She throws them into the sink and turns the faucet on. Good thing I already submitted them and those were my copies. She must have been looking for money in my things. I had them hidden in a shoebox under the couch. My only place to store my belongings.
“You’re not going to fucking college. One, you’re too stupid, and two, we don’t have the money,” she spits out, placing her hands on her hips.
I disregard her stupid comment. She can call me anything she wants. One thing I know is that I am not stupid. I know deep downthat all she throws at me are her own insecurities. Her own way to tear me down, as low as she is. But I know the truth. I am not her and I have fought tooth and nail to never be like her.
“I applied for scholarships. You won’t have to pay anything. I promise.”
“Well, what about me? You’re just going to leave me? I have taken care of you all your life, and you think you can just leave? You ungrateful bitch.” She growls out the last part, and shivers run up my spine.
Is she delusional? Has the alcohol finally done brain damage? She can’t take my escape from me. I won't allow it. I feel a rare fire crawl up my spine. My instinct to run is completely drowned out by the desire to stand up for myself. To fight. Something I have never done before.
“You have taken care of me?” I can’t hold back my tongue.
“Youhave taken care ofme?” I scream it louder this time.
“All you have ever done is drink your money away and force me to doeverything! I never got to be a kid! I never got anything from you! I will not let you take away my future! I'm going. And you can't stop me.”
She stomps toward me but I hold my ground. The slap of her hand stings my cheek. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I feed you. I clothe you. You would have nothing without me.” Her tone is quiet now. And I brace for what is to come.
Most people think that screaming and yelling are the signs of true anger. But no, that is the sound of hurting, the release of pain. It’s when they get quiet that the devil is surfacing.
The ache in my stomach from her fist makes me feel nauseated. I meet the floor, unable to stand. I try to claw at her but my stomach hurts too much. I was never a fighter, never had it in me. Not physically anyway and she knows that. She uses her weight against me as she straddles my hips, her cold hands wrap around my throat, cutting off my oxygen. She keeps me pinned, despite how much I try to buck her off. It never matters how many times I am in this position. When you can’t breathe, your reflexes can’t help but fight. Even when you know it’s pointless.
“I put you into this world, and I’ll take you out of it. Do you understand? You are weak, Leora. You need me.”
I wish she would yell. But she is whispering. As if she is saying these things more to herself than me.
Her grip is tight. I have never fought so hard to breathe. I’m scratching at her arms, clawing at her hands, but she isn’t letting up. My vision begins to tunnel, but I blink rapidly, trying to keep myself in this reality. Why? I don’t know.
“Ye-es,” I try to get out, but it's silent, my mouth moving but my voice taken from me.
I know she won’t kill me. That is her biggest fear. My departure would leave her with nothing. If I am gone, she would have to take all her self-hatred and turn it to the person it belongs to. She wouldn’t have someone to blame for her own mistakes in life. She would dissolve.
She releases, and I pull in a breath, coughing through the burn in my throat. My head is pounding, and my eyes feel like they are about to pop.
She grabs her lighter from the coffee table next to us and flicks it, letting it heat.
I know what’s coming. The ones on my thighs burn with the memory.
“I’m sorry, Mom. Okay. I won't go. Please just stop.” My pleas do nothing. Maybe that’s why I can never say no when someone says please, because no one said yes to mine.
“You need a reminder of who owns you. I am your mother. You belong to me to do with as I please. You’re lucky I haven’t whored you out to help pay the bills. You are so ungrateful for all I do for us! For us to survive.”
I expect her to bring the lighter to my belly, but she doesn’t. She shoves the lighter to my neck, and my skin ignites. The flesh that is already so sensitive from her hold earlier now burns with a ferocity I have never felt. I scream out, and when her mark has been left, she gets off me.
“Now every time you look in the mirror, you will remember me.” She leaves me clutching my neck and crying on the floor as she stumbles back to her room. “Clean up this fucking mess and find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”
She mumbles something else under her breath, and when I hear her door slam, I shut my eyes. I allow myself to break for just a moment. I let it all in. I feel the pain, both physical and emotional, and then I lock it away. Stand up, clean up the papers in the sink and the items that were knocked from the coffee table.
I don’t need to pack a bag. I always keep a go bag at Mill’s for cases like this. I also keep my coffee can of cash there too. I’m not stupidenough to leave it here for her to find. What I need most right now is my first aid kit. I need to put ointment on this burn and get it covered.
I begin my three-mile walk. Despite the pain in my body, my soul is soothed by the darkness of the night. The calmness. The stillness. The only sounds are the rustling of the fallen leaves and the breeze tickling the trees. The cool air grazes my neck, and I wince. Every time I move my head in any direction, it stretches the skin, and I want to cry. But I don’t. I focus on the night.
Sometimes, when I walk this path at night, I look into the dark tress and wonder what it would be like to walk into them, let them embrace me in their branches and never give me back to this cruel world. I used to think that almost every night. But now I think about Everett. About how if I were to never return from the woods, I would be missing out on an incredible love. A love he has shown me. The thought of him, our future, it brings me back from the woods. Gives me hope that one day, I will fly away from this town, him and I will be free.
I am almost to the shop when I see his truck. His black Ford F-150 is driving toward me. Panic seizes my heart.
No. No. No.
