Word Count:1775 words
Rating: PG 13
Warning: On screen child abuse - may be triggery for some, death
Notes: Based on a true story and real experiences. However, this story is not what it seems.
Summary: I used to stare out the window longing for someone to choose me. I always imagined the family I would have, the family I so desperately wanted. I wanted a new beginning, and instead I got an end.
I used to stare out the window longing for someone to choose me. I always imagined the family I would have, the family I so desperately wanted. I was ready to get out of this place and start over with people who loved me. One by one, everyone around me was getting picked and I was always left behind. We couldn’t even create a family within each other because no one lasted long enough to create that kind of relationship, well except for me it seemed. I still remember the day she walked in, and everything changed. I thought it was going to be my new beginning, but it turned out to be my end.
Today is just like every other day, my mother scrambling for my attention and me scrambling to get away. She hurts me, I know she doesn’t mean to but it is like she hasn’t had a child before and doesn’t understand all the pain she is causing me. Since I moved in things have been tough. It isn’t the fairy tale I thought it was going to be. I am currently hiding, she can see me but I am just out of her reach. However, I know it isn’t long before she starts banging on the walls and shaking the room trying to convince me to come out and when that fails she will start tearing things apart. I know she will get a hold of me eventually, she will tell me that she loves me, she always does but that doesn’t stop her from putting me in the dark.
Growing up I was always afraid of the dark, I think it had something to do with growing up alone and never having someone to love me. Now the darkness is bittersweet. At times, it is only in the darkness of the night that I am left alone. Although, I can always see her sleeping near by and I am afraid to move for even the slightest sound will wake her and she will once again be at my door.
My mother finally grasps me and lifts me up while she plays with my hair. I try to escape her too-tight hold but she yells at me and puts me in the dark. This is the darkness that I don’t like. I can’t see, although, I don’t have to. I know there is no way out. The darkness starts to shake, and I can’t stay still in one spot. I am sliding in this darkness and I am scared.
My mother’s friend comes over to the house sometimes. Actually, I don’t know how close they really are, my mother doesn’t seem too fond of her. Now and then, my mother will let me visit with her friend. Today is one of those days. It is in these moments with me close to her side that I feel safe. When my mother is banging on my walls, it is her friend that I think of. I pretend that her friend is my mother and I will have the family I always dreamed of having. There are times when I try to tell her to take me away, to take me away from my mother. That I am hurt and I am scared and that all I want is to be safe in her arms. Sometimes, I think she knows how I feel and I can see it in her eyes that she wants to save me. And yet she never does, she just sits and watches while I return into the darkness.
I am stuck in a vicious loop. I hide, I am reached, I am held, and then I am put into the blackness, only to then be returned to my room where I start the cycle all over again. Although, the time seems to differ between the cycles and all I can do is hope for a few hours alone. I can’t see my mother right now but even so I am afraid. The only comforting thought is that I know her friend is near by. I have nothing to do in my room except for eat and sleep and I can run. Although, I always feel like I am running in circles. I will never be able to escape these walls. I try to eat but I can’t, I am too scared. I try to sleep but it doesn’t seem to be working to well. I can’t help but think what I did deserve this cruel life. I wonder how long it will last, on one hand I just want it to be over with and yet I don’t want to leave the world and all that could be. I take one last look at the women on the couch, and wonder why she didn’t choose me. Why she doesn’t choose me now when I can see the love in her eyes for me. I try to replace my negative thoughts I curl up in my bed. I replace the fear my mother installs in me and instead dream of a world where my mother is the women in the couch and that I never had to feel scared again.
I am awoken by the hands of my mother and once again the cycle begins.
I am back in the darkness, and I am more scared than I ever had been before. I can’t hear the women’s voice. I know I am not safe. I am in so much pain, I am so far away from safety, and there is no one here to save me from the pain. As her hand reaches towards me I am scared, it is the same hand that caused the pain. I know it is. She grabs me anyways. My mother’s scream distracts me from my thoughts as she pulls me out of the darkness. She is running with me in her arms, I don’t know where she is taking me. All I know is that I am in pain. I hear a soft voice, the voice of safety. I open my mouth to tell the women that I am hurt but there is an unfamiliar taste in my mouth. It takes me a minute to realize what it is, blood.
I wish I could tell you that is where the story ended. That the pain stopped and I left the world and my mother behind but that would be a lie. The women saw the blood and told my mother to put me back in my room, that I needed some time alone to rest and more importantly to heal. As soon as I was back in the safety, I washed the blood away but the pain remained. It was hard to sleep that night, between the pain and the memory of the sound of my ribs breaking underneath my mother’s hand. Both seemed to haunt me in my sleep.
Today, I am in pain. I have been in this state so long I forget what it feels like to not be in pain. Every night I pray to the woman, for in my mind she is the only one who can help me now. Once again, today is like every other day. She is banging on my door already. I curled up in a place where she wouldn’t be able to reach me. I have done this every night since but it doesn’t seem to matter somehow she always manages to grab me again. I try to get out of her hands but I can’t. I am trapped. I look around for the woman, she is no where to be found. I haven’t seen her since she left after seeing all my blood. I am starting to wonder if she will ever come back and if I will ever see her again. I wait for my mother to put me back into the darkness but she doesn’t. I look at her face and see sadness and fear in her eyes, a look I have only seen on her face once before. Suddenly, the taste hits me and memories rush back to me. Blood. Once again she rushes me over to someone but it isn’t the woman this time. It isn’t my saviour. This time it is her father, the one who doesn’t see what she is doing as wrong. He holds me for a while and then suddenly everything appears to be going darker. I close my eyes and just listen.
“Evan squeezed him to tight. Daddy is he dying?”
“Evan, what did you do!?”
I open my eyes slightly and look at the little boy I hadn’t really noticed before. However, I know he saved me from my mother before and I know that he did not cause me this pain. The little boy has tears in his eyes, and all he can say is sorry. I try to speak, to tell them that it wasn’t him. That it was my mother who did it, and she didn’t want to take the blame. She didn’t want to be responsible for killing her child so she passed the blame on the little one. Of course, her father believes her. He always does. I look at the little boy who is looking at me now. I know why he said sorry. It was an instinct for him nowadays, as hiding was for me. If he didn’t say sorry he would be put into a blackness of his own. I go to close my eyes again, the pain getting stronger and stronger, but I take a quick glance around the room to see if my saviour is there. She isn’t. I am alone in a room full of people. I am alone, I am in pain and I am dying.
That is the last thought I remember having. I didn’t die in my mother’s hands but my blood was. My mother killed me. There are times now when I look back and I think about that little boy. How in so many ways, he was just like me. I think about that women too, and to this day I dream about how my life could have been different if she had walked in and picked me instead of the mother who did. In my mind, she is my mother. The women who adopted me is nothing to me other than my death.
I used to stare out the window longing for someone to choose me. I always imagined the family I would have, the family I so desperately wanted. I wanted a new beginning, and instead I got an end.