mother was a lush and a whore. My father was a drug dealing piece of crap. Both of them abused drugs. When ever there was an argument, I'd end up as my mother's punching bag because she wasn't as strong as my father. They were the kind of people that were the perfect example of why some people should have to be licensed to have children.
I don't really remember much from that period in my life as I was so young. The earliest memory I have is from when I was 7 and was being pulled out of a burning house by a firefighter. Official records state that the meth lab my father had set up in the garage exploded. Both of my parents burned to death in that fire. Good riddance, they got what was coming to them. I some how managed to come out of the ordeal with no real injuries, which was miraculous considering my room was right next to the garage. I had no living family other than an uncle I had never met.
He was a big guy, Muscular, shaved head, just a generally scary looking individual. He just carried that look about him that said, “don't screw with me”, yet he was the total opposite of what you would perceive him as. He was the friendliest, most selfless person there was. He didn't have any children of his own, and he didn't have much for money, he was a hard worker and was happy to have me around. I finally had someone to take care of me that actually gave a crap that I existed and didn't use me as an outlet for their frustration. He taught me about the importance of hard work, showing others the respect they deserve, giving back and helping others. He taught me many things, things that I would would be following to the nut today if it weren't for the way things are now.
When I was 9, a looming sense of paranoia started to follow me about. I always had this feeling that I was being followed around, that someone was watching everything I do. I was never to sure as why I had this feeling, it was just there. My uncle said it was trauma from the way my parents had treated me. All the abuse I had suffered was making worried that everyone was trying to hurt me. He tried to reassure me that I was going to be ok, that no matter what or who tried to take me, he'd be there to stop them. It wasn't long before I would find out if he would be able to follow through on that claim. I was walking to meet my uncle after school one day. He had made arrangements to get off of work early to spend the day doing whatever I wanted since he was forced to work a double shift on my birthday. My sense of paranoia was making me think that I was being followed as usual, just this time it turned out that it wasn't just paranoia.
It all happened so fast. The black car pulling up onto the side walk at an angle to try and block me from running away in the direction I was heading. The doors on the car flying open and 2 men stepping out and coming towards me. My uncle told me to run as fast as I could if any thing like this were to ever happen, and that's what I did. My flight instinct kicked in and it kicked in hard. I'm not even sure how I managed to clear the front of that car, but I did, and the whole time I could here my uncle's voice in my head saying “run, just run. Everything will be alright. I wont let anyone take you”. Fortunately for me, I was close to the job site my uncle was working at, and he happened to just be walking out the gate in time to see me booking it around the corner towards him, with 2 men and a car in tow.
I remember seeing him drop his lunch box and hard hat and take off in my direction. I could here him shouting at me to keep running until I was inside the gates of the construction site. I was so tired, but I kept running as hard as I could, and he soon went flying past me right into the 2 men chasing me. I didn't look back, I just ran inside the gates like he told me too, but I could here the initial sound of bodies slamming against a car hood and then my uncle's co-workers came flying past me. I peaked outside the gates to see that one of the men that was chasing me was getting back into the car, and the car backing away swiftly, spinning around sharply and speeding off. The second man that was chasing me was laying on the ground, having taken several powerful hits from my uncle. It wasn't long until the police showed up, and when they did, I saw a side of my uncle I never thought I would see. He was furious for some reason, and it wasn't about the men trying to kidnap me. I never understood it, and my uncle wouldn't say anything else about it, but from what I over heard from a few of his co-workers talking, the police couldn't arrest the man and had let him go.
After the botched kidnapping, my uncle had packed up our things and we moved. His boss had a brother that owned a construction company of his own in another state and out of sympathy for what happened, managed to get my uncle a job working for his brother, and some extra cash to help with the move. No one ever tried to take me again, but that didn't help to stop the night terrors. The whole ordeal had left me scarred. I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night sometimes. I wouldn't say anything to people I didn't know. I became kind of a shut in, and it only managed to get worse.
For the second time in my life, I was being pulled from a house fire by a firefighter. I remember waking up screaming again, only this time, the house was ablaze. I was trapped in my room, and I couldn't hear my uncle at all over the crackling of the flames. I wasn't sure if he had left me, was still somehow asleep, or dead. I remember the the firefighters breaking down my bedroom door and pulling me out, the whole time I was screaming for my uncle, equal parts do to the concern for him and because a strange man was taking me away. My uncle would never come to rescue me this time though. He had been pinned by ceiling rafters in his sleep and burned to death. They said he never even knew what happened as the rafters had rendered him unconscious while he was sleeping. He died a painless death, and I was alone.
My life after that was just being in and out of foster homes. My uncle's death had left me torn apart inside and unable to connect with anyone. When I turned 18, I went out on my own. I used what little money I had been saving combined with what was left my uncle's savings to rent a small apartment. I had also found a small, crappy job which I used to pay my bills and help push me through technical school.
I found being a disconnected loner much easier this time then when I was in middle and high school. Because it was a technical school, that meant the other students where a bit older and more mature, thus I had no worries about anyone bothering me. I was able to go about the same routine everyday. Go to class, go to work, go home, eat, sleep, repeat. I ignored all human contact other than what was required normally. Even after I finished school, I still remained disconnected from society. It would take a miracle to change me, and that's exactly what happened.
I had finally managed to score a job with the degree I had. A decent, boring, bland desk job. As I was being shown around the building my first day, I noticed her. I've noticed women before, even done a little more than notice them, but I've never had a desire to have an actual relationship with any of them. My mind would always backtrack to the abusive, drugged up whore that was my biological mother, and ruin any thoughts of a relationship that wasn't purely physical, and even those proved to be to much to keep for more the a day or two. But this one, there was something else about her. She wasn't the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, not that she wasn't attractive, but something about her just wouldn't leave me alone, constantly in my mind. Every night I would lay awake in bed for hours thinking about her. Her long, red hair burned like a glorious, but calming fire. Her blue eyes where the same shade as the sky and made me feel as if I could just lose myself in them and float away. Her smile bright enough to pierce the darkness that I was surrounded in and help me see the light. When she spoke, it was like all other noise just ceased to be so that she could be heard in full clarity. She may not have been the most beautiful woman there is, but to me, she was the only women in the world. I just couldn't stop thinking about her.
I contemplated asking her out so many times, but I was afraid of being rejected.
* * * * *
Lisa
I was always a bit jealous of people who's fathers ran on them. Mine was a womanizing drunk. My mother died giving birth to me, and I'm almost positive that he felt it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Until I was about10 years old, I was nothing more than a tool for him to use when picking up women. He would give me a dollar for every woman I played the “cute game”, which was nothing more than a way for him to trick them into sticking around long enough for him to sleep with them. There wasn't much use for me for anything but that and child labor, and once I hit 11, the “cute game” wasn't going to work any longer so he had to find new ways to bed them down. I knew he resented me for it, mainly by the way abusive way he showed it. I often contemplated running away, but where would I go and how would I take care of myself?
I was like a real life Cinderella, forced to cook and clean everything with not so much as a real once of positive reinforcement, but tons of the negative kind. The only difference between me and Cinderella was she was being abused by her step mother and sisters. This was the only other real use for me in his life, especially after the “cute game” wasn't going to work any more. I had to come home right after school and clean everything until spotless, go forbid that the women he brought over see any more of the house other then his bedroom. Dinner also had to be ready and on the table waiting for him, and I had to be out of sight. If something wasn't perfectly clean, or dinner wasn't ready and waiting, and sometimes even when they were, He would “discipline” me. I honestly think he got off from beating me, what other reason could there have been to beat me like that?
The time I spent at school wasn't much of an escape either. I had no friends, was constantly picked on. Every so often the other kids would go beyond teasing and making fun of me and beat me up. To this my father never did anything but smack me a few more times for not fighting back. It's kinda hard to fight back against several people at once, especially when you don't know or wouldn't know what to do, even if you could tell what they're thinking. Of course it you tried to explain it to him, he would just beat me even worse.
I didn't care much for being around other people either. There was always just this stinging pain in my head, as if someone was repeatedly poking my brain with salad fork. It was always worse when I was around large groups of people. In order to avoid it all, I would lock myself in my room and bury myself in books, school work, basically anything that I could find that would allow me to concentrate on it only. I found that concentrating on one task helped to alleviate the stinging pain in my head, that and it helped to drown out the sounds coming from my father's room when ever he had a “friend” over. My sanity however was slowly drifting away.
My 15th birthday was a complete nightmare. I woke up a few minutes later then normal, which meant breakfast was late, which meant “discipline”. He hit me twice in the stomach, harder then usual as well. He said that that was my birthday present and that I should be careful not to ruin it. A girl I had never met, let alone ever seen before, busted my lip for no reason I could discern other than because she found it funny. At lunch, a boy that sat a few seats in front snuck up behind me by the trash can and grabbed my ankles, tipping me into the trash can. After school, I was beat up by several girls for the 40th time.
The walk home was going to be no better as it had suddenly started to rain and I had no coat or umbrella. I arrived home to find that my father was there. He normally didn't get home until several hours later. When I approached the door, I could here the sounds of him and one of his “friends”, so I snuck around to my bedroom window and crawled in quietly. I quietly dried myself off and switched into dry clothes. I sat in my room, doing my school work when my father came bursting through the door. He had a furious look on his face, and was screaming at me, wanting to know why dinner was not ready. He grabbed me by the arm, dragging me into the kitchen and throwing me at the refrigerator, yelling at me to stand up and get to work making his dinner. The woman he had over surprisingly came to my defense, but it did nothing more than cause him to turn his rage on her. He yelled at her to get back in the bedroom and wait for him, but she refused. She stood up to him, unafraid, until he struck her. That was the last time he would have any “visitors”.
I noticed on several occasions that a black car would follow me nearly all the way home from school. I went to my school counselor about it because my father would never have cared. He probably would have called me a liar and then hit me for lying. My counselor wasn't much help. He said it was nothing more than a coincidence and not to worry about it, but if I ever felt to scared, he would be there to talk to. I just repeated to myself over and over that it was nothing more than a coincidence, nothing more nothing less, Which worked out fine until it turned out to be more than a coincidence. I was walking home, this time the black car was nowhere to be seen. I was about half way home when the car showed up. It came speeding towards me, coming to a screeching halt in front of me, partially pulled up on to the sidewalk, as if attempting to block me from running in that direction. 2 men stepped out of the car and headed towards me. I was frozen with fear, unable to move. This would be the end. Yes I would finally be taken away from my piss poor excuse for a father, but where would I be taken? If they were expecting a ransom, they were sadly mistaken, my father would never pay a ransom, regardless as to if he had the money or not. I fell to my knees just as they were upon me, and than I blacked out.
When I came to, I was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. My whole head felt wet, but with what I didn't know. When I reached up to touch my face to make sure it wasn't a dream, and when I retracted my hand, it was covered in blood. I began to scream, panicking and attempting to get out of the ambulance. The EMTs were trying to restrain me when I caught a glimpse of ground outside. There were 2 bodies under tarps, blood on the ground. At the hospital, the police had shown up and asked me what had happened. I tired to explain to them as best as I could, but I didn't have all the answers, like what happened to those 2 men and why had been covered in blood. I was told that both of the men had what appeared to be gun shot wounds to the head. I was silently grateful to whoever saved me, My life may have been terrible, but I didn't want to be held hostage by someone else. Who knows how far someone else would go.
When I was 17, I got my GED. I was finished with studies that others my age would only see if they managed to get into a university. I had gotten a part time job to fill the time that was occupied by school, and also because my father told me it was time for me to start pulling my weight around the house. Those last 2 years weren't as bad as the previous years. My father was still abusive, but less so. He was often so drunk that he would pass out and forget about me. He also hadn't had a “friend” over since he struck the one that tried to defend me. One night, while I was in my room reading, he came stumbling into my room, drunk as normal. He wasn't yelling, he was acting rather bizarre, he rambled on incoherently, and then he turned upon me. He began clawing at my clothes, telling me how pretty I was. I was trying to fight him off, but he stronger than me. I fought and fought, all the while him saying it was time for me to become a woman. I screamed for help as loud as could and fought just as hard. I reached around for something to use as weapon and found the lamp. I struck him in the head with it as hard as I could, the lamp giving off a sickly crashing sound. He stopped moving. I was scared and shaking, crying like I never did before, all the while staring at his motionless body. Blood was following from the large hole in his head, but I still held the lamp in my hand, and it was still intact. When I regained my composure, I gathered up my things, and took one last look at the lump lying dead on my bed.
I found an abandoned house to stay in for the time being. I found new places to live temporarily every so often. There was also several more attempts by unknown men to try and take me, but I wasn't scared any longer. I was able to sense them before they ever got close enough, and they were never able to find where I lived, only guess where I might be. I still managed to go work everyday as normal, even managed to get them to bump me up to full time. When I had the money, I found a small place to live. I had nothing but what I was able to salvage from my room when I left, but it was all something I could call mine. I Eventually got a better paying job as a secretary. A decent job, one that actually made me feel more human then I ever had, and I stayed there. I didn't run into any black cars with people trying to kidnap me again. Everything was good for once, and it only got better.
He was of average height and build, dark hair, green eyes and this ever present aura of pain, much like mine. We never talked much, normally only greeting one another when passing by, or giving off a friendly smile. His thoughts betrayed him for the most part. He wanted to make a move, but was too afraid to do so. I myself was no braver though.
Things would change for the better soon enough.
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