Holding On To You
And Now That I Write and Think About It, and the...
Ring, Ring, Ring! The bell for lunch goes and I scurry out of Math. It’s been a week since the incident with my dad, not that there haven’t been more…he came home drunk one time and apparently I’m the perfect punching bag. Gerard had some fun with me after I stupidly ran away from him in the halls. His new favorite toy is…my hair! Oh goodie! At least he’s left my face alone a bit, but my dad made sure to cover that ground, not that I care about my appearance anymore since that’s definitely a lost cause.
I head to under the bleachers, where Gerard told me to meet him today, otherwise he’d break my ribs. When I arrive he’s not there, so I crawl as far as I can under and pull out my sketch book. I’m still working on that drawing of the boy, although I’m taking my time. It’s coming together really nicely and I don’t want to mess it up by my stupid haste. I’ve started bringing in the colour, right I’m focused on the eye. It’s big and beautiful with long, feminine lashes that almost reach his thick brow. I’m working on the color, it’s a beautiful hazel-green color that takes precision to get right.
Gerard is running very late, I’m over joyed! I really don’t get how Gerard does it. He’s like the classic, shallow high school jock except…different. He’s the star of the football team, all the boys respect him and all the girls want him. There’s nothing wrong with him; he’s confident, sporty, charismatic, good-looking, arrogant, and demanding. But, he manages to have all the attention and yet the teachers ignore him and his misbehavior. He smokes at school, bullies people at school, swears and skips classes. He wears the badass-don’t-mess-with-me and the perfect-grades-school-boy-football-star mask, at the same time!!! But, I know his true face. He can spit and swear all he wants to make the girls giggle and swoon, but I know he’s only restraining himself from doing what he does to me. I’m his stress outlet. People know he bullies me, to a certain extent. ‘Oh, yeah, Lindsey? That fucked-up girl who Gerard throws a few punches at, yeah I know her. Who doesn’t? She’s Gerard play thing.’ A few punches. If only they knew. I’m more than his play thing; I’m his rag doll. Since grade nine I’m there for him to make fun of and help him assert his power in front of students, for him to drag through the mud and wreck my clothes. I’m there for him to shout all the horrible names and insults at that he needs to let out. I’m his and he can do whatever he wants with me. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop fighting though, ‘til the day I die, I know my stupid death wish of a strong will, will always be there to get in the last word and fuck things up for me even more. It’s only high school though, right? This won’t be my whole life; I’m going to be a famous artist, if I make it…
I’m too engrossed in drawing that I don’t hear Gerard approach. When I finally draw back to observe my work and blow away some of the lead dust, I notice him and jump, startled, I quickly close my book and stuff it in my shoulder bag.
“Gerard!”
“Lindsey…” He is a couple bleachers in front of me with his hands gripping the stair above and leaving forward. He grabs my arm and pulls me out from under the bleachers. I stumble but manage to keep my footing.
He stares at me for a second before I grow tired and break the silence. “What do you want?” I probably shouldn’t have snapped like that.
He raises an eyebrow at me then takes a step forward so he’s right in front of me looking down, anger in his eyes. “You’re rather confident today.”
When his arm draws back to punch, I turn and run. He catches me by my bag pulling it off my shoulder and spilling out all my books, my sketchbook among them. Dropping to the ground and forgetting about Gerard I scramble to save it from the muddy, wet grass. Not in time though; Gerard’s closer and he swiftly scoops it up and proceeds to flick through the pages.
I fly at him shouting, and clawing for it back. “You bastard! Give it back! That’s mine, you can’t look through that, STOP!” He just rolls his eyes and gives me a kick to my stomach sending me roughly to the ground in pain.
I’m whimpering and clutching my stomach, when I notice he stops on one page towards the back of the book. I watch helplessly as he studies it intently. His eyes change from shock, curiosity and then something else…admiration? He finally glances at me over the top of it, looking at me with confusion.
“Lindsey, what the fuck is this?! Why are you drawing this?!”
I stare at him with confusion. What drawing is he looking at?
He gets the message and turns the book around for me to see. It’s the half-finished drawing of the boy that I was working on. I look back at him and gasp. Shit!
Shakily I pull myself to me feet and take the book from him and start to examine it, my eyes flicking back and forth furiously between Gerard’s and the boy’s face. Or should I say, Gerard’s face and the drawing of Gerard’s face. Shit! I drew Gerard! Why the fuck would I do that? There’s no denying it now that I see them together. With the thick brow over piercing hazel eyes, a small, cute nose with a thin, pink slightly upturned on the right side mouth. Messy raven hair that falls perfectly, framing his high cheekbones and round face. He looks very beautiful, I suppose Gerard is.
Gerard’s real face is a mask of shock. His mouth is open, eyes wide, staring expectantly at me. I don’t know what to say so I just stare back. I touch the hair of Gerard in the picture and then hesitantly reach out to run my fingers through Gerard’s real hair. He doesn’t move, just closes his mouth and swallows. His eyes bore into mine, never looking away. Their hazel color is crystal clear, not clouded by anger or pain, they look almost naked in this vulnerable state. It’s beautiful. I don’t dare move away for fear of breaking the calm water between us.
He reaches out and takes the book from my hand, gently. My other hand is still in his hair, running softly through it. When he breaks eye contact to look down at the picture I’m almost sad. It’s still a puzzle for me as to why I drew him. Why didn’t I recognize it was him earlier? I’m so stupid.
After almost a minute of him looking at the picture, the glass shatters and I watch his eyes cloud up again. He looks up at me with anger and also…fear?
“Lindsey…” He voice is low and warning. I quickly remove my hand from his hair and take a step back. He chuckles a little. “You’re so obsessed with me that I’ve seeped into your sub conscious.” I gasp out as if his words cut like knives and take another step back as he advances slowly on me.
“Oh shut up. You love it when I hurt you. Secretly, you crave the pain, don’t you bitch? That’s why you drew me. You can’t stop thinking about me.” He kicks me in the stomach and I fall to the ground. Where is the Gerard that was here only a few minutes ago?
“You try to fight me and tell yourself that you hate it, but you love the bruises I give you. You wear them like a trophy and even when you’re so beat up you can barely move, I slip into you mind and you grab the pencil.” And with that, he waves goodbye as the bell rings for the afternoon. I hear a thud near my ear and after I recover enough to move I look to see it’s my sketchbook.
Slowly lifting myself up, I grab it frantically and run through the pages searching for one picture. I stop when I come close to the back and see the bit of paper still attached to the spiral from the page with the drawing of Gerard.
Why would he take it?
~
My razor…I think, my razor will know. It has all the answers. The power to silence my thoughts. I’m not thinking rationally as I race home, completely disregarding my afternoon classes. My face and stomach ache with the pounding of my steps and beg for me to stop after the beating they took from Gerard. I, no doubt, have a black eye and bruised jaw. At least he left my hair alone today. But what’s aching more are my wrists and thighs. Thrumming with the want to be sliced. I can see the blood now as it leaks out of my veins and runs down my arms and legs staining the already stained 1960s vomit coloured carpet, satisfyingly.
I am pleased to find the house empty of my wretched parents. I ignore the horrid smell of drugs, alcohol and sex that inhabit the house year round and make my way to my room upstairs.
I watch, pleased, as the blood from the long thin cut on my wrist bleeds. Sighing happily, I lay down, feeling drowsy. I pressed a little hard today; maybe this is the end…do I care?
When black clouds my vision I close my eyes…
“Lindsey! FUCK. Wake up, god dammit!” Something is shaking my arm. Ugh! I don’t want to wake up.
“Leave me alone.” I murmur, rolling onto my stomach.
“Lindsey, please.” I hear my mom fall to her knees beside me. She places a soft hand on my back. “Lindsey, please. Look, I’m sorry. Come here sweetheart.” She rolls me over into her lap. I’m too shocked by her tender behavior to move. She caringly strokes my cheek and brushes away my hair.
“Oh, honey. All these bruises…are you getting bullied?” I snort and squirm away, having the pleasant mirage of a caring mother suddenly broken by her stupid question.
“Am I bullied?” I scoff. “Yes, I am bullied by many kids at school,” I motion to my beat up face, “I am abused by dad and you,” I signal my bruised black ribs, “and I hurt myself,” I show her my wrist with the fresh long cut. It’s still bleeding a bit.
She looks at me with wide eyes before answering. “Come here, let’s get you cleaned up.” She makes grabby hands at me but I recoil.
“No! What do you really want?” She’s got an ulterior motive, I know it.
“Nothing Lindsey. Just let me help clean you up and then…I just want to talk to you.” I raise an eyebrow as a question. “It’s about your father.”
What? My father? She pulls me up and into the bathroom, setting to work on cleaning and dressing some of my wounds. It’s only been a few minutes when I hear the front door open and then slam close accompanied by the slurred angry undeniable voice of my father.
“Kathrrrrrine? Lindseyyyyy? I’m home, honey…where ‘re you guys? Come and see your dadddddy…” Our eyes widen with fear. Drunk, angry and looking for us. That’s never good.
My mom rushes to close and lock the bathroom door and signals for me to be quiet.
“I can hear youuuu…Upstairs? The bathroom? I won’ttt hurt you…”
Mom starts talking quietly to me. “Listen,” She pulls me into her arms. “The thing I wanted to talk to you about, it’s bad…it seems…your father he…um…well…”
“Mom! Spit it out!” I whisper yell.
She takes a deep breath. “Well, your father has mentioned to me now a couple times about how he, um, wants to…have sex with you.”
What? No! That’s wrong and bad and he hurts me and…NO!
“Shhhh, Lindsey, it’s okay. I won’t let him.” She tries to calm me down.
“Come out, come out wherever you arrrre! I want tttttto see myyyyyy beautiful womennnnnn.” My dad’s voice is on the stairs now.
My mom picks me up and settles us back down in the tub, as far away from the door as possible. We are both shaking with fear and anticipation. We both know the door won’t hold if my angry 180 pound drunk father wants in.
“Lindsey, Lindsey! Look at me.” My mom is trying to get me to look at her. “Shhhh, sweetie. He’s just upset, I won’t let him do anything different to you.”
This only angers me. Notice how she said, anything different, in other words, I won’t let him rape you but you’re probably still gonna get a few punches. Great.
“C’mon girls,” the door handle jiggles. “Oh, you want to play it like that…” We hear a loud thud. He’s trying to break down the door. Shit.
My mom flies from the tub to stand in front of me and shouts, “Go away Tom! Just leave us alone!”
The pounding stops for a second, before recommencing. “Oh, come on, my sweet girls. I just want to see you…”
“No, Tom! Lindsey is…hurt, okay? Just leave us be.” My mom sounds fierce and I almost feel protected, almost.
“Lindsey! Oh, no! Come here baby. Let me help you if you’re hurt.” My father’s voice is thick with mock interest.
My mother looks back at my scared face. I’m huddled in the tub, cradling my hurt arm. God, I’m pathetic.
“Fuck you, Tom! Just go fuck one of your stupid whores and leave Lindsey ALONE!” Damn…
“Now, Katherine, I don’t think that is the right way to talk to me…” His voice grows with anger and finally the door flies open. He comes barreling in and before anyone even has time to react, he’s slapped my mom hard across the face.
“That’ll teach you a lesson, bitch. Now,” he pushes her out of the way and comes towards me. “What is it, sweetie? Come here, come to daddy…”
I cower from him but manage to spit out, “Fuck you. Get away.”
“Awwww, your efforts are in vain, Lindsey.” He is coming closer.
“Tom, stop!” Suddenly my mom comes around him and climbs into the tub with me again.
“Look,” she grabs my arm with the fresh cut on it and tilts my chin into the light so he can see the bruises from Gerard. “Just, please, Tom…she needs rest tonight. Please…”
My father stands looking down at us. I can see him weighing his options. It’s sort of a weird situation because we all know that some of the punches are from him, and my mom’s plea for my rest is somewhat stupid. I don’t need rest, I need for them to stop hurting me, including my mom.
Finally he takes a breath and continues, “Alright, Kathrine. Lindsey come here.” His voice is noticeably calmer now. When I don’t move he simply picks me up bridal style.
“No…dad…stop!” I struggle against him, but his arms are like a vice. They remind me of Gerard’s…
“Oh shut up, Lindsey. I’m putting you to bed. Kathrine, go into our room…” His voice to my mom is daunting and commanding, but there’s nothing I can do. She obeys him and slips by us, giving me a soft kiss on my head. He carries me into my room and lays me down.
When I’m in bed I quickly pull the covers up around me and curl into a tight ball away from him.
“Oh, Lindsey,” he sighs. “I will have you…” My eyes fly open to meet his menacing ones. “One day…” And with that he slinks out of the room closing the door behind him.
My confused, scared and angry, unrelenting thoughts are soon accompanied by the cries of my mom and then the rough sounds of one sided sex.
My whole body is aching with pain and abuse, from Gerard, from my dad, from me… I’m so nervous about Monday after the weekend. I wonder what will happen between Gerard and I. Why did he take my drawing? Who was that boy I saw for a few minutes when Gerard let his guard down? He seemed so nice and calm and beautiful… And my dad… He’s not actually going to rape me, right? I’m nothing, why would he want me? I’m his daughter, doesn’t he have any self-control? Why isn’t the corner a couple blocks away enough for him? Why does he need me too? Aren’t his whores and my mom enough?
I can’t stop thinking about what Gerard said too.
“You love it when I hurt you. Secretly, you crave the pain, don’t you bitch? That’s why you drew me. You can’t stop thinking about me. You’re so obsessed with me that I’ve seeped into your sub conscious. You try to fight me and tell yourself that you hate it, but you love the bruises I give you. You wear them like a trophy and even when you’re so beat up you can barely move, I slip into you mind and you grab the pencil.”
Is he right? No…but, then why did I draw him? Maybe he means more to me than I even know… I wish the cut on wrist would have killed me. God, I’m so pathetic…
I head to under the bleachers, where Gerard told me to meet him today, otherwise he’d break my ribs. When I arrive he’s not there, so I crawl as far as I can under and pull out my sketch book. I’m still working on that drawing of the boy, although I’m taking my time. It’s coming together really nicely and I don’t want to mess it up by my stupid haste. I’ve started bringing in the colour, right I’m focused on the eye. It’s big and beautiful with long, feminine lashes that almost reach his thick brow. I’m working on the color, it’s a beautiful hazel-green color that takes precision to get right.
Gerard is running very late, I’m over joyed! I really don’t get how Gerard does it. He’s like the classic, shallow high school jock except…different. He’s the star of the football team, all the boys respect him and all the girls want him. There’s nothing wrong with him; he’s confident, sporty, charismatic, good-looking, arrogant, and demanding. But, he manages to have all the attention and yet the teachers ignore him and his misbehavior. He smokes at school, bullies people at school, swears and skips classes. He wears the badass-don’t-mess-with-me and the perfect-grades-school-boy-football-star mask, at the same time!!! But, I know his true face. He can spit and swear all he wants to make the girls giggle and swoon, but I know he’s only restraining himself from doing what he does to me. I’m his stress outlet. People know he bullies me, to a certain extent. ‘Oh, yeah, Lindsey? That fucked-up girl who Gerard throws a few punches at, yeah I know her. Who doesn’t? She’s Gerard play thing.’ A few punches. If only they knew. I’m more than his play thing; I’m his rag doll. Since grade nine I’m there for him to make fun of and help him assert his power in front of students, for him to drag through the mud and wreck my clothes. I’m there for him to shout all the horrible names and insults at that he needs to let out. I’m his and he can do whatever he wants with me. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop fighting though, ‘til the day I die, I know my stupid death wish of a strong will, will always be there to get in the last word and fuck things up for me even more. It’s only high school though, right? This won’t be my whole life; I’m going to be a famous artist, if I make it…
I’m too engrossed in drawing that I don’t hear Gerard approach. When I finally draw back to observe my work and blow away some of the lead dust, I notice him and jump, startled, I quickly close my book and stuff it in my shoulder bag.
“Gerard!”
“Lindsey…” He is a couple bleachers in front of me with his hands gripping the stair above and leaving forward. He grabs my arm and pulls me out from under the bleachers. I stumble but manage to keep my footing.
He stares at me for a second before I grow tired and break the silence. “What do you want?” I probably shouldn’t have snapped like that.
He raises an eyebrow at me then takes a step forward so he’s right in front of me looking down, anger in his eyes. “You’re rather confident today.”
When his arm draws back to punch, I turn and run. He catches me by my bag pulling it off my shoulder and spilling out all my books, my sketchbook among them. Dropping to the ground and forgetting about Gerard I scramble to save it from the muddy, wet grass. Not in time though; Gerard’s closer and he swiftly scoops it up and proceeds to flick through the pages.
I fly at him shouting, and clawing for it back. “You bastard! Give it back! That’s mine, you can’t look through that, STOP!” He just rolls his eyes and gives me a kick to my stomach sending me roughly to the ground in pain.
I’m whimpering and clutching my stomach, when I notice he stops on one page towards the back of the book. I watch helplessly as he studies it intently. His eyes change from shock, curiosity and then something else…admiration? He finally glances at me over the top of it, looking at me with confusion.
“Lindsey, what the fuck is this?! Why are you drawing this?!”
I stare at him with confusion. What drawing is he looking at?
He gets the message and turns the book around for me to see. It’s the half-finished drawing of the boy that I was working on. I look back at him and gasp. Shit!
Shakily I pull myself to me feet and take the book from him and start to examine it, my eyes flicking back and forth furiously between Gerard’s and the boy’s face. Or should I say, Gerard’s face and the drawing of Gerard’s face. Shit! I drew Gerard! Why the fuck would I do that? There’s no denying it now that I see them together. With the thick brow over piercing hazel eyes, a small, cute nose with a thin, pink slightly upturned on the right side mouth. Messy raven hair that falls perfectly, framing his high cheekbones and round face. He looks very beautiful, I suppose Gerard is.
Gerard’s real face is a mask of shock. His mouth is open, eyes wide, staring expectantly at me. I don’t know what to say so I just stare back. I touch the hair of Gerard in the picture and then hesitantly reach out to run my fingers through Gerard’s real hair. He doesn’t move, just closes his mouth and swallows. His eyes bore into mine, never looking away. Their hazel color is crystal clear, not clouded by anger or pain, they look almost naked in this vulnerable state. It’s beautiful. I don’t dare move away for fear of breaking the calm water between us.
He reaches out and takes the book from my hand, gently. My other hand is still in his hair, running softly through it. When he breaks eye contact to look down at the picture I’m almost sad. It’s still a puzzle for me as to why I drew him. Why didn’t I recognize it was him earlier? I’m so stupid.
After almost a minute of him looking at the picture, the glass shatters and I watch his eyes cloud up again. He looks up at me with anger and also…fear?
“Lindsey…” He voice is low and warning. I quickly remove my hand from his hair and take a step back. He chuckles a little. “You’re so obsessed with me that I’ve seeped into your sub conscious.” I gasp out as if his words cut like knives and take another step back as he advances slowly on me.
“Oh shut up. You love it when I hurt you. Secretly, you crave the pain, don’t you bitch? That’s why you drew me. You can’t stop thinking about me.” He kicks me in the stomach and I fall to the ground. Where is the Gerard that was here only a few minutes ago?
“You try to fight me and tell yourself that you hate it, but you love the bruises I give you. You wear them like a trophy and even when you’re so beat up you can barely move, I slip into you mind and you grab the pencil.” And with that, he waves goodbye as the bell rings for the afternoon. I hear a thud near my ear and after I recover enough to move I look to see it’s my sketchbook.
Slowly lifting myself up, I grab it frantically and run through the pages searching for one picture. I stop when I come close to the back and see the bit of paper still attached to the spiral from the page with the drawing of Gerard.
Why would he take it?
~
My razor…I think, my razor will know. It has all the answers. The power to silence my thoughts. I’m not thinking rationally as I race home, completely disregarding my afternoon classes. My face and stomach ache with the pounding of my steps and beg for me to stop after the beating they took from Gerard. I, no doubt, have a black eye and bruised jaw. At least he left my hair alone today. But what’s aching more are my wrists and thighs. Thrumming with the want to be sliced. I can see the blood now as it leaks out of my veins and runs down my arms and legs staining the already stained 1960s vomit coloured carpet, satisfyingly.
I am pleased to find the house empty of my wretched parents. I ignore the horrid smell of drugs, alcohol and sex that inhabit the house year round and make my way to my room upstairs.
I watch, pleased, as the blood from the long thin cut on my wrist bleeds. Sighing happily, I lay down, feeling drowsy. I pressed a little hard today; maybe this is the end…do I care?
When black clouds my vision I close my eyes…
“Lindsey! FUCK. Wake up, god dammit!” Something is shaking my arm. Ugh! I don’t want to wake up.
“Leave me alone.” I murmur, rolling onto my stomach.
“Lindsey, please.” I hear my mom fall to her knees beside me. She places a soft hand on my back. “Lindsey, please. Look, I’m sorry. Come here sweetheart.” She rolls me over into her lap. I’m too shocked by her tender behavior to move. She caringly strokes my cheek and brushes away my hair.
“Oh, honey. All these bruises…are you getting bullied?” I snort and squirm away, having the pleasant mirage of a caring mother suddenly broken by her stupid question.
“Am I bullied?” I scoff. “Yes, I am bullied by many kids at school,” I motion to my beat up face, “I am abused by dad and you,” I signal my bruised black ribs, “and I hurt myself,” I show her my wrist with the fresh long cut. It’s still bleeding a bit.
She looks at me with wide eyes before answering. “Come here, let’s get you cleaned up.” She makes grabby hands at me but I recoil.
“No! What do you really want?” She’s got an ulterior motive, I know it.
“Nothing Lindsey. Just let me help clean you up and then…I just want to talk to you.” I raise an eyebrow as a question. “It’s about your father.”
What? My father? She pulls me up and into the bathroom, setting to work on cleaning and dressing some of my wounds. It’s only been a few minutes when I hear the front door open and then slam close accompanied by the slurred angry undeniable voice of my father.
“Kathrrrrrine? Lindseyyyyy? I’m home, honey…where ‘re you guys? Come and see your dadddddy…” Our eyes widen with fear. Drunk, angry and looking for us. That’s never good.
My mom rushes to close and lock the bathroom door and signals for me to be quiet.
“I can hear youuuu…Upstairs? The bathroom? I won’ttt hurt you…”
Mom starts talking quietly to me. “Listen,” She pulls me into her arms. “The thing I wanted to talk to you about, it’s bad…it seems…your father he…um…well…”
“Mom! Spit it out!” I whisper yell.
She takes a deep breath. “Well, your father has mentioned to me now a couple times about how he, um, wants to…have sex with you.”
What? No! That’s wrong and bad and he hurts me and…NO!
“Shhhh, Lindsey, it’s okay. I won’t let him.” She tries to calm me down.
“Come out, come out wherever you arrrre! I want tttttto see myyyyyy beautiful womennnnnn.” My dad’s voice is on the stairs now.
My mom picks me up and settles us back down in the tub, as far away from the door as possible. We are both shaking with fear and anticipation. We both know the door won’t hold if my angry 180 pound drunk father wants in.
“Lindsey, Lindsey! Look at me.” My mom is trying to get me to look at her. “Shhhh, sweetie. He’s just upset, I won’t let him do anything different to you.”
This only angers me. Notice how she said, anything different, in other words, I won’t let him rape you but you’re probably still gonna get a few punches. Great.
“C’mon girls,” the door handle jiggles. “Oh, you want to play it like that…” We hear a loud thud. He’s trying to break down the door. Shit.
My mom flies from the tub to stand in front of me and shouts, “Go away Tom! Just leave us alone!”
The pounding stops for a second, before recommencing. “Oh, come on, my sweet girls. I just want to see you…”
“No, Tom! Lindsey is…hurt, okay? Just leave us be.” My mom sounds fierce and I almost feel protected, almost.
“Lindsey! Oh, no! Come here baby. Let me help you if you’re hurt.” My father’s voice is thick with mock interest.
My mother looks back at my scared face. I’m huddled in the tub, cradling my hurt arm. God, I’m pathetic.
“Fuck you, Tom! Just go fuck one of your stupid whores and leave Lindsey ALONE!” Damn…
“Now, Katherine, I don’t think that is the right way to talk to me…” His voice grows with anger and finally the door flies open. He comes barreling in and before anyone even has time to react, he’s slapped my mom hard across the face.
“That’ll teach you a lesson, bitch. Now,” he pushes her out of the way and comes towards me. “What is it, sweetie? Come here, come to daddy…”
I cower from him but manage to spit out, “Fuck you. Get away.”
“Awwww, your efforts are in vain, Lindsey.” He is coming closer.
“Tom, stop!” Suddenly my mom comes around him and climbs into the tub with me again.
“Look,” she grabs my arm with the fresh cut on it and tilts my chin into the light so he can see the bruises from Gerard. “Just, please, Tom…she needs rest tonight. Please…”
My father stands looking down at us. I can see him weighing his options. It’s sort of a weird situation because we all know that some of the punches are from him, and my mom’s plea for my rest is somewhat stupid. I don’t need rest, I need for them to stop hurting me, including my mom.
Finally he takes a breath and continues, “Alright, Kathrine. Lindsey come here.” His voice is noticeably calmer now. When I don’t move he simply picks me up bridal style.
“No…dad…stop!” I struggle against him, but his arms are like a vice. They remind me of Gerard’s…
“Oh shut up, Lindsey. I’m putting you to bed. Kathrine, go into our room…” His voice to my mom is daunting and commanding, but there’s nothing I can do. She obeys him and slips by us, giving me a soft kiss on my head. He carries me into my room and lays me down.
When I’m in bed I quickly pull the covers up around me and curl into a tight ball away from him.
“Oh, Lindsey,” he sighs. “I will have you…” My eyes fly open to meet his menacing ones. “One day…” And with that he slinks out of the room closing the door behind him.
My confused, scared and angry, unrelenting thoughts are soon accompanied by the cries of my mom and then the rough sounds of one sided sex.
My whole body is aching with pain and abuse, from Gerard, from my dad, from me… I’m so nervous about Monday after the weekend. I wonder what will happen between Gerard and I. Why did he take my drawing? Who was that boy I saw for a few minutes when Gerard let his guard down? He seemed so nice and calm and beautiful… And my dad… He’s not actually going to rape me, right? I’m nothing, why would he want me? I’m his daughter, doesn’t he have any self-control? Why isn’t the corner a couple blocks away enough for him? Why does he need me too? Aren’t his whores and my mom enough?
I can’t stop thinking about what Gerard said too.
“You love it when I hurt you. Secretly, you crave the pain, don’t you bitch? That’s why you drew me. You can’t stop thinking about me. You’re so obsessed with me that I’ve seeped into your sub conscious. You try to fight me and tell yourself that you hate it, but you love the bruises I give you. You wear them like a trophy and even when you’re so beat up you can barely move, I slip into you mind and you grab the pencil.”
Is he right? No…but, then why did I draw him? Maybe he means more to me than I even know… I wish the cut on wrist would have killed me. God, I’m so pathetic…
Notes
Comments and ratings always make my day... Talk to me, I won't bite;)
Love,
writing2savelives
I sincerely hope this chapter isn't the last chapter. I might cry
6/22/17