Escape from Abuse

Sandman’s car is an old 1982 Volvo 245 turbo. I see it as my brother carries me. We don’t take his car. It stands out. It’s unique. Also I go in under a different name each time I’m at the hospital. I look different every time too. Different bruises. Different cuts. Anger courses through my veins. If it wasn’t for my dad maybe I’d have some dignity. Some life. A reason to live. That’s just it. I don’t have a reason to live. Except John. I think I’m his reason too. In fact I know I am. As I ponder this I’m being laid down in the back of the car. John is talking quietly to Sandman. I can’t hear them. Blood is still coming from my face. I still feel the quiet, throbbing pain in my skull. But it’s bearable. I think of my dad again. White hot fury erupts once more inside me. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I wish he were dead. I wish he were gone. I wish John was my dad. I wish…I wish. But wishes don’t come true. I learned that when I was young. I was the only kindergartener in my class who wouldn’t play with the other kids. The only one who wouldn’t cry if they fell and got hurt. I scared the crap out of my teachers. My dad was worse then. He’d beat me harder and longer, now he drinks so much that he can usually hardly walk. I was only a little girl. Or maybe not. Maybe I wasn’t little at all. Maybe since day one I’ve been a mini adult. Maybe I’m so insignificant I don’t count as a person at all… That’s interesting but maybe true.
Sandman and my brother’s conversation breaks through my thoughts. “Are you sure?” that’s Sandman’s voice.
“How the hell can I be sure? It’s up to her…” silence “Let’s say she was running and hit the fence.”
“Dude, her injuries are too horrible to say that. They’d never believe us. What about a four-wheeler accident. She just got a new four-wheeler and she’s been dying to try it out. She was going full speed and lost control. The she hit a tree…hard.” Sandy’s a genus!!!
“What’s my name?” I ask causing both of them to jump.
“We have two birth certificates left one for a Skye Bulivardez and one for Nicole Jones. Which one?” my brother answers lightly.
“Skye is much cooler. I choose her. What’s her medical record?” I ask.
“Ummm…I think numeral vaccinations, a broken leg…nothing serious.” My brother says.
At this moment little black dots appear in front of my face. They pulse and grow bigger and bigger until I’m out. I’m floating somewhere in space.