Even If Saving You Sends Me To Heaven

The rain hitting out kitchen window made quiet tapping noises in the dark room. It added to the snoring coming from our livingroom, giving the whole house a creepy feeling. I was standing by the sing, glass of water in my hand, while watching the daylight creep in. It never got light before eight in the morning in this part of Jersey, and I was honestly thankful for that. Keeping the house more or less dark as long as possible would minimize the already slim chnce of George waking up and giving me a beating before school. He usually slept 'til ten, or even twelve some times, before he left the house and stayed out 'til I came home from school. The loose clothes that once were my brother's combined with what little concealer I had left from my mother's old make-up bag covered my bruises as good as I could get it. I had realized, after trying, that it would be hard to cover my busted lip, so I just left it like that, but I had covered the extra purpleness of the bags hanging under my eyes. I looked as good as I possibly could. With a final sigh, I drained the glass of water, feeling the cool liquid run down my worn out throat. I was glad we had water, or else I wouldn't get anything into my tummy. We never had food, anywhere I could get it at least, and what little money I found when I was lucky were spent on washing clothes at the local wash.
By the time i reached my school, my clothes were drenched. I could have put on a jacket if I had one, but I couldn't afford one. I wasn't about to use whatever was in the envelope Gerard had given me. I knew it contained some form for money, but I didn't know how much, and I wasn't about to use it unless it was absolutely necessary. I wanted to save Gerard in that envelope as long as I possibly could.

The school yard was mostly empty. No jocks by the tables or cheerleaders on the grass. A few people were running to get out of the rain as soon as possible, but I didn't bother. I knew I wasn't late, and I was wet already. How could a few extra drops of water hurt me? I wished I had a normal family; father who would drive me to school on his way to work, or even a mother who bought me a car. The school had buses, but it was a small, half-private school and I'd have to pay more than I could afford to get on the bus. I settled with walking.
History was my first subject, and as always I hung my head and made my way to my spot. Once settled, I glanced up at the noise a few classmates were making to see what the big deal was, and saw most of my class gathered in around a desk a couple of isles in front of my desk. I found it highly unusual, seeing as my class was the clique kind of class - the were never gathered at the same place. My only hope for a friend walked in the door, and told the class to settle down in their seats.

Mr. Jones wasn't even close to my friend, but he was the only one I knew who would treat me more or less like a human being, and not some kind of freak. He would smile and ask how my day had been if I met him in the corridors. He would actually notice me in stead of ignoring me. He would give me a detention if I were late for class; a good thing for me. I felt human, just knowing that he treated me like the other students, and didn't ignore me like the other teachers did. I usually didn't get there late because of the consequences I would get at home.

As people finally started to settle down, I hung my head as I usually did when class began, but the nagging feeling of not knowing what the big deal before class got the better of me and I lifted my head slightly to look. I could barely lift my head because another one of my enemys was sitting right behind me, and he wouldn't be happy if I moved too much. I had learned that the hard way. As my eyes landed on the new girl sitting there, my breath caught in my throat.

The beautiful creature was leaning over her desk, supporting her weight on her elbows as scribbling every word coming out of Mr. Jones' mouth. Every three seconds she lifted her hand and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. The rest of her hair was braided in pigtales and hanging loosely down her back. Her black hoodie had a skull print on her back and her tight, navy jeans leading down to a pair of worn out, pink converse made me smile. It was nice seeing a person so oblivious to the dresscode at out school. She looked free - wearing whatever she wanted. I had to duck my head a little down when she turned to Fredic behind her to ask for a pencil sharpener, but I was still watching her with her eyes. Her greenish-grey eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner and made a nice, cat-looking shape to her eyes. Her nails were painted yellow and she was wearing a matching fingerless glove on her right hand. She was gorgeous.

Soon enough, the pain I was expecting impacted the back of my head. I quickly put my head down, but couldn't stop myself from reaching my hand to the back of my head to feel how big the wound was. Anthony always hurt me somewhere with the needle side of his compass, some times worse than others. Feeling around, I located the sticky liquid, but was glad to feel how little it was. I wiped my hand on my pants and kept staring at my lap for the rest of class.
History couldn't possibly go any slower. The vikings in Norway were really uninteresting, and I was already getting sick of it. My thoughts kept wandering to the new girl. I smiled, knowing she was proably the only person in the room who hadn't hit, shoved or kicked me. She hadn't called me nasty names or insulted my family (they were all so oblivious). Being new at a school usually md you the weakest link. But not at this school; this school already had one. And I was sitting in the very same classroom as her, thinking about her.

The rest of the day went slowly, every now and then leaving new bruises on my already hurt body. I hadn't seen the new girl since I ran out of history class to hide in the bathrooms until the bell rang again. I always went to the bathrooms during the break to minimize the bruises, even though they still got me. Even though I hadn't seen her, I was thinking about her all the time.

By the time I walked out of the old school building, the rain had stopped. I didn't want to go home; dreading the moment I walked in the door more and more for every step, but I couldn't delay. I would eventually end up there and if I was late, the beating would be worse. As soon as I rounded the corner and saw my house, I slowed my pace automatically. The amount of fear walking up the three small steps to our door was washed away by the relief to see that George wasn't standing right on the other side, waiting for me. As I made my way up the stairs, however, I could hear a female voice and slight thumping. I stopped in my tracks and listened. The female was screaming or moaning... I quickly walked up the rest of the stairs; prepared to fight for her life. As soon as I reached my door (where the sound was coming from), I listened more to make sure. The thumping was more like banging up there, and the moaning sounded like moans of pleasure. As soon as I figures what George was doing in my bed, I felt the need to throw up. I gagged and ran towards the bathroom, throwing myself over the while porcelain bowl, but I didn't throw up. I was only spitting repeatedly. I hadn't had any foor in a while and I didn't have anything to throw up.

I found it really disgusting that he would fuck some random slut in my bed, but what did I expect? It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last. I couldn't believe how he could do something like that to my mother. The very day I found her dead, George had found somebody else to fuck. I didn't like to think about my mother's dead body. Her pale face and frozen eyes staring at me. A belt fastened too tightly around her throat, strangling her. I could see that she had tried to get it off by the way her hand was gripping it. I had let out a huge scream and a massive amout of tears when I first saw her, making George mad and violent. He had hit me several times and told me to get rid of her. The amount of pressure to give her a worthy funural was still hanging over me, as all I could do was bring her to her favorite place in the whole world - the forrest - and bury her there. I had made her a card and picked flowers for her. Her name was written on a rock in pink chalk, and I had put her favorite dress on her lifeless body. The memories were horrible, but they never seemed to disappear.

I hadn't noticed the tears in my eyes as before my hand reached up to wipe them away. I wasn't about to sit by the toilet and cry for my mom, so I quickly got op (whincing in pain), and made my way down the two flights of stairs and into Gerard's room, locking the door and crashing onto the bed. I was having a hard time crying, even when George wasn't around, but I was making progress by letting a few tears run down my cheeks.
After lying on the bed for a while, I remembered my hope and reached my hand under the matress, feeling around for the small piece of paper. I pulled out when my fingers finally gripped it, and put it on my chest, sighing deeply. Holding the envelope close to my heart calmed me down to read the words spelled out in itallics.

Save yourself, I'll hold him back.

Notes