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That wouldn’t be for weeks though. I had no idea who Madox was at the time.
When she went back to my stepdad, I didn’t.
Legally, I was almost an adult, and I had a car of my own, although it’d been at the shop at the time of their latest breakup. I told them I wasn’t going to live like that. I watched my mother break down in a way I’ve never seen, and I watched my stepfather’s eyes gloss over, although he eventually screamed at me when I didn’t accept his half-assed apology. Just like he screamed at my mother.
All I had was a car, a part-time job on the weekends, and about $50 in cash. I figured I’d sleep in the car. It was spring, so it was warm enough. I could park a couple of blocks from my work at a vacant house for sale. No one would mind.
I would make it work. Because there was no way I was going back to that house to listen to them scream at each other.
Fifty dollars would last me until payday if I only bought stuff from the dollar menu at fast food places. I wouldn’t need gas, because I’d walk everywhere. I was so sure of myself and if I lived in a perfect world, I could have made it work.
But life is no vacuum-sealed safe room. There are other people existing, watching… waiting.
The third night, I was so damn lonely. My mother called, but her voice was drowned out by the stern voice in the background telling her to put her foot down and not to contradict him. If I was going to make her choose between her husband and her daughter, then I was the problem. Maybe I was.
After all of this happened, I never chose between them again. I came and went and simply saw my mom and stepdad for who they were. A couple who fought, and I wouldn’t stand in the middle any longer. It was easier to love them, and easier for them to love me that way. We were never the same though.
The eighth night was my breaking point.
The guys at the corner store knew I was coming in just to use the bathroom because the school was closed at night. They told me I couldn’t come in anymore unless I was going to buy something. I was down to less than ten dollars; it turned out three dollars a meal wasn’t enough. It was late and dark, I was hungry, and I needed to go to the bathroom. Everywhere else was closed, which is why I drove there.
A few streets down from where I parked was mostly vacant. It led to a few houses and a bar. I walked behind a house for sale, intending on just doing my business. I needed to pee or my bladder would burst; I was on the verge of maybe crying because I felt so stupid and so alone. It would have been just that, and then I’d go back to my car and curl up under the blanket and cry myself to sleep again, wondering how my mother could choose him when I chose her every time. It would have been, but I wasn’t alone.
I knew something was wrong the second I squatted down in the darkest area behind the shed to pee as quick as I could. It was quiet, way too quiet until I heard their voices.
There were four guys, each holding partially empty bottles. One had covered his in a paper bag, but the others didn’t care if everyone could tell they were drinking cheap beer.
The pee dribbled down my leg as I pulled my pants up, stopping midstream. My heart hammered and I swear it tried to leave me, tried to climb up my throat and run. I was too afraid to be embarrassed or ashamed like I’d been when I crept back here hoping no one would see. It never occurred to me how bad things can get and how quickly a situation can turn.
They knew I was there; that was obvious because they didn’t break their stride as they pushed open the gate of the fence leading to the backyard of the house for sale. Words escaped me, breath abandoned me.
I just stood there full of dread, with the shed to my left and a privacy fence behind me.
Four of them, and one of me. Their smiles were telling, even in the darkness. The wolf whistles, the coarse laughs. I thought I knew fear before that night. I thought wrong.
“Yo!” I remember the word being shouted from my right, way down the road and I turned to look, breaking my gaze from the four intruders. Still not having moved, not having spoken, the true terror having turned every piece of me into a numb statue. Another group of people down the street fucking around and laughing were either coming or going, probably from the bar. But I could hear them too.
“Help!” How the word came from me, I have no idea. The first time I screamed it, the expressions on the faces of the men who’d followed me changed, these four young, drunk men who had waited for me to get out of my car so they could follow me and trap me. The second time I screamed out toward the stray voice I heard in the distance, I took half a step forward, feeling the adrenaline in my blood urging me to fight back. I knew someone was there; I just didn’t know if they would come and help me. I knew I couldn’t help myself though. I knew whatever happened if they didn’t save me, was going to be horrific. So I screamed louder and louder, begging for help until my voice was raw.
The closest man grabbed me, trying to cover my mouth and I fought the best I could. I remember the way his grimy hand felt over my face. I bit him, scratched him, kicked out and hit his shin. The next time I screamed for help, the word was ragged and hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. He was so much bigger than me.
I was tired and weak, and I was so fucking scared.
I didn’t have to keep fighting though. There were only three guys down the street who had heard me, but they came.
My knights in shining armor were older than me, but younger than the guys who’d tried to hurt me. They were all wearing the same jacket and one of them threw his off as he saw what was happening and ran. His muscles bulged under the streetlight and the asshole who still had his hands on me, released me to take off. He hopped over the side fence and I thought my rescuer would do the same the way he was running, but he stopped short as my shoulders jerked forward and I dry-heaved.
I got sick right there. Maybe from the shock or the horror. Maybe because I hadn’t eaten. Still, I didn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed, because fear clung to me, just like the feeling of that man’s hands on me.
Eight nights alone and living with anger and sorrow had been hell, but that night was disgust and fear in a way I’d never felt before. With the shock came the need to throw up. I didn’t have anything in me though.
I still remember the way my hero stared at me when I finally lifted my head to look at who had rescued me, the way he pulled back my hair and told me it was all right. He was beautiful, and I was haggard and covered in filth.
“What’s your name?” he asked me.
There was a comfort to his tone, his touch. I knew I was disgusting in every sense of the word. I was shaken up, horrified and questioning everything. I hadn’t bathed in three days since the last time I was able to use the showers in the locker room at school, I’d peed on myself and my clothes were dirty. Fuck, it was the lowest point in my entire life. Rock bottom had a new meaning for me that night.
He didn’t seem to notice or care about any of that, and when he talked to me and put his hand on my arm to comfort me, I didn’t either.
