You Call it Misery, I'll Call it Love

I can’t tell what time it is or even what day it is. My hand hurts like all mighty hell. I think he broke it. I manage to lift my hand in the darkness and see that it’s about twice the size of my other hand. That’s not a good sign. It’s probably broken. I can’t believe what an utter fool I was to scream his name last night during my nightly beating! I should have just bit my tongue and cried his name out later… but no, I had to scream it out loud in front of my dad! He’s going to start bugging me soon about him. Wondering who he is, how I know him, what he does, if I like him, etc. etc. If I don’t tell him, then he’ll beat it out of me, literally.
That next day, or what I thought was the next day, I rode the bus to school in silence. I didn’t bother to listen to my iPod or text anyone on the phone. The pain in my hand kept distracting me. I could barely think or move without wincing in absolute pain. I should have grabbed that damn sling in the first aid kit. But I didn’t because I know that if I wear it, it’ll bring more attention to my latest wound.

I got off the bus and walked up to him. He smiled at me brightly, thinking it was just an ordinary day, but to me it wasn’t. It was a day of pain and misery for me. He noticed my hand and immediately his bright smile faded away as if he knew the rotten truth behind it all.
“Hey, what happened?” Darren asks me quietly. “Your hand. You’re hurt.” He takes my bruised handed into his own and gently rubs my fingertips. I wince and pull it away from him, but he catches it and holds it again.

“I fell down the stairs again, no big deal. Hey, I need to tighten it to keep the swelling down, will you help me?” I ask. Darren looks up at me and nods quietly with sad eyes.

We sit down at the picnic table and he holds my hand out in front of him. He gently removes the Ace Bandage that I had wrapped around my hand yesterday after my father stomped on it. Once the bandage is off, I see that there’s a peculiar looking bruise. I stare down at it, looking to see what shape it resembles.

“It’s a footprint,” Darren tells me. “Are you sure you fell down the stairs?” he asks.
I want to shake my head no and tell him everything. Tell him that I didn’t fall down the stairs and that my father beat me up because I wanted to take a shower and he wanted to use the bathroom. But I can’t bring myself to say the words, I just nod my head and watch him rewrap my bruised hand in the ace bandage, tighter than before.

“It doesn’t look like it. It looks like someone stomped on it pretty damn hard! Who did this?” he asks. I can’t bring myself to tell him, I just stare. “Mary Kate! Answer me!”

“He did,” I whimper.

“Who?” he asks.

“What’s it to you?” I ask.

“I want to know the bastard you broke your hand!” he tells me firmly.

“No one.”

“How is he a no one? Mary Kate, tell me who did this!” he demands.

“Please!” I beg. “I can’t tell you or else he’ll kill me!”

“Mary Kate, come on, I’m not going to do anything I just want to know!” Darren pleads.

“I can’t!” I say. “I’m fine! Thanks for rewrapping it for me!” I say as I stand up and walk away.

“Mary Kate!” Darren shouts after me. “Come back!” He gets up and runs after me. I try to walk faster, but the pain stops me. He grabs my non wounded arm and turns me around.

“Darren, really, please don’t!” I plead.

“Mary Kate, I just want to help,” he says.

“I’m in no need. I’ll be fine,” I tell him. He looks at me with pleading eyes. He wants to know, but I can’t tell him.

“Please!” he begs.

“No!” I tell him firmly. A teacher approaches us and stands between us. They must think we’re going through normal teenage relationship stuff when we’re really having an argument over something I can never ever tell Darren about.

“Is there a problem here?” the teacher asks.

“No, there isn’t,” I tell him politely. I walk away.

“Mary Kate!” Darren calls after me. “Come to my house on Friday, we’ll talk!”

“Okay!” I shout back before I have any sense of self-control. Shit!

Shit is right! He knows. He knows something is wrong with me! That someone is beating me and that I’m too afraid to tell anyone. This scares me because I’m not a coward, yet I can’t bring myself to tell anyone about what my father does to me. Maybe I am a coward, but then again, haven’t I been strong to put up with this for as long as I have? All I want to do is let everything off of my chest. Let it all out. Maybe talking to Darren will help. I don’t know. I just can’t put up with this shit for much longer. I have to do something about it soon before it gets worse.