Pulling at my shoes, pants, and shirt, I ripped them off. I didn’t want to be covered in dirt. I didn’t want to be reminded of this day ever again. I could feel the tears coming again, but refused to allow them to escape.
Once in my bra and panties, I crossed the room to what I assumed was the bathroom.
“You can’t run from this.” He sounded as if he had a fire in his voice. Was he angry? He had no reason to be angry.
“I can and will do whatever the fuck I want, Mr. King. You lost the right to say or do anything to me the moment you betrayed me.” Once in the bathroom I slammed the door and locked it. I didn’t want to see his face. I wanted nothing to do with him. My heart ached with every beat as if it were going to burst from an overflow of heartache.
I pulled away from the door just as the pounding started. I knew if he truthfully wanted in this room, he could get in.
“Leave. Go away. I hate you,” I screamed placing my hands over my ears to rid myself of the noise.
“Bree, stop being childish.” I could hear the terror in his voice. He thought he was losing me. Good. He needed to. He needed to know I was out of his grasps.
“GO. AWAY,” I screamed again, standing to turn the shower on. I allowed the water to run making the bathroom fill with steam.
“I’ll leave you alone for right now, but later, we need to talk.” He sounded so full of himself. He didn’t know me—not like I thought anyway. Ignoring him, I slipped into the hot stream of water. I arched into the water—God, how long had it been since I had a decent wipe down since I had actually been clean?
“My life…” I cried. Though the hot water was pouring down over me, my tears still stained my cheeks. John wasn’t my father…. I sunk to the bottom of the tub, my heart and mind aching as I placed my hand on my chest. I could feel the chain beneath my fingertips and the weight of the heart dangling against my chest. It had become heavy as if it were carrying the weight of my sorrows. I could feel every muscle in my body tense up as I wrapped my fist around the heart on the chain. What had happened? Everything I once knew had changed. A sob escaped my tightly closed lips as I pulled on the heart, yanking the necklace from my neck. I held it tightly in my hand as I processed all my emotions. I needed to let go, but how could I? I had so many questions and no answers.
Before I realized what I was doing, the sound of the metal clanking against the glass doors of the shower echoed through me as I slipped back into the dark abyss of my mind. To a memory, time, a place, where John was my father. My last thought being the only thing once meaning everything to me was hovering over the drain, just on the brink of falling into the darkness never to be seen again. Just like me.
“Bree,” Dad yelled to me from the bottom of the stairs. Mom was sick again, and this time it had been a long time since she had her normal break. She would go through times when she was really sick, and then times when she was okay.
“Coming…” I called out. Pulling on a sweatshirt,. I shuffled around the corner, and down the stairs. My eyes automatically landed on my mother. Her frail body was lying on the couch, and though she was smiling, I could see this time around the treatments had been hard.
“Bree,” she called out for me, her voice hoarse, as if she needed a glass of water. Dad came to stand next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder with a warm smile.
“She’ll be okay, Bree,” he reassured me, even though we both knew reassuring would only get us so far.
“Mom…” I said breathlessly, anxiety filled my belly sloshing around with every step I took toward her.
“Hi, sweetie. How are you? How is school?” she asked all motherly, completely ignoring the big huge elephant in the room.
“Uh….” I looked back to Dad, who gave me a reassuring smile. I wasn’t sure if I should even talk to mom about anything. One thing could cause her stress and the excess stress would only make her cancer worse.
Her warm hand landed on mine as I took a seat against her body. Pushing the tears to the back of my mind, I tried my hardest to see her as I saw her when I was five. Happy, healthy, and vibrant with life.
“Tell me…” she said softly, her eyes smiling.
“Well, school is good, excellent even. My grades are good, and I was asked to the dance.” I went on and on telling her the good things—the things she had missed out on because she was in the hospital.
“That is so good, I’m excited. Has dad taken you dress shopping yet?” I shook my head. The idea of going to the dance was actually the furthest thing from my mind.
“No, but I will…” Dad broke in, smiling, bringing the happiness back into the air.