Battered Wrists

March 9, 2011
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Silently, I stared outside my cracked door. Not a sound was heard until the violent screams from me loved ones began their course. I sighed out of tiredness and shut my door. Nine-thirty on the dot and I was ready for bed. Too bad I won’t get any sleep tonight, but I can always try. I turned out my lights and slipped into my cozy bed. The sheets were cold but gradually became warm from my body heat. I felt comforted by my sheets. It’s a little desperate to say, but this is the only time I ever feel safe and almost not alone. My sheets don’t yell, they don’t cry, and they don’t ever get lost. My sheets just stay there with me when I yell, cry, and get lost in my own mind. It’s just too bad that my own family can’t even be here with me when I need them most.

Friday quickly approached and school was finally over for the week. Going home is the only part I dread about Fridays. It means I have to stay locked in this prison with my parent’s home for a whole weekend. So I do what they tell me, but it’s not like its ever good enough. I’m doing it alone, though, how do they expect me to do all the chores, do my homework, go to therapy, and actually get sleep that night? One day I just hope that my mother decides to divorce this man. He’s my father, but he’s never treated me like his daughter. If I asked him what grade I have in algebra, he wouldn’t even know, even though it’s hanging on the refrigerator door. If I asked him what my hobby is, he would guess dancing. Only because when I was ten years old he had to take me to practice. He dreaded Thursdays because he had to go out of his way to bring me to my lessons. I’m so sorry that I ever did him wrong by asking him to be a father, when clearly he didn’t want to be. I’m so sorry that he has had to live with my family, when clearly he doesn’t want us.

Two days ago my mother talked to me. This wasn’t a normal talk, though. We’ve had this talk before, when I was in the fifth grade. She and my father were going to divorce. Sadly, it didn’t end up happening. Why didn’t they just do it and get it over with? Well, that I will never know. My guess is that my mother wants what’s best for me and my sisters. Somehow she thinks that staying with my dad is good for us. In reality, it’s tearing us apart. I wish she could see the pain and the suffering I’m dealing with. I can tell she’s suffering too. I can tell she doesn’t love him, I see it in her eyes. When he kisses her on her cheek, sadness grows upon her eyes. When he slaps her, silent rage grows upon her flushed face. If only she knew that this wasn’t only just happening to her, maybe then she’d help me.

I focused my gaze upon the bruise on my ankle. This one would be easy to hide because my jeans covered it just right. I quickly jerked when I heard a buzzing. It was just my phone, though. So far I got three texts from him. Two of which, were actually sweet. Three new messages from Drew:
First message: Good morning babe.
Next message: Hey, I just wrote another song about you. You should come over today so I can play it for you.
Last message: I called you once and texted you twice. What are you doing that is important enough to ignore me? It’s not okay to just treat me this way. If you don’t reply to this in the next five minutes I’m coming over to your house. Don’t think I won’t, cause’ I will.

He has been my boyfriend for six months now. I know he won’t hit me in my own house when my parents are home. So I replied to his text and told him my phone was in my basement. I told him it’s okay if he comes over, too. Then a few minutes passed and I didn’t get another text message. But I did get a knock on the door. I let him in and we shuffled to my room. He smiled with his eyes and apologized for getting upset. I then kissed him sweetly, and we were right back at square one.

That’s the last of what I remember from yesterday. Now, I have a thrashing headache and I’m finding bruises in places I didn’t even know he hit. I then heard a sound and jerked. I turned off the bathroom light, and ran back to bed. He was awake, and I, I was scared.
“Where were you babe? I was just about to leave and get us some breakfast.” Drew’s face looked completely normal. That’s what scares me the most. He can hit me like that and expect everything to be completely fine. Which it’s not his fault he feels that way. I make it seem like everything is fine.
“Um, actually I’m not too hungry right now. I think I’ll just have some toast here. Before my parents get mad, you should probably go, though. I’ll call you later babe,” my words didn’t flow out like usual. My smooth voice came out shaky and unsure.
“Why do you want me to leave so badly? You’re not going to tell your parents about me, right? I thought you loved me! If you tell anyone I’ll make you wish that you were never born. I can tear you apart in one beating. Is that what you want?” Drew violently stared into my eyes. So I nodded my head no, and sat on the edge of my bed. Looking forlorn, I reached for my pillow. My wrist was snatched before I could grab my pillow. He squeezed my wrist hard as my eyes grew watery. I told him I was just grabbing my pillow, and I loved him too much to ever tell anyone anything. He let go and shook his head in approval.

A few hours passed and I was beginning to get flash backs of last night. I remember drinking soda that tasted flat. I remember his hands restraining mine. I remember wiggling and struggling to slip out from underneath him. Though, I don’t remember how I got each and every bruise, I know each and every one was from him. So I took a shower, hoping the steam would take off the pain and stress. Usually it works, but this time there’s too much pain that water can’t wash away. Plus, I hate seeing all the bruises on myself, it makes me feel sick. This time, I can’t cover up all of the bruises.

Saturday nights are code for party nights. Drew invited me to come with him to his friends’ house party. I accepted, but it doesn’t mean I’m fully over what he did to me. I perked up anyway and but my little black dress on. I had to wear an ugly wristband on my right wrist to cover up the worst bruise. Luckily for me, the bracelet pulls together the outfit quite perfectly. As I put on my blush I heard drew’s car honk. Right when I got into his car, it was time to confess, but confessing is harder than it looks.

Loud music was blasting from beneath us. We were in the host’s bedroom. I was a little tipsy. Drew on the other hand, he was beyond that. He said a couple of words, but it all sounded like gibberish. I giggled then proceeded to drink more. It’s not fun watching a drunk person when you’re only tipsy. I chugged the drink in the red cup, not sure what it really was. When I peered in the cup, not a drop was left. So I threw it and looked at drew. His shirt was off, and I wasn’t sure why. He pulled me closer on the bed. I resisted in hopes that this time he would stop.

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