Bottom of the Blackest Hole

“Get out here now, you little slut!” I could hear my drunken father’s bangs on my bedroom door.

I hugged my knees close to my chest in my little hiding spot I had made since I was old enough to understand my surrounding, the back corner of my little closet.

Just one more night, Bailey. You can do it, just one more night.

I reminded myself over and over again. Tomorrow, I’m going to turn twenty-one. I could finally leave my home. No more hitting. No more bruises. No more broken bones. No more blood. No more tears. No more of the man I call my father.

I outstretched my arms under the bottom of my sleeping bag I always have in here. I got out a white envelope and opened it. One thousand dollars.

All my hard work of babysitting and working will finally pay off the moment I step on the plane to New York City tomorrow. He doesn’t even know I’m leaving. For that thought, I chuckled quietly to myself.

I counted my money again, over and over, to make sure the sum amount was right. I already paid my plane ticket so that was no problem. The plane leaves at six in the morning, so that won’t be a problem either, since my dad would still be sleeping.

I would’ve left at the age of eighteen but I didn’t have enough money at the time and he stopped drinking. I thought he changed…I really did. But once his girlfriend dumped him, he started again and the beatings became more severe.

I didn’t blame the girlfriend. Who could love such a monster like him? I couldn’t blame my mother for leaving me here the moment I was born, either. She detested him and she hated me as well, at least that’s what my father tells me. I believed him, if she loved me, then she wouldn’t have left, but I didn’t blame her…

My father would always tell me how they met…in the truest, cruelest way possible. He raped her and forced her to live with him. “She was such a whore, like you!” He would yell to me. I resisted the urge to slap him across the face for talking like that. She was pregnant at the age of seventeen. The ironic part was that, my father was her childhood best friend; there were pictures around the house to prove it. She couldn’t tell the police because he threatened to kill her. Oh yes, horrible isn’t it?

I guess not everybody gets a happy ending, do they?

I sighed deeply and threw back my envelope underneath my sleeping bag. The knockings and yelling were gone, but he’ll be back. He probably just went to get more alcohol, and then he’ll come back and keep me awake all night.

I sighed again before snuggling under my tiny, warm blanket.

Thank god for locks.

One more night, Bailey. Just one more.

--

“Bailey Morgan Beth! How dare you!” Mrs. Bethford yelled at me. I almost smiled but the look Courtney gave me stopped me to do so.

I was in the Bethford’s family SUV, riding to the airport at the out skirt of our small town. Courtney Bethford, my best friend since preschool, was sitting on my right while her little sister, Jaslene, was staring curiously at the window to the cornfields we were passing.

“I told you so many times that you should stay at our house! Look at you! You barely had any sleep at all!” Mrs. Bethford scolded at me from the front as her husband, Mr. Bethford, kept his eyes on the road.

“Really Mrs. B, I’m fine. No beatings this time, just a lot of shouting.” I assured her for the millionth time. She huffed in annoyance but left the topic.

I smiled and turned to Courtney, she was eying me carefully.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“You know ‘what’. Did you know you had me worried all night? You had me thinking that your dad beat you to death or something.” She yelled in hushed whispers. I rolled my eyes at her.

“You worry too much, Courts. I’m fine, really.” I said and smiled.

Ah, my winning/assuring smile. Everybody falls for that, everybody except Courtney. I always used that smile to tell them that nothing’s wrong. It’s what I do best, hiding. I could hide bruises. I could hide my pain. I could hide my emotions and make a new one so easily but only Courtney could really see that I am in pain, that I have bruises all over my body, and that my emotions are always sad.

She sighed and mutters, ‘whatever’.

I turned my head from her and looked out the window. I owe the Bethfords a lot. One, for always loving me like I am family. Two, for treating me like an actual human since when everybody else always seems to pity me for having a drunken dad. And third, for not turning my dad in. I begged for them not to. If they did, I’d probably be put in foster care and I did not want that at all.

We finally arrived at the small airport. It was unusually busy, for me at least.

We swiveled our way into the counter and showed us our ticket and bags. I only had one as Courtney had three or four with her.

Courtney and I were just about to step to the plane when her family stopped us.

Mrs. Bethford hugged Courtney tightly, as if she was going to go away but she was. “Be safe, alright?” Courtney nodded and smiled reassuring at her mom.

“And call me once you reached your apartment.”

“Yes, ma.” Mr. Bethford came up and said similar things.

Mrs. B then walked towards me. She hugged me protectively while stroking my brunette head. “You beautiful, wonderful, brave girl.” She whispered. I gave her a small smile.

“Take care of yourself and my Care-Bear for me, okay?” I nodded at her. Mr. B gave me a pat on the back and then waved us off.

The moment I stepped my foot on the plane to go to New York City, I knew something will happen. I just don’t know if it will be good or possibly bad.

I was hoping it’d be good.