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“I’m not afraid,” Iwhispered, speaking into the darkness that encroached from every angle. “Nothing scares me.”
The proud, defiant words were punctuated with a puffed-out chest as I sat inside the cupboard, staring into the void that filled the area like an inky blanket. My legs crossed as I scrunched my little body within. Cramped places were my favorite. I leaned back against the wooden panel and relaxed.
The shadows never bothered me. Neither did the darkness. There was nothing scary about either one of them. I knew that because I was never harmed when I hid. I was always safe—no cuts, no bruises, no hands that hurt.
People were scary. They liked to smack and hit. They wanted to see the marks left behind and asked you to show them when you came in the door from school. Sometimes they liked to watch when others hurt you and laughed when the cigarettes burned into your skin. When you cried and begged them to stop, no one listened.
“I don’t like the hurting hands,” I whispered, placing my palms flat on my knees. “Someday, when I’m big enough, I’ll stop those hands, and they won’t ever harm me again.”
Indistinct whispering.
“He’s coming back,” I replied, shrinking smaller inside the confined space, wishing I could disappear or reduce down to the size of an ant. Ants were strong and mighty, even if they were little.
Whispering voices.
“The hands that hurt,” I exhaled on a shaky breath. “They always come back.”
Faint whispering continues.
“I want to be powerful like a superhero. Can you help me?”
Whispering intensifies.
“You’re my friend?”
Whispering voices grow louder.
“Promise? I won’t ever be alone?”
The whispers become urgent.
A metallic object dropped in my hand, and I picked up the blade, recognizing it as the same one that sliced up my arm two weeks ago. The steel was smooth and ice-cold, sharp enough to do what I needed. Swallowing hard, I gripped the butcher knife and clutched the handle in my fist.
Stomping feet rushed into my room.
My breath caught, but I inhaled and fought against panic. “You’re still here?”
Whispering voices began to chant, their words echoing in my ears.
The door yanked open as I cried out, launching from my hiding spot as I yelled at the top of my lungs, “No more hurting hands!”
The whispers were now roars.
