- (Image by Killer Dust Bunnies-thank you)
I have been standing for hours.
I could tell by the way he closed his bedroom door that today was not going to be a good day. I sat in my room, listening.
The kettle comes to a boil. Smell of instant coffee drifting. Clearing his throat. Squeak of the rocker chair when he sits. Murmurs that I can’t quite make out, even with my ear pressed to the door of my room.
I am summoned. Hoping it wont be bad, knowing it always is. I take my place on the carpet in front of him. He sits in a chair I have never sat in. Brown, leather, swiveling, wooden arms, rocking, and it is his. He is looking out the large window in the front room with furrowed brows. Blue house coat, jeans, no shirt. Always no shirt in the morning. A golden cross around his neck. One fore finger nail always kept long.
She sits in the arm-chair beside him. Always beside him. The chair was ours before he came along. Now it is hers. Nothing is ours anymore.
She doesn’t look at me. She told him last week that she doesn’t want to deal with me anymore, and I have to go to him for everything now. She does not want to even talk to me. And now it is settled, I am not permitted to ask her for anything, or even speak to her.
She hates me.
The contempt for me in her silence is broken by the contempt for me in his words. He is always angry. Swearing. Filth pours out of his mouth. He reads a phrase from his bible that damns me to hell. I am tried, convicted and sentenced. My stepfather judge, my mother jury.
An appointment card from the person who should have helped me, hidden in my baseboard, now lies on the table.
Loose Lips Sink Ships.
I am Judas, I am Evil, I am an ungrateful lying bitch. I am Bad. I am a Slut. I am twelve. I am brown. I am unwanted. I am threatened with banishment. I am disloyal.
Loose Lips Sink Ships.
My legs are jello, my stomach knots. Black spots are in front of my eyes and a bead of sweat runs down my back.
This is going to be bad.
My lips are dry. My voice is small and weak and I can’t find the words to explain.
I didn’t, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I don’t know why I do the things I do; I didn’t mean it; I didn’t tell everything I swear. Don’t make me leave. I am Bad, I am Disgusting, a Sinner.
Loose Lips Sink Ships.
I jeopardized everyone. It is my fault he has to do this now. I make him do these things to me. He has no choice. Correction, Redemption, I’m a lost cause. I have ruined the day, the season, the law of his land.
Go put on your nightgown. Thin material, will hurt more.
I am sent down to the basement.
Ten stairs on tan carpet. The landing, then two more stairs. It’s cooler now on the shag carpet. I hear murmurs again. The creak of the chair as he gets up, the sound of the floor boards under his feet.
He’s coming.
I am terrified. There is nowhere to go. No one to save me.
He closes the thick curtains that line the rectangle window. I am hidden from the rest of the world. Again. No one to see. No one to tell.
Softer steps, she follows him and sits in the viewing box. Watching him, picking at her nails, not looking at me.
He brings out a large plastic water container and a three foot wooden pole from his workshop. The pole is slip under the carrying handle and he now has a bar bell with weight. He pumps it in front of me several times.
His eyes are hate and his nose flares as he exhales loudly. He wants to get up his strength so he can hit me harder.
Loose Lips Sink Ships.
The brown step ladder is brought out, and he places a sheet of lined paper on top of the black rubber tred. He takes his belt off and hits it hard.
I jump out of my skin at sound of the smack and rattle. This is how hard I have to hit you to just break the skin.
The paper is hit again, and again. There are small holes of black rubber showing now.
He is pacing and frothing and I am terrified. I want to vomit. My chest hurts. My butt muscles are twitching, my legs are almost going to buckle, when he orders me to lay over the step-ladder.
He Hits. And he Hits. And He Hits.
I am stinging. I am numb. And I am a bit more dead inside than yesterday.
My arms betray me and move to shield my bruising ass, and he yells louder and keeps hitting. He wont stop. How long has it been? Can I die from this? Maybe I will die. I hear deathly screaming, but it is not me. I am floating on the ceiling, safe in the corner. Watching.
He stops. Finally. I should not have made him do this, and it is my fault.
I am sent to my room.
The bruising is starting, my ass is bright red, purple, and hard where the blood presses to the surface. In later days it will be like the other marks from times before-blackened and green and yellow. But never healed.
Long sleeve shirt tomorrow and I had better not tell or I will be dead before they get there. None of anyone’s business. God’s Laws, his laws.
Loose Lips Sink Ships.
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