Ugly(75)

What? Trent said he found me like this? He did this to me, no one else.

“H-he said y-your h-house had been r-r-ransacked be-before he got home. He said y-you were in the k-kitchen, laying on the floor,” his voice drops to an almost inaudible level. “I hate what he did to you.” His last sentence is said in perfect speech, with no stutter. “I-I know h-he did this, L-Lily. D-don’t let him g-get away with it.”

A perfect silence falls over me. I can’t hear anything, not a single word. Maybe, I’ve finally given up and I’m in heaven. But if I’m in heaven that would mean God actually exists. And if he is real, why have I lived a life of pain? Why have I…

“My m-mom was ab-ab-abused by my step-stepdad. When he’d b-b-beat her to the p-point she’d be un-unconscious, he’d start in on me. I-I kn-know what he d-d-does to you, b-because it used to h-happen to my m-mom and me.” He tightens his grip on my hand and I hear something in his voice. It’s not pity; it’s not shame. It goes beyond those emotions. “I-I wish I c-could have st-stopped him b-before h-he k-k-k…” Max pauses, his voice cracks and I hear him intake a deep breath. “Before he killed her.” He lets go of my hand and sobs. I imagine his head falling into his hands as he cries.

If I could open my eyes and move to embrace him, I would. I want to comfort him and tell him it wasn’t his fault. I can imagine him sitting beside me, weeping just like he’d probably cry when his stepfather would lay into his mom while he sat in the corner and watched such violent acts happening to the one he loved most.

A long time passes and I begin to fight the darkness. The isolation of not being able to communicate is something I don’t want anymore.

“Max, you need to go home. This isn’t right,” a soft female voice gently says to him.

“Sh-she’s b-been like this f-for thr-three days. S-someone has to b-be here incase sh-she wakes.”

“You’re a good man, Max Sterling. But you can’t stay here. She needs to rest and so do you.”

I want to scream at her and tell her to leave. Max has been talking to me, telling me his pain, and it may very well be exactly what he needs. And furthermore, what I need.

“H-her h-husband hasn’t b-been to s-see her s-since the f-first day. H-has h-he called?”

“You know I can’t answer that question. It’s privileged and confidential. But let me just say, Mrs. Hackly has had very few phone calls enquiring on her well-being. So few that if I didn’t know better, I’d think she had no family.”

“B-bastard,” Max mumbles.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing. I-I’ll go in a wh-while.”

“Okay, Max. As far as I know, you’re going home.”

“Th-thank you.”

I hear soft footsteps, then a door close. I’m not sure how much later, I hear a chair being scraped along the floor.

“Babe, you know you’re really starting to piss me off. You need to wake up, you gotta come home and make my dinner.” I cringe, I’m not even sure how that’s possible, but it feels like my skin is crawling. “I told you I’d stop screwing around on you, why can’t you just damn well wake up. God, Lily, you’re such a selfish bitch. It’s always about you, you never think of me and what I need.”

Sleep.

“I-it’s because of h-him I st-stutter,” Max says. “I-I used to w-wet the b-bed until h-he l-left f-for jail and I w-went to live with my d-dad. M-my d-dad was pretty cool, I could never un-understand why my m-mom and d-dad couldn’t be t-together. Of course, I was o-only a y-young boy then.” He goes silent, and I want to know what he’s thinking. I’m desperate to open my eyes and gauge him by how he’s carrying himself. I suspect he’s sitting beside me, focusing on a spot on the wall or floor, staring at it as he thinks about what his childhood was like. “It took me years to realize they’d never work,” he says. I’m not even sure he’s talking to me anymore, it sounds like he’s speaking to himself.

Sleep.

“How’s she doing today, Max?” a female voice asks.

“Sh-she’s got some color in her ch-cheeks. I-I think any t-time n-now, she’ll wake.”

“I think you may be right.”

Sleep.





Opening my eyes I keep blinking until I can focus on something, anything. I look over to my left and see Trent sitting on a chair, texting on his phone. “What happened?” I murmur to him.

He closes the cover to his phone, and puts it on the spare chair beside him. “Babe, oh thank God you’re alright,” he says as he stands and leans over me, moving some stray hair off my forehead. “I was so scared, I thought something happened to you.” He kisses my forehead and then my cheeks. “You don’t look that hot, Lily. Lucky I love you.”