by CeeCee James
I looked around the dark room and suppressed a shudder. It didn’t feel safe. I wanted to run and go home so badly, and blinked my eyes hard to fight tears.
The music dinged again, another lost life.
“S--” The guy with the controller swore and threw the controller to the floor.
“This is David.” Trevor gestured with his hand to the one who’d just cursed. “His dad owns this place.”
David looked at me with beaded eyebrows. The look wasn’t warm, and I shifted nervously.
“Who’s this?” he asked, swinging his gaze back to Trevor.
Trevor put his arm around me and pulled me close.
“This is CeeCee. My girlfriend.”
Time froze and my heart quit beating for a second. I stared up at him. I knew what this meant. The claustrophobia of being manipulated and controlled squeezed through my chest.
I swallowed, and then smiled. My cheeks hurt from holding the fake smile.
7
*5 months later-
back on the bus*
The bus hit a bump and jarred me awake from my daydream. Shaking my head, I tried to clear away the memories of Trevor. Our relationship had lasted four months. Just thinking about it made me nauseous. If I’d never met him I wouldn’t be on this bus today. He’d kept me close to his side the entire time we were together, living under the threat of suicide if I broke up with him. He told me he couldn’t live without me.
For a while, I tolerated it, even clung to him, because I was so terrified of living alone. I had no choice but to cajole him and accept his treatment. Where else was I going to go? It was a fact he reminded me of all the time. He’d tell me that I was only allowed to stay in the house because I was his girlfriend, and I’ll be on the streets if I broke up with him. In four months I couldn’t find an escape. His moodiness and depression never went away, and only became worse with time. I felt trapped between two evils. After one explosive night, he nearly ran the truck off a cliff in a fit of anger while I sat screaming in fear in the passenger seat. When the truck final stopped I’d sat there shaking for a minute before I realized I couldn’t do this anymore. I was too scared to say anything to him just then. But when he finally drove the truck home, and let me out, I told him it was over. He’d responded, “Whatever baby. Good luck finding somebody else who’s going to want someone as messed-up as you.”
In the end, it had been a hard lesson to learn. I couldn’t be the reason someone lived. I couldn’t save someone else, if they truly didn’t want help. I couldn’t make that choice for him to get healthy, or wish hard enough for him to make that choice for himself.
Just yesterday, Trevor had tried to win me back with apologies and promises that he had changed. But I couldn’t let my need to be wanted put me in that position again.
Besides, I had other problems to deal with now. With a sigh, I leaned back against the bus seat to try and solve the David-drama back at the house. Was he going to kick me out despite the fact that his dad said I could stay? Would he really have hit me? I didn’t know, and I was scared to find out. Hopefully, he would be asleep by the time I got back. If he wasn’t, I was just going to apologize again and again, maybe offer to clean the kitchen to win him over. That house was my last option, and I had to do whatever it took to be able to stay.
How could life be so confusing already? At seventeen I felt like I’d already lived several lives. And the blackness of hopelessness was about to suck me under. I just wanted a tiny bit of peace.
Thank God for the bus.
I yawned and my jaw cracked. Rubbing it, I sank deeper into the seat. My shirt was almost dry. I was warm again, and felt some semblance of safety, a rare and cherished emotion. I wrapped that feeling around me like it was a blanket. Safety was the one reason why I rode the bus every night.
I’d had a hard nights sleep the last few nights, and the sound of the bus rumbling was like a weird lullaby calling me to sleep. I fought the temptation to close my eyes. It’d been a long time since I’d felt save enough to have a good night’s rest.
Back at David’s house I slept in the living room. I was one girl among the seven or eight teenage boys who slept sprawled out over the couches and on the floor. Every night was dangerous. Instead of sleeping, they wanted to climb on the couch next to me and do more than talk. I’d snuggle, but didn’t let it go further. But I had to be careful not to let them feel rejected. It was horrible. Every night I walked that threatening line; push their hands away, but encourage the snuggling. It was the only hope I had that it would somehow transfer into peace the next day, and not get kicked out.
I was worn out.
Across the bus aisle I heard a snort. The old man had woken himself up with his snore, and was turning to re-adjust into a more comfortable sitting arrangement. He crossed his legs and pulled his hat further down on his forehead. Behind him, the woman still flipped through her romance novel. Her hand disappeared into the macramé bag and came out with a candy bar. Seeing it made my stomach growl.
The bus pulled up to its last stop before it would drive out onto the highway. The doors wheezed open. Loud male laughter jerked us all awake from where we’d been zoning, listening to the rain thrum on the roof. The metal bus stairs thundered with footfalls, and a group of young men in their twenties boarded. The guy in the front wore a striped beanie. The guy behind pushed into him, and they both stumbled, drunk and laughing. The bus driver looked bored as they flashed their bus passes at him.
The one in the front pulled his beanie back on his head. He looked down the aisle and caught my eye. His eyes were cold and grey. Like a sharks. The smile he gave me sent a wave of fear through my stomach. His eyes still on mine, he turned his head and said something to the guy in the red cap behind him. The guy’s head snapped up and he caught my eyes too, before answering back. They started laughing in a nasty way. A way that made me want to sink in my seat and disappear. I broke the gaze and quickly looked out the window. Be invisible. The city lights winked at me through the rain drops, as my heart thudded in my chest.
Their laughter came closer. They were past the break in the bus, where the second door was, and heading for me. Please, please, please, I internally chanted. Maybe it was a prayer. Go away. Sit down. Sit there. Away from me. Don’t see me.
“Hey! Look what we have here,” the beanie-guy said as he got closer. My eyes flicked up to him. He was staring at the front of my shirt. Grabbing the backs of the seats to steady himself, he pulled himself toward my bench. I quickly looked out the window again as a hot blush crawled up my neck.
“What, are you shy? What kind of shy girl rides the bus this late at night?” With a thud he landed in the seat next to me. Alcohol fumes rolled past me.
“Want to party?”
I shook my head in answer. He wasn’t looking at my face. With a ragged fingernail he traced the back of my hand that I held clutched in my lap. “Because I know how to party.”
I was shocked and scared. I wanted him to go away, but insecurity made me question if I was making a big deal out of nothing. The people around me seemed okay. Maybe I was overreacting.
His friends settled around me, two in the seat in front of us, and I assumed the other two were in the bench behind. But I was too intimidated to look. Beanie-guy smiled at me, then gave me a wink. He was so much bigger than me. I clenched my hands into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. His face was pock marked with old acne scars. One scar blurred the corner of his lip, and he licked it when he caught me staring.
I glanced at the old man across the aisle. Is this okay? This can’t be okay. He still slept with his cap over his face. Wake up, I thought to myself. Look at me! See me! Help Me!
He didn’t move.
My heart sped up. I shoved my wet sweatshirt more firmly between us and scrunched closer to the window.
“Oh hey, where ya going?” my seatmate said. “Don’t you like me?”
“Gotta take care of that breath,” the guy with the red hat said
.
My seatmate moved closer, “What’s the matter, baby. Do I smell bad?” He leaned in close, and my skin crawled. Alcohol, and some other scent rolled over me.
“L… leave me alone, please.” The words came out hardly more than a whisper. Inside I cringed.
“Aww, ain’t she polite? She said, ‘please.’” They all laughed, sounding like a murder of crows.
“Baby girl, I’m just saying hi, that’s polite isn’t?” He pushed my sweatshirt to the floor where it landed with a thump and moved closer. “I want to show you I’m polite.” He wasn’t making eye contact any more. Instead, he grabbed my leg. A wave of helplessness rose up to my throat like bitter bile. I twisted slightly, afraid to make any sudden moves, and pressed my knees together.
The guy in front of me had an eyebrow scar. He reached over the back of his seat. “What do we have going on under here?” he said, and tucked his finger under the v-neck of my shirt. He gave it a sharp tug. “Have you even hit puberty yet?”
I shrugged him off and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Ohh, I think she’s playing hard to get,” cut-eyebrow said.
I could feel the fear start to paralyze me. My hands curled into helpless appendages. My will to fight suddenly shut down, leaving only an inner pleading voice that cried, knowing it would be ignored. Please, please, please stop. Please, leave me alone.
The guy next to me laughed and grabbed my face. “How about a kiss, sweetheart. C’mere.”
His other hand seized my arm hard, his fingers digging in. Tears sprang to my eyes. More laughter. He turned my face towards him, pinching my cheeks into my teeth. I tasted blood.
“Please stop,” I said again. It took all of my strength, yet I cringed as the word “please” fell out of my mouth like a dog showing its belly. Like I was afraid to be rude. Grabbing on to my courage I yelled, “HELP!”
In that second, the old man across the aisle tipped his hat back and looked over. Around me the laughter grew, and the word ‘help’ was mimicked back and forth in male high-pitched echoes. The old man pushed his hat over his eyes and turned away towards the window.
I was alone. I was always alone.
I knew I would be.
I knew.
Hands came from behind the seat and grabbed mine, yanking them up. Pulling hard. Pinching my wrist bones.
Faces closing in.
Laughing faces.
Vicious eyes,
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
Hands clamped over my mouth. The taste of stale cigarettes filled my mouth.
Fear.
Pain.
Tears.
Me screaming from behind the hand.
More laughter.
Pushing me against the bus window.
God God God God please, please help me.
Oh God Oh God, make it stop.
Boozy breath.
Be quiet,
hide.
Scarred eyebrow pulled the bus cord for a stop.
The bus lumbered over to the side of the road.
Rough kiss on the cheek.
Hand from behind released my wrists, tussled my hair.
“Good times,” said with a wink.
They jumped up, and pushing, shoving, laughing, exited the bus.
The door shut with a wheeze.
My heart hammered, and I tried to breath. Breathe. Tried not to cry. Tried to stop crying.
I saw them pushing in camaraderie as they walked down the street.
They never looked back.
I was forgotten.
I glanced around the bus, ashamed, confused.
No one met my eye. They looked at their book or pretended to be asleep.
My legs were trembling, and I drew them up and pressed my face against my knees. I tried to hold myself together.
“Shhh shhhh shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s over,” I whispered to myself, rocking slightly. “Shhhh shhhhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”
After a minute, I lift my head and looked at the front of my shirt. The neck line was stretched out. It’s pulled up from where it had been tucked into my pants. I began to tuck it in, but even the sensation of my hands touching me was scary. I scrubbed at my legs instead. You’re okay, you’re okay. I swallowed. My mouth tasted like cigarettes. I wanted to throw up. I had an overwhelming urge to break open the window and scrape the rain drops off the glass to wash the taste out of my mouth.
No one saw me. How did no one see me?
Guilt hit me. Why didn’t I fight harder? Why did I sit all the way in the back, and not by the bus-driver? I shivered and held my knees closer to my chest. I wanted to hide away. Scooting smaller, I burrowed my face into my legs and wiped away the tears. The jean material was rough on my cheek as I scrubbed. Wiping away the feel of his stubble.
The bell dinged again. In response, the bus slowed in hesitant lurches and pulled over. Across from me, the old man gradually eased himself up to a standing position with a sigh. He squeezed his leg like it hurt, then slowly meandered off the bus. He did not look at me.
After another stop, it was just me left on the bus. The bus wheezed and shuddered into the bus terminal. With a squeal on the brakes, the bus-driver parked, done for the night.
The last bus heading for my home town was leaving in fifteen minutes. I needed to hurry. I stood up with a grimace. My legs were stiff from being tightly hugged against me. My knee popped when I took a step forward. Every part of me felt frozen. I was scared to get off the bus. But what place was safe? If it could happen here, it could happen anywhere. There was no place that was safe.
I walked to the door with short steps and climbed down the metal treads. The bus driver never looked up from his clipboard. The entire parking area was filled with benches protected by Plexi-Glass roofs, and lit up brilliantly with overhead flood lights. I wandered along the line of buses looking for the number that meant it would take me back to the home that wasn’t a home.
I licked my lips and then spat. I started to scratch at my wrist as hard as I could, tears prickling my eyes, the pain distracting me. With each step I said my mantra. It’s no big deal, I’m okay, I can do this. It was no big deal. Where’s bus 342? I can do this. I can do this. Just lock this away and pretend it never happened. Never tell. Using the words to hammer away at the fear. By the time I reached my next bus, I had almost believed it.
But deep inside of me, the black hole echoed. I didn’t want to be afraid any more.
8
*4 years old*
It was another late night. Mama had brought me to a motel. We ran through the rain to the door. I’d never been to a motel before. The name sounded funny, and I said it over and over until she told me to stop. “I need a break,” she’d said. “I want you to stay out of sight.”
Meeting us at the motel door was Mama’s brother and a couple of their male friends. They carried big bags and were laughing. “We’re going to have a good time,” one told Mama, rubbing her shoulder. She laughed as her hand trailed down his arm.
“Who’s this?” Another one asked, pointing at me. I tried to hide behind Mama’s legs.
“Don’t worry about her,” Mama said.
Mama’s brother unlocked the door, and we all went in. The bags were thrown on the table. Two of the guys pulled up chairs and sat. One pulled out his cigarettes and lit one.
Mama gripped my shoulder and steered me towards the bathroom. She pointed to the narrow slot under the bathroom sink. “Climb under there,” she gestured with her hand. She left, returning with a pillow and a blanket. “Go to sleep,” she said, throwing them to me. A deep crease showed between her eyebrows. “I don’t want to hear you make sound.” She made a sharp jerk of her head. “Don’t make me come back,” she warned before turning and walking away.
One of the guys met her on her way out and said something I didn’t understand. She started to laugh. He tugged on the end of a lock of her hair, and she batted at his shoulder.
It was dark and cramped where I was. I looked up at the underside of the sink, just a board with a pipe twisting out of it. There was nothing to do. I wasn’t even a bit sleepy. I rolled on my side and watched the people’s shadows play on the wall.
They were all having a good time out there. Bottles opened, and the TV turned on. “Oh!” Mama squealed. “Invasion of the Body Snatchers!” I could smell the funny smoke they liked.
In a soft voice, I started making up stories for the shadow people on the wall. When the shadows quit moving I pointed my two fingers up to make bunny ears and tried to make my own shadow. The little shadow bunny wiggled his nose, and I giggled. “Little Bunny Foo-Foo,” I whispered in a sing-song, “hopping through the forest. Scooping up the field mice-“ and here I balled my fist and swatted it with my other hand, “and bopping them on the head.” Bop! Bop! Bop!
The other room erupted into shrieks and screams and laughter at something on the TV, jerking me alert.
Someone was coming in.
A man I didn’t know.
His feet dragged past where I was scooched under the sink. Unsteadily he stood before the toilet, his feet splayed to either side. There was a chink of porcelain as he stumbled forward, and cursed. The next sound was a jet of urine splashing. I hoped he wouldn’t get it on me and scooched tighter. If you can’t see me, then I’m safe.
Suddenly his face was large and scary, pushing under the counter.
“Well, what have we here? A little rat?” His hand reached out towards me. I curled away, not wanting to be touched. I was trapped against the wall. His fingers grabbed my arm, slowly trailed down it. “No, not a rat.” He burped and started to smile. “Something prettier.”
The air was thick as I tried to breathe. I pulled away from his hand that was still clinging to my arm. I tried to shake my head, wanting to speak up and say, “I’m not a rat.” I was scared, and the words got stuck in my throat.