For the Rest of Our Lives
Fifteen (2007)
Sally often looks to be in a little gloomy world of her own, but today seems extra bad. She's an empty shell of her former self when she knocks on the sliding door of my back porch. My parents are out with Nathan eating at the family restaurant a few blocks down; I opted out because I wasn't feeling too well. I'm old enough to stay at home alone now.
The rain is pouring down, and Sally is soaked to the core. But she looks soaked to the point where she must have been standing outside for a long time before knocking. Her white shirt is torn, and I can see her bra through it because of the rain. She's not wearing any pants or shorts- just her flower patterned underwear.
There's a bruise forming on her cheek, bruises on her arms and legs. A couple bruises on her neck. She rubs her arm with her hand, looking at her feet. Her lips are blue and her body is shaking.
"Sally?" I ask after sliding the door open. Sally just stands there for a moment. Finally she looks up at me. Her stare is blank, but there are tears in her eyes begging to fall.
"Can- can I just stay here for a while?" she asks, her voice trembling like the rest of her.
"Of course," I say, and step aside. She finally moves from her spot, enters the house, and stands awkwardly by the sofa, dripping on the carpet. I slide the door back shut. She's still holding her arm with one hand when I turn back to her. Her stare is on the ground again.
I frown and reach to take her hand. Sally flinches away from me.
"So-sorry," she says. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me, taking another step back. "I don't want to be touched right now."
"Okay," I say. We stand there like that for a while longer before I finally shake my head. "Come with me to my room. You look cold as hell."
I make my way up the stairs to my room, glancing back a few times to make sure she's following behind. And she is following me, but her stare is back on the floor again. The fear in her eyes is gone and the emptiness has returned.
She stands awkwardly in the center of my room while I dig through the clothes in my closet, the clothes in my dresser. I pull out a long t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, satisfied with the selection. I hold them out to her, and she flinches again.
My heart hurts. What happened to her to make her like this? Sally reaches a shaky hand out, finally letting go of her arm, and takes the clothes from me. She begins to peel off her shirt mechanically, and I turn away from her to give her some semblance of privacy. A wet thud echoes off the wall as she drops the soaked shirt to the floor. A few minutes pass by.
"I'm dressed," she says quietly. I turn back around to face her. She's staring at her feet.
"What happened?" I whisper. Sally takes in a shaky breath and then sits down on my bed.
"My dad-" she stops. "He- he..." Her next words are barely audible. My stomach twists violently. I vomit right there on the floor.
The rain is pouring down, and Sally is soaked to the core. But she looks soaked to the point where she must have been standing outside for a long time before knocking. Her white shirt is torn, and I can see her bra through it because of the rain. She's not wearing any pants or shorts- just her flower patterned underwear.
There's a bruise forming on her cheek, bruises on her arms and legs. A couple bruises on her neck. She rubs her arm with her hand, looking at her feet. Her lips are blue and her body is shaking.
"Sally?" I ask after sliding the door open. Sally just stands there for a moment. Finally she looks up at me. Her stare is blank, but there are tears in her eyes begging to fall.
"Can- can I just stay here for a while?" she asks, her voice trembling like the rest of her.
"Of course," I say, and step aside. She finally moves from her spot, enters the house, and stands awkwardly by the sofa, dripping on the carpet. I slide the door back shut. She's still holding her arm with one hand when I turn back to her. Her stare is on the ground again.
I frown and reach to take her hand. Sally flinches away from me.
"So-sorry," she says. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me, taking another step back. "I don't want to be touched right now."
"Okay," I say. We stand there like that for a while longer before I finally shake my head. "Come with me to my room. You look cold as hell."
I make my way up the stairs to my room, glancing back a few times to make sure she's following behind. And she is following me, but her stare is back on the floor again. The fear in her eyes is gone and the emptiness has returned.
She stands awkwardly in the center of my room while I dig through the clothes in my closet, the clothes in my dresser. I pull out a long t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, satisfied with the selection. I hold them out to her, and she flinches again.
My heart hurts. What happened to her to make her like this? Sally reaches a shaky hand out, finally letting go of her arm, and takes the clothes from me. She begins to peel off her shirt mechanically, and I turn away from her to give her some semblance of privacy. A wet thud echoes off the wall as she drops the soaked shirt to the floor. A few minutes pass by.
"I'm dressed," she says quietly. I turn back around to face her. She's staring at her feet.
"What happened?" I whisper. Sally takes in a shaky breath and then sits down on my bed.
"My dad-" she stops. "He- he..." Her next words are barely audible. My stomach twists violently. I vomit right there on the floor.