Chapter 12: Bruises That You Can't See
1240 Words
I could not recall how I got home after the encounter with Dale. I must have walked. Or maybe I took the bus. Or maybe my legs simply carried me on their own while my mind went blank. I could not say. All I knew was that the moment I crossed the threshold of my room, I collapsed.
The alarm clock rang, yet I was too tired to reach for it. The weekend had passed in a blur, slipping through my fingers like sand. Monday had arrived long before I was ready. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, watching faint shadows move across it. My mind drifted back to that night. The words spoken. The emotions I had tried to push down. The trembling in my chest that never seemed to stop.
I told myself it had been a moment of weakness. That everyone had those. That it was normal to slip, to fall, to break for a moment. But how many times would I make that excuse. How long before I stopped pretending I still had control over myself when it came to him.
I had not slept a wink last night and the consequences had already manifested itself on my body. School was still hours away, but the thought of getting ready, of pretending to be fine, made something inside me curl up and retreat. I did not have the energy. Not for classes. Not for teachers. And definitely not for the possibility of facing him.
I could already imagine the tightness in my throat if we crossed paths. I would break again, just like I always did. My emotions had a mind of their own whenever it came to him. It scared me more than I wanted to admit. I had never depended on anyone for anything, and after he came into my life, it was like my thoughts, my body, and even my reactions no longer belonged to me.
I lay there under the blanket, wishing time would freeze, until my aunt’s voice tore through the walls. Her scream echoed down the hallway, sharp and unforgiving. I forced myself out of bed, dragging my tired feet across the cold floor.
She stood in the kitchen with her arms crossed, her expression as sour as always.
“Are you still in bed? Did you forget your responsibility to me and this household?” Her tone carried the same contempt she used every morning.
“I... d... di...” I struggled to form words, but she cut me off before I could finish.
“I... I... I... you nothing,” she mocked, her lips curling. “Now since you do not plan to make it to school today, go make me a cup of coffee. And make it right this time.” She turned away like the matter was settled.
I swallowed the tightness in my throat and headed to the kitchen. My hands trembled as I scooped coffee into the mug. The spoon clinked against the ceramic too loudly, making me flinch.
When I returned, I set the cup gently in front of her on the dining table.
“C... can I take my leave now?” My voice trembled despite how hard I tried to steady it.
She looked up at me, her gaze sharp and assessing, though I could not tell what she searched for. She gave a slow nod.
Relief had barely reached my chest when she spoke again.
“Your uncle will be coming home tonight, so make sure you make something good for us since you are not in the mood for school.” Her voice was thick with mockery.
At the mention of my uncle, everything inside me froze. My blood turned icy. My breathing stilled. The room felt smaller.
He was not supposed to be back yet. He usually stayed away for months at a time. A year if I was lucky. The idea of him coming home tonight made my stomach twist into a painful knot.
I stood motionless for a few seconds before nodding weakly and hurrying out of the room.
The moment my bedroom door closed behind me, I collapsed face first onto my pillow. My tears broke loose. They came hot and heavy, soaking through the fabric beneath me.
Why. Why now. Why so soon.
My voice was hoarse, barely audible even to myself. Memories of the past forced their way forward like unwelcome ghosts, replaying scenes I wished I could erase. They came in fragments. The tone of his voice whenever he wanted to belittle me. The satiated look in his eyes when he saw fear forming in mine.
He was supposed to be a father figure after my dad died. He was supposed to protect me. He was supposed to keep the tears from my cheeks, not be the reason they fell in the first place.
The verbal abuse I had endured from him carved itself into my bones. Even now, his voice lived inside my head, reminding me of who he believed I was. A nobody. A burden. A waste of space who would never amount to anything.
I tried to fight those thoughts. I really did. I tried to build myself up each day, telling myself I was more than the names he called me. Sarah helped too. She was my anchor on the days I felt like I would sink. She always encouraged me to seek help. She even walked me to the door of the school psychologist more times than I could count. But every single time, I froze.
What if the psychologist told someone? What if word got back to my aunt or uncle? What if things got worse? I knew it was unlikely, but fear does not listen to logic. Fear listens to past experience.
So I kept everything inside, convincing myself I could handle it alone. But no matter how hard I tried, I always stumbled. I always spiraled back into the version of myself he created, the version that believed every cruel thing he ever said.
I did not want to go through another cycle of that. I did not want to feel worthless again. I did not want to lose myself again.
But what could I do?
There was nowhere else to go. No one who could take me in. No escape I could reach. All I could do was wait. Wait for the sound of the front door opening. Wait for his heavy steps to fill the house. Wait for my fate to unfold the moment he set eyes on me again.
I curled into myself on the mattress, pulling the blanket over my head as if it could shield me from everything I feared. The fabric smelled faintly of laundry soap, a smell that usually made me feel calm. Today it did nothing.
I stayed like that for what felt like hours, letting the quiet settle in the room. The morning sun climbed slowly across the window, casting soft light on the floor. Each minute felt too long, too heavy, too full of dread.
I wished more than anything that I could rewind time. But time does not move backward, no matter how much you beg it to. It only moves forward, dragging you along whether you are ready or not.
But now, all I could do was wait and hope that maybe this time would not break me completely.
- Writer
