Soft Steel

9 years ago Violet "Stop! Leave her alone!" I screamed the minute I got into the parlor of our rundown two-bedroom apartment and took in what was going on. My Mom lay curled on the floor beside the three-seater couch we had in the room, tears running down her cheek, fear stark in her eyes, a trail of red down her chin. "Stop it, you bastard! Leave my Mom alone!" I shouted, taking a step towards him. But he beat me to it as he whirled around and hit me smack on the cheek with his palm. The force had me taking two steps back. A moan of pain left my lips before I pressed my lips together. I hated him, Greg MacDonald. He had been my Mom's boyfriend for as long as I could remember. He was also my Mom's pimp and an abusive bastard. I was fifteen and I had watched him beat my mom and treat her like trash almost all my life. "Violet, no! Go to your room." Mom called out to me, the words jumbled because Greg had hit her in the mouth and split her lips. "I can't leave you, Mom." I whispered, tears filling my eyes. I hated this for her because she was a good Mom who although life wasn't good for her, tried to make life good for me. She had little success with that seeing as Greg was her boyfriend who hurt her as often as he could. "Yeah Violet, do as Mommy said. Go to your room." He sneered at me before turning back to Mom. I always wondered what Mom saw in him in the first place. He wasn't handsome, far from it. His dirty ear-length blond hair was disheveled and his white skin had a sickly pallor. His crooked nose was too big for his face and his black eyes were hard and mean. He was ugly, flat out. But Mom, Mom was beautiful. And this wasn't me saying it because she was my Mom. No, Mom was beautiful because I looked in the mirror regularly and my beautiful reflection stared back at me. I was beautiful and I took just about everything from Mom. Everything except her eyes and hair. "V, baby, please go." Mom pleaded, still curled on the floor. And Greg stood waiting, for me to leave, I guess. Well, that wasn't going to happen. "No, Mom." Greg turned around so quickly I couldn't sidestep him and hit me this time with his fist on the chin. I fell to the ground and the tears that had filled my eyes fell. "No! Leave my baby alone!" Mom cried and I could hear the pain in her voice. Greg hitting me wasn't a new thing. He hit Mom, he hit me. "Shut up, Lisa!" He barked, twisting his head to glare at Mom and she curled into herself, whimpering. God, it was awful to see. "And you!" He turned black mean eyes at me as he bent and pulled me up by my hair. I screeched in agony, my hands going straight to his, attacking him with my long fingernails. He winced, briefly let go of me to slap the hell out of me, and grabbed my hair back before I recovered from the slap. "When Lisa tells you to go to your room, you do as she said!" He yelled into my face, spittle and all. "Do you hear me?" He asked, shaking me still with his grip on my hair. I screamed and tears ran down my cheek. My face hurt, my scalp hurt. "Yes!" I felt more pain as one hand let go of my hair and he punched me hard in the belly, right at the spot he hit me two days ago. "You call me sir, you mannerless twit!" His face was red with anger. I didn't reply him simply because I couldn't. His punch took the air out of my lungs and I struggled to breathe. I felt brief relief when the hand holding my hair let go abruptly and I fell to the ground. But that meant he rounded on Mom because she had hit him with the stick she had in her hand. She probably got up when he was with me because neither of us saw or heard her. "Leave my baby alone." Mom panted. There was terror in her eyes but there was also a flicker of anger. For me. "Lisa, you hit me with that stick? You are dead!" Greg snarled and lunged for Mom. I heard her shriek and a few seconds later, a thump. And for an eerie minute, there was silence, except for Greg's harsh pants. Fear slithered up my spine. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. And I found out I was right when I picked myself from off the floor and walked gingerly around Greg. Mom lay on the floor, a pool of blood beside her head, and the edge of the old, rusted, and faulty iron center table Greg brought a year ago was stained with blood. Mom's blood. He had thrown her at the table and she hit the back of her head at the edge. "No!" I whispered in horror, unable to speak louder. Greg stood motionless as I fell on my knees beside Mom, cradling her beautiful bloody face in my hands. "Mom, no. Please, please.." I whispered feverishly, tears streaming down my face. God please no. Mom was my life, I couldn't lose her. I turned to Greg and whispered brokenly, "Call 911, please!" That seemed to rouse him from his trance 'cos he took one look at me and Mom and ran to the door. But it opened before he could open it and cop Joe stepped into the room. His intelligent eyes swept across the room, stopping briefly on my shaking body and Mom's still one and filled with fury. "Dispatch, this is Joe. I need backup at Elisabeth Fisher's house and an ambulance, stat." Joe spoke into his two-way radio and pulled out a handcuff. He handcuffed Greg to the door and walked towards me. Crouching, he placed two fingers on Mom's neck for a minute shutting his eyes. He stood up and walked back to Greg. "Greg MacDonald, you are under arrest for abuse and..." Joe's eyes cut across to me for a second and they softened in sympathy before returning back to Greg and hardening. "...the murder of Elisabeth Fisher. You have the right to remain silent because everything you say..." Joe continued to speak but I was stuck at 'murder.' My Mom was dead!