Breaking Free

I wake up the next morning and when I look in the mirror, I see a light bruise on my cheek where my father's hand had connected with my face.
I sigh and walk into the kitchen to clean whatever mess my father had left me before he went to work. Being Saturday, I'm home for the day and he's out working and I doubt he'll be home until the early hours of the morning.
I finish his breakfast dishes and look around for other things that I need to clean up.
I'm about to start straightening the living room up when I hear the roar of an engine come up the driveway. I start to freak out thinking my dad is home from work early, but then I notice that the engine isn't making a missing or knocking noise so it can't be him.
I walk to the front door and see Jackson in the driveway.
"C'mon!" he yells over the engine.
"I can't!" I say.
"Yes, you can," he says. "I'm not going to let that happen to you again, let's go."
"You don't understand," I say.
"I understand perfectly well what abuse is," Jackson says seriously.
"If I leave, he will find me," I say.
"Your dad doesn't know who I am, there is no way he'll find you," he says.
"You don't get it, Jackson," I tell him, "My dad doesn't let me do anything in case you haven't noticed."
"I don't care what he says or what he thinks, he's lucky I haven't whooped his ass," he says.
"You couldn't do that," I say distressed. I'm frantic that my dad might come home and find Jackson here and compared to yesterday, what will happen to me is going to be a lot worse. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I'm trying to become emancipated."
"That does make me feel a little better, but don't you need a job and a place to live to do that?"
"Yes, I do, but I'm working on it," I say hastily.
"You can't find a job and a place to live if you never leave the house, come with me," Jackson almost demands.
"I can't, okay?" I plead.
"I'm not letting this go," Jackson says staring into my eyes. "You need my help."
"Yeah, well, if you find me a job that's going to be able to help me afford my own place, you're more than welcome to help," I say smartly.
"Okay, well, if I come along anything, I'll let you know," Jackson says before turning around and heading back to his truck.
"Wait!" I call out. When Jackson turns back around to look at me, I say, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he says before climbing back in his truck.
Before he can start the truck, I hear another engine come roaring up the driveway.
"Shit, shit, shit," I say quickly.
"What?" Jackson asks wide eyed.
"He's home," I say.
"Your dad?" he asks.
"Yes, oh my god, what am I going to do?" I ask.
"Get in the truck. Now," he demands.
I happily oblige. I break out into a full run from the porch to the passenger door of the truck and quickly duck in, making sure that I can't be seen as Jackson backs up into the yard and turns around.
He starts speeding down the driveway and pulls off onto the side of the road as my dad flies by him. I peek into the side view mirror and see my dad's break lights come on.
"He's about to turn around!" I exclaim.
"He won't catch up to us," Jackson assures me, taking one hand off of the steering wheel and placing it on my knee.
The familiar electrical feeling pulses through the spot where he touches me, but I'm too nervous about my dad to even bother to care.
Jackson hits the end of the street before my father has time to catch up to us. He quickly takes a turn onto a different street before making another left turn so he's going parallel to the street we had first started on.
My breathing is heavy with nerves and I'm terrified that something bad is going to happen.
Jackson quickly turns the wheel to the right and we're going down a side street and my father is no where in sight.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
"Thank you so much," I say to Jackson.
He glances over to me for a split second before putting his eyes back on the road, "I'm not going to let you get hurt again, trust me."
His words are foreign to me, I've never had anyone ask me a question so nicely. He's asking me to trust him and that's something I don't know if I can do after everything the male species has already put me through.
"I'll try," I whisper to where Jackson can't hear me.
"What was that?" he asks.
"Nothing," I mumble to myself more than him.
I pull my hair back into a pony tail, if I'm not going to be with my father, I'm not going to follow the ridiculous rules he has in place for me.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"My house," Jackson says.
I keep silent until we pull into the driveway of a cute little white house with red shutters. There is an old Mercury Comet parked in the driveway that looks like it's being worked on. There are two cars, a Ford Focus and a Ford Escort parked in the street in front of the house, they are both the same shade of blue as Jackson's truck.
"My parents are home, I hope you're okay meeting them?" Jackson asks.
"Uh," I start to say before Jackson turns the engine off.
I'm extremely nervous and can feel a light sheen of sweat break out across my forehead and the palms of my hands.
"They're going to like you, don't worry," Jackson smiles.
I fumble with the door handle as I'm trying to let myself out. I've never been in a situation like this before. I worry about what kind of questions they'll ask about me when Jackson introduces me to them. I don't know whether to tell them the truth or stay away from it.
"What do I say to them?" I ask Jackson.
"Whatever you want, I haven't told them anything and you don't have to tell them anything you don't want to," he says with a small smile.
I follow Jackson up the walkway to the house and he lets us in.
"Mom, dad! I'm home! I brought someone with me," he calls out.
I glance around the entry way, there are pictures of Jackson with two other boys who look a lot like him, but younger. There are pictures of all three of them from the time they were born up to present day. I think they look like a very happy family.
From the entry way, we move into a living room which is decorated with pictures of the same three boys. Jackson seems happy in all of them. There is an overstuffed couch in one corner of the living room where a man with greying brown hair sits watching a baseball game on the TV opposite him. There is a woman with light brown, fawn colored hair who is crocheting on the other end of the couch, she has the same blue eyes as Jackson.
"Mom, dad, this is Lina," Jackson says introducing me to his parents.
"Hello dear, have a seat if you'd like, " she says politely, not stopping what she's doing. It looks like she's making some sort of blanket.
"Hi," Jackson's father says quickly with a small wave before turning his attention back to the television.
"Those are my parents," Jackson laughs. "We're gonna go upstairs if that's okay with you?"
"That's fine dear, leave the door open," his mom answers.
Jackson leads me up a short set of stairs that comes off to three bedrooms and a bathroom, all of the doors are open. In the first room we pass, I note a double bed and assume that it's Jackson's parents room. The next door is the bathroom. To my left is another bedroom with a set of bunk beds and a mess of clothes on the floor. I assume that it belongs to the two other boys in the pictures I seen in the living room.
When we reach the last door of the hallway, we enter the room. It's got a twin sized bed, a dresser and a desk with a black computer sitting atop it. The room is decorated in blacks and grays. I notice that his room is cleaner than the other bedroom we passed.
"Sit on the bed if you want," he says shyly.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than just a thank you for offering me a seat. I mean it for saving me from the wrath of my father.
"You're welcome," Jackson says. I can hear more meaning behind his words also.
"I hate to be like this, but what am I going to do now?" I ask.
"I don't know, but we'll figure it out," Jackson says.
"You have no idea what you're getting me out of," I tell him, rubbing the place on my cheek where I spotted the bruise this morning.
"Seeing what your father did to you yesterday pissed me off and I wouldn't let anyone do that to another person, so I'm happy to get you out of whatever situation you're in," he says sweetly. "And judging by your reaction, you're more than scared of your father and that's not something that anyone should ever feel toward a parent."
"You have no idea," I say quietly.
"I'm here to listen," he offers.
"You have no idea how grateful I am, but now I can't go home again,"
"You will be able to, once everything is said and done," Jackson says, "at least to get your stuff."
"How will I do that?" I ask.
"Cops," Jackson says simply, "now, let us get you started on this whole emancipation thing."