Running From Reality

Even last night I knew today would be a bad day, and I was right. I woke up when it was still dark, the space between my legs screaming in pain. I groaned silently, and lay back in my corner. As much as I needed the relief of running, I wouldn’t be able to without collapsing. I wasn’t stupid, I knew my limits. My physical ones, at least. The testing of my emotional limits was still being done, night after night, in my room.

I slipped back into sleep, and woke maybe an hour and a half later, when the sun had barely begun to rise. Trying to move in a way that caused the least amount of pain, I threw on a baggy white turtle neck and a black skirt that went to my ankles. Pulling my hair, in all its curly mess, in a clip at the nape of my neck, I headed downstairs.

The coffee pot had already turned on, and I could hear my mother coming down the stairs. I poured her a cup, watered down with milk and sugar, and handed it to her before she could ask. Making my way to the cabinet, I grabbed a bowl and made myself breakfast. Muttering a quick goodbye to my mother—though I don’t think she has a right to call herself that—I grabbed my bag and headed outside.

At the same spot I had been meeting Alex at for ages now I shed my skirt to reveal a pair of skinny jeans. My turtleneck was removed to show a black, sheer, long sleeved shirt over a bright blue spaghetti strap top. Doing a quick check to make sure no bruises—or cuts—were visible, I waited patiently for Alexander. My thoughts were far from joyful as I waited, since they kept thinking back to last night. That abuse started maybe seven or eight months after the normal abuse, though I doubt most people would call abuse of any kind “normal.”

He always did it, and my mother always knew. Though it’s not like she ever tried to stop it. It’s not a wife’s place to tell her husband what to—or what not to—do. Alex and Freddy…they didn’t even know. I know that this isn’t my fault that the man I’m supposed to call “Daddy” is a sick and twisted fuck, but that isn’t much of a consolation prize. One thing that makes it bearable is that I’ve made it a whole month before without it happening before. Sometimes “Daddy’s” just little too drunk and passes out before I get home.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice Alex arriving until he called out my name. “Oh, hey. Sorry. Zoned out for a second there,” I said, smiling slightly at him as I went to get in. I held back a pain-filled groan as I sat and buckled in. School would be torture today, what with the hard, plastic chairs and walking up and down several sets of stairs.

I gave him a quick kiss, and did my normal routine with my make up. He drove the entire way with out talking, but grabbed my hand once we parked to let me know we had something to talk about. Again.

“You cut yourself again, didn’t you?” he asked softly, concern evident in his eyes. I looked away, down at my feet. “How bad was last night?” he asked, in the same soothing tone as before. I brought my knees to my chest, ignoring the pain. “He did it again, didn’t he?” Alex asked, an edge to his voice. Tears were building in my eyes. His arms wrapped around my gently, and he pulled my into his lap where he gently rocked me back and forth as silent tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Andi, you know how much I love you,” he began once my tears had subsided. I buried my face in his chest, not wanting to have this conversation, but knowing I had no choice. “And how much you mean to me. You’re the other half of me. But, Andi, we both know you need to tell. You have to. Every day after he does this to you, I can see the pain in your eyes, even if you’re smiling. And that pain, it takes longer and longer to go away each time. I know you don’t wanna tell someone, but you have to. I can’t stand to see you falling apart on the inside like this…. I—We, both Freddy and I—love you more than life itself. Please, baby, tell someone.”

“You don’t get it, Alex. If I tell anyone, my dad will kill me. And so would my mom. It’ll only make things worse.” He sighed, not believing me, but knowing it’s not a good idea to pursue the subject any further. “And Andi, there’s something else. Someone I think can convince you to tell stopped by my house. He gave me a note to give to you, and I promised to try to get you to meet with him. I really think it would be the best, for both of you.” He handed me a paper, folded in fourths, which I took and opened slowly. It wasn’t like Alex to change the subject when it was this, so I knew whatever was up with the note was serious.

Andrea,

I know you’re probably wondering why it took me so damn long to contact you, and I’m sorry. I knew you’d probably ignore this if I just sent it to you, or you wouldn’t even get it if one of them saw it first. And I knew if I tried to deliver it to you myself things wouldn’t go well.

I remembered you were tight with Alexander and his sister, Winifred, and thought it was my best bet for getting you to talk to me, face to face. I know you probably hate me, but I’m begging you, please, just consider it.
Justin.

It was then I realized why I had always pushed the thought of my brother’s lack of contact to the back of my mind. Because when it came down to it, I knew a part of me, albeit a small one, blamed him for the abuse.