EmotionsA Chapter by May
I was only ten years old when I was raped. I had easily decided that my life was not worth living, but I figured that if God didn't like me this much he would put me through this hell on earth, he would probably make the afterlife even worse for me. I didn't want to be in the same level of hell as my mother would surely be in. I resolved that I would damn myself by suicide. I will wait for death.
I had woken up on the floor completely naked. I didn't understand why the hell I was naked. I remembered lying on my bed staring at a glass of water the night before, but everything else was blank.
Had my mother hit me and I passed out? Or possibly I had slept walked and taken off my clothes... that could've happened.
I hadn't tried to move while these thoughts raced through my mind, but instead laid on the floor and felt the chill of the hardwood boards caress my cheek. My cheek felt oddly swollen and tender. I made the mistake of trying to sit up after that, and the immediate pain that launched through my body like a train made me lean to the side and hurl. I saw purple bruises against my skin and examined my body. The tiny, round bruises were traveling up my arms and against my stomach and thighs. I screamed as loud as I could, but nothing came in response. What had I been expecting? A mother that would have came running to me the moment I had screamed? No, of course I didn't.
I crawled to my bed and the weak power of my arms had taken their time getting me to stand up. I felt sick from the smell that my room was illuminating and all of my insides were hurting. I tumbled back to the floor and started to cry. I had been doing that a lot lately. Crying was never one of my strong points, but I couldn't deny that I was crying more often than usual.
I lifted myself in a hunched position and walked to my mother's room. I didn't know what was wrong with me or why I was hurting so much in specific places. I walked into my mother's room and watched as she slept with no clothes on and bedding tangled against her face. I saw every part of my mother, including the blood that was covering her mattress.
I was in shock while staring at my mother's blood. Her legs were covered in blood, even though I couldn't see any visible signs of wounds. I had a thought about me being naked when I had woken up, and I took a glance down at my legs to check for anything. What I saw was like nothing I had ever seen. My entire lower waist was drenched in dried blood.
I felt a warm liquid rising in my throat and I quickly ran into the bathroom. I leaned against the yellow toliet and puked.
I walked back to my mother and tapped her on a shoulder. I made sure that I stepped away before she tried to swing at me, but her response was a drawn out groan. I reached down to her and pulled away the blanket from her strangled face.
I was having a hard time judging whether that was my real mother or not. No, the woman that was lying on the bed couldn't have been my mother. This woman was beaten and bruised. This woman was bloody and blue. My mother had never looked that way before. She was always the strongest and always the bravest. She could pick up a truck if she wanted to; I knew she could do anything. The woman that was lying on my mother's bed couldn't have been my mother.
This woman was weak and lost. I didn't like this women. She looked innocent and confused, but at the same time she looked wise and sad. Where had my real mother gone?
I touched the woman once again to get a reaction, and with another groan the woman opened the only eye that wasn't black and I watched the pain radiating behind her broken disguise of strength. That was my mother. That was my mother when her mask was broken and worn away. That battered woman was the mother that doesn't hit her only child, but instead she loves her and gives her the affection a child needs. That was the woman who could pick up a truck.
I heard a gasp for air and a voice as light as a whisper come from my mother's throat, "Belle..." was all I heard. Her gaze on my face was not evil, but gentle. I didn't understand what motives she could have had by being gentle to me. I didn't want to find out.
My only reaction to her calmness was silence. I didn't know what emotions I was supposed to have, so I chose nothing. I didn't have emotion when my mother tried to touch my face. Not hit, but rather touch. When her hand raised towards my face I took a quick step backwards and felt my my eyes flinch without command.
Her gaze didn't faulter, but her hand did fall back to her sides. She winced when she made an attempt at adjusting her position. I understould her pain. My legs were wobbling against each other while I was standing, but I wasn't going to get near her again. She was in obvious pain, and if she was in pain, she would make sure that I was too.
"Belle, come." I took a step toward her without any time to regret the action.
She pulled me by the arm and was placed leaning on the bed, face-to-face with her. Her breath was rancid, and her strength was obviously back from the moments before when I had actually almost felt sorry for her. She breathed against my face and whispered, "You tell no one what has happened here today." I quickly nodded my head and felt the release of my arm.
I stepped back from my mother and stared as I watched her wince and moan while trying to get up. I saw her completely nude, but the slash marks against her stomach and back were dominant against her paled skin. I showed no emotion.
© 2010 May
Added on May 29, 2010
Last Updated on June 15, 2010
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