by Belle Aurora
As soon as the prongs touch me, I want to scream loud and hard, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, if I scream, he works harder. My body shakes. Shaking is good. It means I’m not gonna pass out. I have to be careful when the shaking stops. He knows it too. He waits and watches for it.
His knee digs into me, holding me down to the ground, and he touches me over and over with the heated prongs. Never touching my arms, only my chest. He learnt a lesson from breaking my arm. If people could see the scars, they’d ask questions. He doesn’t want people to ask questions, so he avoids the areas people can see. Every now and again he’ll punch me in the face, but people believe anything my parents spout. A few of the better excuses are ‘He’s a very active boy. Loves his sports’ and ‘Boys will be boys’, is an old favorite of my dad’s.
Blood roars in my ears.
The pain is almost unbearable. I don’t give in though.
The thing about burns is that the healing is just as painful as getting them in the first place. I think that’s why he likes doing it so much. Doubling my pain.
Clenching my mouth shut, I have no choice but to breathe in through my nose and the stink is so bad. I feel the vomit climb my throat, but I swallow it down again.
If I vomit, he’ll make me eat it like last time.
Mom sits in the corner of the room. She’s empty. There’s nothing left of the sweet woman I loved. He makes her watch, but she goes someplace he doesn’t know about. She disappears inside her head and hums. I close my eyes and listen to her. She hums one of the songs she used to sing to me when I was a baby. This is her only form of comfort these days. He would punish her for coming to see me at night, so she stopped. I’d like to say I understand, but I don’t. Now I hate her as much as I hate him.
I’m the child. She should be protecting me. Not the other way round.
She’s weak. And I hate her.
***
Sixteen years old…
I don’t give a fuck about anyone or anything. Let ‘em talk. I’m gonna leave here one day and things will be better then. I kick the wired fence and push off to walk away.
“Hey dipshit, your shirt’s ripped and you stink.”
I look over to the jock and snigger, “Jealous I’m gonna steal your girl, Chris?”
Chris’ face reddens. He’s not the best looking guy, but he’s a jock, meaning he’s got some god-like status in this fucking shithole of a school. He comes toward me, grips my already-ripped shirt and sneers, “You’re gonna pay for that, fucker.”
He has no idea how many times I’ve heard that exact thing at home. It doesn’t scare me anymore.
I lean forward and whisper, “You have no idea who you’re fucking with. I’ll shoot you three times in the head and still make it look like an accident.”
For a few seconds he looks like he’s going to let me go, but he and I both know that would make him look weak in front of the others. He cocks his arm back and I sigh, “Make it quick, shithead.”
Just then I feel someone by my side. Chris’ eyes widen and he steps back from me. A hand on my shoulder makes me turn and I see this guy. I know this guy. Well, I don’t know him but he’s one of those guys. The popular guys.
What the fuck is he doing?
Just as I’m about to tell him to fuck off, he says, “You need a hand?”
And he isn’t talking shit. I’ve had enough experiences with bad people to know this guy is actually asking if I need help kicking this jock’s ass. Still unsure of him, I narrow my eyes and shake my head.
He nods, all the while looking at Chris in warning. And then he’s gone.
***
I wait all second period by the lockers. I feel like an ass just standing here, but I want to talk to him.
Finally, there he is. Dark brown hair, lightest brown eyes I’ve ever seen and making out with a hot girl. He’s got his hand on her ass and for a second, I’m jealous.
I’m taller than him. Not by much though. I wait til he passes me in the hall and run to catch up with him.
When I reach his side, I walk with him. I say, “I’m Asher.”
He nods his head, looking straight ahead. He replies, “I’m Nik.”
We walk the halls together and people stop and stare. People like me don’t hang with people like Nik but there’s something about this guy. He’s got an attitude to him. He’s one of those guys that makes the trends. No one would dare question him.
I know why the people are staring. I have holes in my clothes and Nik wears designer shit. We just don’t match. Halfway to class, I ask, “Why’d you do that?”
Acting dumb, he asks, “Do what?”
I’m this close to losing my shit. I snap, “I don’t owe you a fucking thing, pretty boy!”
Nik grins. A single dimple pops out and he says, “Never said you did, asshole. Calm your shit down. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna come eat your lunch with me today. Just me and you. We’ll talk then.”
Then he disappears down the hall.
***
Nik sees I don’t actually have lunch and gives me half his sandwich. He says with a full mouth, “So what’s the deal with all the angry?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What the fuck is there to be happy about?”
Nik grins. “Good point.” His face becomes serious. “You been through shit?”
I don’t answer, just stare him down while I take a bite of the sandwich. He nods and says quietly, “Yeah, me too.”
We don’t talk during the rest of lunch. He finishes his sandwich, and stands. “Come over tomorrow after school. Got some shit you might like to see.”
He walks away, and I can’t help but wonder if I really just made a friend.
***
I stare at the object in my hands with wide eyes in complete awe.
Nik says through a smile, “You like that, huh? Pops gave it to me last year. It came from Russia.”
It’s a .45 caliber pistol. I lift it, hold it up and point it out the window. Nik snatches it from my hands, waving the gun in the air and says, “My dad says never to aim at something you don’t intend to kill.”
I need to figure out how to steal this gun.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I ask, “You ever used it?”
Nik nods his head then hands me a bag. I take it but don’t open it. It’s soft. I’m guessing it’s clothes. “If something doesn’t fit, just throw it away.”
I wonder why this guy has my back.
Regardless of how hesitant I am, something tells me to stick around and find out.
***
I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I can’t stop watching Nik’s dad. I think I’m waiting for the ball to drop.
Why did Nik get a dad like this and I got mine?
The funny thing is Ilia (weird name - it sounds like Ee-lee-yah) watches me just as closely. It’s like he can see inside me. See what I’ve been through. My heart races as I sit at the dinner table in between Nik and his brother, Max. Max is okay. He’s annoying, but in a lot of ways, he’s like Nik. They really don’t give a shit where I came from.
I’m surrounded by a loud, happy family. And it sucks. Reminds me of what I don’t have.
Nik’s mom looks at me through saddened eyes and I want to leave. I don’t want to be a charity case.
“Thank you for dinner, but I need to get home.” I stand and make to leave.
No one says a word. I can see Nik’s mom is disappointed. Ilia stands and says in a thick accent, “Come. I’ll walk you out.”
Keeping my head down, I don’t say goodnight to anyone. Ilia puts a hand on my shoulder and I want to burst into tears. When he closes the front door behind us, he motions to the front steps and I sit. He says, “You ever need any help, son, for anything at all. You call Niki and he’ll tell me. I’ll take care of it.”
Stunned, I look up at him and he states, “Bruises on your arm there, they look just like a grown man’s handprint. Now, I’m not saying that I s
aw what I saw but scars are not easy to hide.”
Leaning back he whispers, “No man should ever lay a hand on a child. Children are innocent. They deserve better. If you ever feel like you’re unsafe, you come here. If I find out through Niki that you came to school with bruises, I’ll go see your parents myself and I can’t promise I’ll be nice.”
I want to ask why he’s offering this but I change my mind. A bed in a safe house with warmth and food, I’d be stupid to pass that up. I tell myself it has nothing to do with the fact that I like Nik and Max. Looking up at him, I nod in agreement. He smacks my shoulder in a fatherly way and I stand to leave.
Walking away from Ilia, I turn halfway down the drive and tell him, “I hate him. I wish he was dead. Some nights, I wish I was too.”
Ilia’s face softens. I don’t wait for a response.
I walk home to whatever kind of hell waits for me.
***
Sixteen years old. Later that year…
I pack whatever I can fit into the gym bag.
Cannibal Corpse blasts ‘Hammer Smashed Face’ from the cassette player, and I imagine doing every single thing this song says to my father.
I’ve been sleeping at Nik’s place. A lot. Truth is, I don’t want to be here anymore, not even to protect my mom, so I’m packing a bag and leaving right now. The other week I came over pretty late and when Cecelia, Nik’s mom, saw my bruised face, she cried for me and hugged me tight. It felt nice to have someone care. Ilia took me aside and ordered, “You will pack whatever you can and come back here. I will not send you back to your death.”
I argued that my father wouldn’t allow it but he said, “Leave him to me.”
I got a sick sense of satisfaction knowing my father would likely have his ass handed to him.
As I run out into the hallway, my mother stands there. When she sees the bag in my hand, she crumbles. I yell at her, “Don’t even, Ma. Don’t you fucking cry. Run! Just fucking leave. He’s going to kill us if we don’t.”
Looking up at the bruises on my face, she whispers, “Nothin’ more than I deserve, Ashy.”
With one last look at her, I turn and swear to never come back to this place.
As soon as I step out of the property line, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I’m going home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shit hits the fan
Sitting up in bed, Ash rests his head on my stomach with his arms tightly wrapped around me. He squeezes me in his sleep while I run my fingers through his hair. I listen to his deep breathing. My only form of comfort right now is knowing he’s sleeping soundly without nightmares of the abuse he suffered as a child.
My heart is heavy.
I’m feeling helpless and withdrawn. I never feel like this. The last time I felt like this was when Mia died. Tina’s daughter was a huge part of my life. I was her aunt, and it affected me as much as it did Tina. I loved that little girl with all my heart.
Cursing myself, I lean my head back on the headboard with a soft thump.
I wanted to know what happened to him. I was the one who pushed. He told me it was fucked up, and I pushed and pushed til he had no choice but to tell me. And now I wish I didn’t know.
So now I sit here, tears streaming down my face in devastation for what this beautiful man endured as a child. I will never forget what I was told tonight. It was as if he zoned out. Like he wasn’t even in the room with me. It seemed like he spoke for hours, when in reality all it took was about a half hour for me to get the general idea of how his life was before he met Nik.
Next time I see Nik, I’ll be lucky if I don’t burst into tears. I knew I liked Nik before, but now…now I am grateful for him.
Burnt. Cut. Bruised. Choked. Hit.
He was just a fucking baby.
All I want to do is find his parents and punish them. He told me his father died quite a few years back and to take pity on his mother, he said, “Mom never hurt me, but she never helped me, so I guess she did hurt me regardless, but she was weak. Weak physically and weak in character. Whatever dad said, she went along with. Didn’t have it in her to fight. She’s not like me.”
If Ash is anything, he’s a fighter alright.
He had a broken arm for three days before they took him to the hospital. It was infected so bad that the doctors thought he might lose it. Trying to downplay it, he told me he didn’t remember much of it. But I don’t care. Given the chance, I’d hurt them as badly as they hurt him.
When I asked him if he had any brothers or sisters he said, “Nik, Max and Trick are my brothers. Only ones that matter.”
So many questions came to mind. I asked him why they call him Ghost, and he said that during his time working for the Russians, they discovered he had a knack of getting in and out of places undetected. And Ghost was born. I think it digs deeper than that. I think it hits him somewhere right in the center of his chest.
There’s more to it. I know there’s a reason he gets pissed when I call him that.
I lift his head from my stomach and scoot down the bed. I take a moment to look at him. Really look at him. He looks so peaceful while he sleeps. Imagining the years of torture he endured followed by years of night terrors…it makes my heart ache. I watch him a moment longer then wipe away my tears. Leaning closer to him, I kiss his lips whisper-soft and say quietly, “You’re not invisible to me, Ghost.”
I snuggle closer to him and wonder if he feels that warmth. The same warmth that I feel when I’m with him.
Taking his hand in mine, I link our fingers and close my eyes.
“Sweet dreams, Ash. Love you.”
***
Something taps my nose. I flap my hand about to get rid of it.
Again with the nose. I growl and put my head under the pillow. It smells like lemon and berries under here.
Nice.
“Asherrrr.” Nat. She says this in a sing-song voice, and I know I have to look up at her.
When I lift my face, I rub the sleep out of my eyes and freeze.
There she is, standing at the door wearing only my shirt and panties. Sexy as sin and cute as hell all rolled into one.
Then I’m doused in water.
In defense mode, I snatch her pillow and hold it up while I roll off the bed army-style. I hear her pump the damn water pistol and she yells out, “Fair’s fair,” then she throws something on the bed.
Her footsteps running away from the bedroom fill my ears. When I think it’s safe, I lift my head and look on the bed. I smirk.
Picking up my own huge water pistol, I pump it as far as it’ll let me. I check the water level. It’s full. My lips pull down, raise my brows and tilt my head. The little minx didn’t stiff me.
Respect.
Oh, now she’s gone and done it.
Stealth mode takes over and I crawl around the bed til I get to the bedroom door, dragging my legs behind me. I stick my head out from the bottom of the door, and I see a tiny mouse head slipper sticking out from behind the kitchen counter. I smirk.
It’s on.
I crouch and creep towards the kitchen, being careful not to make a sound. Can’t nobody be quieter than the Ghost. When I reach the opposite side of the counter, I mentally count to three, then jump out with a war cry, guns blazing and spraying the shit out of her.
Only, there’s no one there. Just a damn slipper.
My back is suddenly saturated.
I turn and my front becomes drenched too. Cutting my losses, I toss the gun and take two steps toward Nat. She looks beautiful. Flushed cheeks, bright-eyed and laughing her ass off at me. When I think of her, I’m going to see her exactly as I see her now. She really is my pretty girl.
Narrowing my eyes with a cruel smile, she stills a moment. When she realizes what I’m doing, she squeaks, drops her gun, turns on her heel and runs. I yell out, “Run, Forrest, Run!”
C’mon! Even I know Forrest Gump.
There are only three possible places in this apartment she can run
to, and she just ran out of the kitchen, leaving her bedroom and the bathroom as her only options. I walk to her bedroom and throw open the door. It looks empty but…
Something falls in the closet and I chuckle to myself.
The closet? She can’t get anywhere from in there! Too cute.
I approach the closet door smiling like a damn fool, take the knob and throw it open. I scrunch my face as water splashes me in the eyes. The little shit has two small pistols in her hands. She’s laughing so hard she’s crying. I snatch the pistols, throw them behind me and pick her up and over my shoulder. She doesn’t bother fighting. I don’t think she could if she wanted to. Her body is weak from laughter.
This is what I like about this girl. She doesn’t treat me like I’m damaged. I know last night must have been hard to hear, but she took it well. Masked her emotions like a pro. The only thing giving her away was her clenching jaw and the way she fisted the covers.
This girl. She’s my girl.
She’s not perfect. Neither am I. But she’s perfect for me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her.
Walking across the room with her, I throw her onto the bed. She looks up at me with those pink cheeks and smiling eyes…and I’m home. No place I’d rather be than here with my girl just goofin’ around.
Maybe Sheriff was right. Maybe this is love.
If it isn’t, it’s pretty damn close.
I push her legs apart and lay on her, my head on her chest. I listen to her heart race and smile, knowing I have that effect on her. My chest expands and I feel like claiming her. So I do.
I wrap my arms around her small waist and say gruffly in caveman speak, “You woman. My woman.”
She laughs and I listen through her chest, the vibrations tickling my cheek. Stroking my hair, she replies softly, “Yeah. I’m yours, babe.”
The thought of her with someone else makes me irrationally angry. My gut twists and I spit out, “And I do not share. Not with any fucker.”
Gripping the longer hair at the top of my head tight, she pulls my head up to look into my eyes and replies in complete seriousness, “Me too. So tell Tasha you’re not seeing her anymore.”