Sticky
Three
“Hartley, honey, what is this?” Hartley turned to the voice, and froze when she saw what her mother was holding. In her hand was the shirt she’d been wearing the night it happened. There was a jagged rip in the side; a few loose threads hanging down with a spattering of blood across the very edge of the hem. Her mouth moved to answer but no words would form, Hartley’s lips opening and closing like some sort of helpless fish.
“Did you – did you get into an accident? Were you texting and driving, because you know what happened to your cous –“
“Mom. Mom!” She said, finding her voice finally. “I wasn’t in a car accident, I . . . tripped! On my way up the porch steps a few weekends ago. I’m fine, really.” Hartley knew that this sounded incredibly lame, even if it was true, though that was not how her clothing had gotten so banged up. Her mom gave her a skeptical look, the woman’s brows bridging together in the middle. She sat the rose-colored top on her daughter’s bed and started toward the hallway. She was almost out the door when the sound of her baby sniffling lightly came down on her ears.
“Honey?” She questioned, whirling around to face Hartley just before the waterworks appeared. Fat tears rolled quickly down Hartley’s cheeks, dragging small bits of black mascara with them. Her mom was back across the room in two seconds flat, sitting down beside the girl on the bed and putting an arm around her shaking shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Hartley? What really happened?” Hartley leaned into her mother, blurting out the words she’d been holding back for weeks. She told about how they went to the park, where he’d first tried to put his hands on her and how she’d refused them, how he got his revenge on her later. But throughout the whole tale, she couldn’t bring herself to reveal the name of the man who’d broken her, not even when her mother demanded she tell.
“Did you – did you get into an accident? Were you texting and driving, because you know what happened to your cous –“
“Mom. Mom!” She said, finding her voice finally. “I wasn’t in a car accident, I . . . tripped! On my way up the porch steps a few weekends ago. I’m fine, really.” Hartley knew that this sounded incredibly lame, even if it was true, though that was not how her clothing had gotten so banged up. Her mom gave her a skeptical look, the woman’s brows bridging together in the middle. She sat the rose-colored top on her daughter’s bed and started toward the hallway. She was almost out the door when the sound of her baby sniffling lightly came down on her ears.
“Honey?” She questioned, whirling around to face Hartley just before the waterworks appeared. Fat tears rolled quickly down Hartley’s cheeks, dragging small bits of black mascara with them. Her mom was back across the room in two seconds flat, sitting down beside the girl on the bed and putting an arm around her shaking shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Hartley? What really happened?” Hartley leaned into her mother, blurting out the words she’d been holding back for weeks. She told about how they went to the park, where he’d first tried to put his hands on her and how she’d refused them, how he got his revenge on her later. But throughout the whole tale, she couldn’t bring herself to reveal the name of the man who’d broken her, not even when her mother demanded she tell.
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Sorry if this moves at an agonizingly slow pace, I'm still trying to figure out how I want this to go but I know for certain that by the end I want to reveal who raped Hartley.