Who You Are

Help me. It's like the walls are caving in. Sometimes I feel like giving up. In my blood screams over the speakers of the city transit as it navigates the fairly dead streets before us. The rain pounds against the roof and slicks down the windows as the dark night swallows them whole. The road glistens from the wet and the sky holds a level of fog I haven't seen in a while. No medicine is strong enough. Someone help me. I'm crawling in my skin. As I watch the world pass by, in the light of a thousand stars, I can't help but think how much I relate to this song. The sheer anticipation of getting home on time, and the mass anxiety knowing I won't eats away at my consciousness. My heart is palpitating. My palms are sweating. My throat is constricting. I'm suffocating, and internally whimpering at the knowledge of what could be waiting for me at home. If you could even call it home. The bus turns a corner and connects with a long stretch of pavement before stopping at the bus shed just down the road from where it sits. My heart beats harder. Louder. And I'm fairly certain I need a doctor, because this cannot be a good thing. In fact, I'm fairly certain I'm having a heart attack. The bus stops, opening the accordion style doors and waiting for me to depart. After taking a deep breath, I do just that. The rain instantly clings to the worn sweater and raggedy jeans that cover the flesh of my body. The locks of hair that have escaped the elastic are now sticking to my face like a second skin. At this point, I'm really wishing that I had a jacket. But I'm also wishing that I had shoes that didn't have holes in them, because the water is soaking through to my socks. I can hear it before I see it. The silence. I hear it before I even catch sight of the single wide trailer I'm forced to sleep in every night. Silence is never a good thing. Silence means he's waiting. Silence means that the television isn't on, and he's sitting in his chair, with his hands folded in front of him as he stares at the door. Silence means a long, painful night. "Hey doll," a voice says from beside me. I turn to the right and catch a glimpse of Trenton, the thirty seven year old neighbor sitting outside on his front porch smoking a cigarette. He lives in that single wide with his alcohol addicted wife and two sons. He works at the mechanics shop down the street and has always been somewhat kind. "Good luck tonight," He throws his cigarette on the ground and grinds it with the toe of his shoe. And without another word, or another glance he shuts the door behind him and leaves me alone. I watch after him before turning back to the disaster that awaits. Just like I previously thought, he's waiting for me. In his chair. With his hands folded and a blank expression on his face. I don't even bother to acknowledge him. He knows I'm aware of his presence. The squawk of his chair sounds through the room as he stands, and the pound of his foot steps echo across the walls. "Where were you?" he says, in a low voice. "It's after seven." I don't tear my eyes from the stain that sits on the floor. I just take a deep breath and say, "I had to go to the library for a school project." "Why didn't you tell me?" he replies, raising a few decibels in octave as he says it. "I t-t-told Carol," I reply weakly, knowing this excuse wouldn't fly. "I'm going to ask one more time. Why didn't you tell ME?" he yells this time. Full on enraged, and I know this from the fist that connects with the side of my face. He never hits the face, always someplace you can cover. Shock resonated through me as I finally take in a look of his face. A face I'll never forget. Especially not in this moment. The pure evil that lurks in his cold, empty eyes. The clenching of the uneven, yellowed teeth. And the red that washes across it in extreme anger. Tonight will not be like the others. I don't have time to think much. His hand grips the remains of my pony tail and throws me to the floor where the kicking picks up. My ribs are breaking, I can feel it in the sharp pain and the loss of breath. My stomach is clenching and my arms are trying to figure out what to protect the most. "DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN! YOU HEAR ME?" he screams. "YOU WILL ALWAYS BE HOME ON TIME." I'm trying to find a way to chill, can't breathe, oh. Is there somebody who could. Help me. I lost track of time. I lay on the floor, caved in on myself. Lost in my own head. I barely register the sound of keys jingling and the door slamming. I wait another minute before I even try to move. Noticing the already searing pain that sits across the whole expanse of my body. It hurts. It really, really hurts. My face burns, and I know that the mark left for me in the morning will be hard to cover up. I sit in the silence, trying to think of what I'm going to say; how I'm going to get myself out of this. But I'm momentarily silenced when the bedroom door opens and the shuffling of feet enter the cramped living room. "What'd you do now?" she asks, no emotion present whatsoever. To her, everything is my fault. "I was home too late," I whisper. "I had that project to work on at the library." "Oh, that's right. Must have slipped my mind to tell him," she smiles ruefully. She's a menace. A disgusting excuse for a human with no care in the world for anyone but herself and her bottle of tequila. The one she is so gingerly cradling in her arms like its a newborn baby. She didn't tell him on purpose, we both know it. I can't bring myself to get up on my feet. The only thing I can muster the courage to do, is crawl my way, on all fours to the small square box that I call a bedroom. Thank the lord that my bed is just a mattress on the floor. I crawl towards it, not even bothering to undress and curl into the fetal position and cry. I think of nothing but the sea and the stars. And my mother. I miss my mother. Before slowly falling to sleep in a heap of bruised, wet, shivering skin. All I can really think about before succumbing to the sleep, is I really need a doctor.   The night brings me restless sleep. I'm tossing and turning, but barely moving at the same time. I'm in and out of consciousness, awakening from pain and nightmares. Until. Until a hand caresses my thigh and the other holding my breast as a weight sits atop my legs. I open my eyes with a gasp, finding him straddling me. His shirt is off and his pants and belt are unbuckled. I look upon him in horror. Wondering if this is really happening. But I can tell by the smirk on his lips, and the feel of his hands across me that I'm not having another nightmare. "Wh-wh-what are you doing?" I stutter. I struggle against him, causing him to grip both my wrists and pin them above my head. He pushes harder against me and my whole body convulses in pain. "Shhhh ducky. Don't fight it," he says. There is no emotion behind his voice, and I can smell the liquor as it leaks from his gums. His hand is everywhere. His body holding me captive. "Please. Please don't do this!" I cry, not even noticing the tears there leaking from my eyes. He slaps my face, careening it to the side before spitting on me. "Shut your filthy mouth. You can't fight this," he yells, tearing at me. My shirt rips clear down the middle. My voice carries several intervals, and I'm switching back and forth from screaming and hyperventilating as he tears at the rest of me. It doesn't take long for my body to weaken and my will to deplete. I'm losing all awareness as my mind shuts off and I succumb to the darkness. In the brief mental state, I can faintly hear the pounding of the door and the rough extraction of the body atop me. Bringing a breath back into me before I'm finally sunk into oblivion. I need somebody now. I need somebody now. Someone to help me out.