Following closely behind Donald, I was clutching the plastic bags in my hand as we walked up the concrete stairs to our apartment. There were four other rooms on our level and there was only one other woman who lived next door, but someone moved into the room next to us a few weeks ago. I’d never seen him, though. I only knew that he lived there because I saw a bag sitting outside his door with his clothes in it.
Donald pushed open the door and I followed in behind him. Closing the door with my feet, I placed the plastic bags on the mustard colored yellow kitchen table.
“Meadow,” his voice slid through my ears like a string of dirty slime. Shivers broke out over my skin, slipping down my spine.
“Yes?” I answered, letting the soft plastic bag slide off my fingers.
“Come here, little bitch. Come fix Daddy up.” The bile rose up my throat, clogging my breathing pipe, causing all vocal cords to snap closed.
“Meadow!” he screamed. “I’m not going to tell you again!” My heart dropped as a sob slid out of my lips.
One more time.
One more time.
I chanted as my heavy feet slid across the wooden floor of our apartment, taking me to my worst nightmare.
This was it. After he finished this time, I was going to blow my brains all over his bedroom walls—I was done. The best I could do for now, was rest in that fact.
Reaching the living room, his rough chuckles sounded from the worn brown sofa, its actual color not brown. It once was white, but all the dirt and vile things that have happened on there has obviously taken its toll. Swallowing down the vomit that was about to surface in my mouth, leaving a sting of nasty tasting syrup on my tonsils, I carried on.
He took hold of my wrist as I entered the living room, wrapping his hand around it like an animal trapping, and tugging me down onto the sofa. I gave up pleading him to stop a long time ago, I learned over time that he relished in my begging. It only intensified the assault. It was best for me to go to my happy place and now rest in the fact that this was the last time. His dirt stained hands and fingernails slid down my front, gripping roughly onto my bra and tearing it off in one quick movement. I closed my eyes as a single tear trickled down my cheek. He moved his hands down to my front, unbuttoning my loose jeans and pulling them down roughly, yanking my legs in the process. I learned at a young age to never wear a dress. I’ve always lived in jeans and T-shirts. There was no way I was giving him anything to look at. My body convulsed in anger and hurt but most of all, I shielded myself with the numbness you obtain only by being put through the same ordeal numerous times. I’d never been with another man, nor was I ever interested. I can’t imagine the day where I would class sex as a pleasurable act.
His hot stale breath stuck to my skin like poison air brushing over me in hot waves. His sticky tongue slid out of his mouth and across my neck as his hand began rifling around in his pocket. My panicking quickened in the knowledge of what was about to happen. Pushing his cracked, cigarette stenching mouth over mine, his tongue pushed its way through my tightly sealed lips leaving the tangy residue of his saliva lingering on my tongue. The cold metal of his switch blade pushes up against my thigh, ready to slice another cut and the blood to trickle over my other one hundred and thirty-six scars. He liked to do it every time he raped me, starting it the day he stole my virginity at the tender age of twelve. One hundred and thirty-six times he had raped me. One hundred and thirty-six times he had scarred my skin to match the ones already embedded in my soul. With my chest heaving, and tears descending faster, I clamped my eyes shut again, taking me to my happy place.
Red roses…
Crashing waves…
Bungalow on the beach...
The dark shadow that his body held over my shut lids now shone with light. The heaviness of his body pushing mine down into the sofa had now evaporated, and the air was mild and fresh again, no longer poisoned with dirt and vile.
The sounding of a fist connecting with skin shocked me awake as I shot up off the ratty sofa to see a large—no not large—massive frame of a man standing over Donald. His elbow swinging back before his fist crashed into Donald’s face again and again. I gasped out in shock, my feet rushing me to the wooden front door where I slammed it shut, sliding the heavy metal lock closed.
I brought my attention back to the man who was beating on Donald. He was dressed in a dark hoodie with dark loose fitting jeans that were held up with a spiky belt. His hoodie was pulled over his head, and his shoulders were as one could only describe as monstrous. My words faltered at the sound of bones cracking.
“Stop,” I said, reaching my hand out toward the man.