by Smith, A. T
SMASH! Another crack to my cheek, the same bone crushing further. I can’t move my face, it is swollen, bleeding and numb. My lips are busted, my eyebrows split and bleeding, my skull caving a little and gushing red paint. My cheeks and jaw are unusable and causing a pain so intense it makes me see stars.
Every hit forces me further to the light, a huge tunnel that leads to a bright white abyss that I hope leads me to heaven, and to the place my soul had fled to when my wife had taken her life.
“Fucking Cunt! I’ll fucking kill you,” I can hear Leighton saying repeatedly through my fog. He is relentless in his attack, never giving up, never lightening, only intensifying his strikes. I am surprised I am not already passed out, but I want to be aware as I take my final breath.
“You ready to die; you ready to leave Abbi alone you sick fucking bastard?!” He shouts again as he clenches my jaw in his hand, the bones sliding and grinding as the broken pieces move.
I feel sick with pain, tears streaming my face uninvited. I blink back the wetness, every drop stinging my open and gashed skin.
He taps the gun against my cheek, and then stands up straight. I breathe out relieved air as I hear his steps move away. The few second rest makes my heart rate settle a little.
“Say your last prayers because I am ending this now,” he says and I force my eyes open to watch as he aims the gun to my head, his hard and cruel face staring at me, our eyes locking. I breathe out and nod my head as I ready myself for the impact.
“Later,” he says malevolently before I hear the pop of the gun. I think of everything I have done, every reason why this is now ending. I deserve it, I want it and I need it. Abbi needs this, to end her endless nightmare of the thought of me.
My heart is broken, my spirit and soul lost and abandoned but I will find them all again. I will watch from afar as my daughter grows to be the amazing woman I know she will be, and my beautiful granddaughter breaking guys' hearts. They will be fine; I will make sure of it.
I accept my fate and I am aware of myself for mere seconds before everything turns black. The white light is fading in the distance and I push myself through the thick mist as I grasp onto the final remnants of humanity.
This is the vine God is offering me, a tiny slither of hope that I can clasp onto. I grip to the tiny wisp of white in the darkness and feel myself speed through into the beautiful brightness, I hope and pray will end my torture.
“I’m here angel, I’m here.” I speak aloud, smiling as everything clears and I spot the one thing I have been missing. My soul, my other half and my everything. My Penny.
Chapter Ten Abigail
Fogginess is what I can feel. A pounding within my skull that is more than unbearable. Angel is nowhere to be seen, just a softness below my back that shields the aching pain that is deep inside me.
“She’s coming round,” I hear somebody say as I move my head side to side, trying to force my lids to open and allow my eyes the gift of sight. “Remove the tube now,” he says again and I nearly puke as I feel that horrible sensation of the rubber sliding against my tonsils. “Bowl,” he orders for the final time as my body propels me up, vomit rising and spewing into the cardboard container. “And she’s back.”
“Ergh,” I say, feeling worse than I ever have before. I blink hard as the bright lights around me morph into a duller glare.
“I think you’ll be okay now, Mrs Lock,” he says to me as my hazy brain regains a little consciousness.
“What happened?” I croak out. This amount of anaesthetic cannot be good on a person. I feel hazy, confused and somewhat frightened of what had just happened. I thought after escaping hell, I wouldn’t see my angel again.
“Your wound re-opened. The veins we had stitched up burst and you lost a lot of blood. You were talking about random things. Was quite funny to watch, Mrs Lock, but I’m afraid you may have annoyed your husband a little.” I lay back on the bed sighing. I have recollections of the things I said to him, the disregard I had towards my daughter’s safety. But it is all lies, all false words created by the lack of oxygen my body was receiving.
“I need to see him,” I say sadly, hoping he hadn’t been too angry with me.
“We’ve tried to call him but we aren’t getting an answer. I’m sure he’ll come here soon sweetheart, you just focus on getting yourself better okay?” he tells me as he helps me to sit up to drink some water.
“Why would I have said those horrible things to him?” I ask the doctor. I know roughly why, Angel had explained it simply to me.
“You had a bad internal bleed Abigail and it meant that your brain was losing oxygen and making you a little delirious. You weren’t able to control rational thinking therefore, not seeing the things he was. Once he comes back and we explain it to him, I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” He smiles kindly at me.
“Yeah, I’m sure he will.” I relax into the bed and stare to the ceiling. I know I am going to be bored as hell now until he comes back to me.
*****
I lay in my bed for the rest of the day, the lightness from outside the windows changing to a dark blue that brings along a chill and darkness I haven’t felt for a long time. Not since having Leighton in my life.
“No, please no,” I say to myself as I bring my legs up and beg for those images and dreams not to return. I can’t bear to live if they infest themselves within my head like they once had. I barely made it through last time; I don’t think my emotional sanity can take on more images.
I read the clock on the side of my bed, 23:52. It is nearly midnight and Leighton hasn’t returned. I have no idea where he is, where my daughter is, if she is even safe. I wish I knew what was going on so I can at least sleep contently.
I close my eyes after convincing myself sleep is the best thing to do right now. It is true when they say the only time you heal is when you allow yourself to shut down for a few hours so your systems can do their job and repair the damage.
My body is pumped with drugs, every drip of morphine rushing my system makes it easier for my body to shut down.
I close my eyes and succumb to the desperate need to recuperate. Regardless of the many hours my body has been sedated, it hasn’t helped with the exhaustion my body is suffering. The physical pain is bad, but in some ways it is far more bearable than the darkness I can feel surrounding every tiny crevice of my hospital room.
*****
Please not again.
I open the front door, fiddling desperately with my key to get inside. School has been hard, stressful but somewhat a reprieve from the torment I know I am about to face. I can smell him, everything that reminds me of the animal I reside with. The cannabis, the alcohol and pure stench of his body as he neglects everything about himself. It lingers, distastefully in the hallways of my home. No, correct that, this was a house, just a simple mix of bricks and cement, just about held together.
“Abigail!” I hear my father shout from the lounge. My breathing is already accelerating, my heart rate spiking fiercely as I walk through the door frame, cracked and peeling away from the plastered walls. “I’m hungry. Make me some food,” he demands of me, looking up from his knelt position by his favourite glass table.
I look down in disgust, but masking it perfectly. Four rows of white powder line the dirty glass, my father’s face pressed firmly to them as he snorts through a thoroughly used tube of paper.
I am nine years old and I know I am not like the other children at school. My clothes have holes and marks on them, they hang loosely around my body as every day I lose more weight. Bruises and red blisters scar my skin where my class friends have temporary tattoos, pressed with water by their loving parents. I know I will never experience the feeling of posing with a picture of my favourite cartoon character. Disney princesses are something I know not of, they are a fantasy, a myth I assume my friends have made up.
It has been five years since my mother took her life, yes I know that she killed herself. It haunts me with my every breath. Wh
en I am awake I see her everywhere and when I sleep I dream of her. I barely remember her or any of the time I had with her. All I do remember are those intense blue eyes, the ones that harbour the same depth as my own. I could have sworn she loved me, once upon a time. Hell, I would love to think even my dad loved me once. But why would she leave me, why would she abandon her only child, leaving me with this man if she loved me at all?
“Ok.” I reply, scared of what the consequences will be if I refuse. Feeling the soreness against my back I can quickly estimate the repercussions, knowing they will be dire.
“Quit with the attitude, Abigail. You’re acting fucking spoilt. If it wasn’t for you, your mother would still be here, so be grateful for that.” I know it is my fault she has left, that I made her sad. My dad has reminded me every day since she died. If only I could go back in time, make her life with me easier. I would tell my infant self to not cry so much, to not drive her crazy.
“Sorry,” I tell him, trembling on the spot at his words. “I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful.” I am like a robot, going through the autopilot motions of barely living and surviving in this house. An empty shell is all that stands in my place, and even at nine years old I can tell how little I am breathing and how little the blood that pumps my veins contains pure, real life.
“You better be kid.” His dark eyes penetrate me as I cower by the door. Even at a foot nothing, bent over the table, his body intimidates me to no end.
I just nod once and leave the room. I leave my bag by the door, not bothering to take it upstairs, it will only delay the time in which I can cook for him and then hide away. If I get his dinner to him late he will tan my backside.
I walk into the kitchen, the sideboards scattered with dirty cutlery and crockery that he has used throughout the day. Most of the spoons are used for purposes other than making tea and eating yoghurt, most of the time it is a sticky remnant of something he injects into his arms. I spend hours, scrubbing with all my might to get it off.
“Dinner,” I whisper to myself as I open the cupboards in search of something to cook, something easy and quick so that I can escape to the safe haven that is my room.
I put some pasta on to boil, enough to feed only the man in the room next door. I would rather starve than delay the time in which I get to hide away in the sanctuary of my bedroom. I pour a tin of meatballs into another saucepan and turn both gas jets on to heat.
Within ten minutes I have a bowl of pasta and tomato covered meatballs hot and ready for my father. I walk into the lounge and place it on the table with a knife and fork. “There you go, dad,” I say timidly, stepping away slowly from the table.
“You can leave,” he informs me as though I am a slave relieved of duty for the night. I sigh in relief as I turn my back and leave the room as quickly as I can, masking my fear with the perfection of an actress. He’s like an animal, sensing fear and thriving from it. I learnt long ago, take the punishments and move on.
I grab my school book bag from the table in the hallway and run the grubby carpeted stairs to my refuge. I open the door of my room, run to my bed and flop onto the sheets on my mattress.
I close my eyes, imagining my room with the princesses and fairytales my school friends talk of. Rapunzel is painted on my baby-pink walls, her long braided hair trailing out of her tower, high in the sky. She’s looking for a way to escape, a little like me.
Her prince charming waits at the bottom, his arms open wide ready to catch her from the extraordinary height if need be. I wonder if I’ll ever have my own prince charming. Probably not.
My thoughts always end up back to the now, my dreams and ambitions crushed by the simple acknowledgment of my situation.
I calculate in my head that I have about two hours before he musters the energy to approach me with another instruction. What would it be this time, washing, tidying, a beating? I don’t know until that time, but I just pray for once he will just take too much of those stupid drugs that he uses like oxygen, and leave this world like my mother had. I even wish she was still here, looking after me and keeping me safe like all the other kids' mums did.
I turn my music up a little to stop the noises from downstairs as I hear a woman’s voice enter the house. I know the things my father does to them; It is only a matter of time before I will have to bear witness to his behaviour.
“ABBI” I hear his voice shout from downstairs and I immediately tense knowing what is about to happen. I bolt from my bed to get to him as quick as possible because even if he’s intent on hurting me, it will be far less painful if I go to him than him having to seek me out.
I rush the stairs down, nearly slipping a few times as my socks glide against the built up grime.
I swing into the lounge, looking to my father. “Get her out,” he spits, pointing to a naked woman lying on the floor. She is in a crumpled heap, her hair knotted and sprawled across her shoulders and face. She rests her head against the floor, barely moving. A glass lay smashed on the floor by her, shards stuck in her and the carpet. I flinch as I see a little blood coating a shard of the shattered tumbler.
“Okay,” I say to him as I rush to her aid. “Come on lady; let’s get you out and safe.” I whisper as quietly as I can so my father doesn’t hear.
She groans in pain as I roll her over to see her face. Her lip is split, a bruise quickly shadowing her cheek and eye socket. Her eyelid is swollen and forcing her eye closed. “Ouch,” I say, knowing the pain she has endured; I have suffered through it myself on more than one occasion.
“She needs water dad,” I tell him, as he snorts the remaining line of cocaine on the table.
“She can have fuck all. Get her out now, Abigail.” I shake my head slightly as I turn back round to face her fluttering eye, the one that isn’t fused together by the swollen flesh around it.
“You need to try lady, try and stand so you can get away from here,” I whisper to her again, trying my hardest to sit her up. She is dead weight on me, my tiny child frame struggling to support hers, even as thin and bony as she is, she still weighs a ton.
“Ergh.” She speaks dozily. “Drink,” she says to me and I look as my father walks to us.
He grabs her hair and pulls her to her feet, resulting in me falling back onto the floor. I gasp in horror as he begins to drag her from the room, her feet score the carpet as she digs in, trying to break away from his beastly clasp. “Dad, you’re hurting her, stop,” I tell him as I run after him.
“Stay out of it bitch,” he spits at me as he yanks the door open. He pulls her so she is straight-backed and then slams her into the wall of the hall. His hands grip dangerously firm around her throat, her one good eye beginning to pop a little, blood rushing to the surface. Her hands reach up and grip his wrists, clawing at his skin as she struggles to keep consciousness. “Get your filthy ass out and don’t come back. I’ve had enough of you, you dirty whore.”
She nods into his hand, trying to breathe. Her gasps for air, imprinted into my memory that second. “You understand?” he asks her bitterly as he squeezes just a little harder. She nods harder, almost unconscious in his grasp. “Good,” he smiles nastily as he lifts her up from the ground and slings her forcefully through the front door.
I cringe hard as I hear her body connect with the pavement outside. I look past my dad as he spits towards her naked body, lying shivering and cold in the street. I run to grab a blanket from the lounge, sprawled on the back of the chair. I collect her clothes from the floor and run past my dad undetected, to her.
I kneel at her side as she cries and shakes with fright. I wrap the blanket around her and place her clothes in her hands. “It’s going to be okay now. Go home lady, and stay there, don’t come back here okay,” I tell her as I stand to my tiny height.
“Thank you, Abigail,” she tells me through her sniffles. She is high, that much is clear, but nobody deserves to be treated the way my father has treated her. She is just a young woman, desperate for some kind of love.
; “Goodbye, stay safe.” I smile kindly to her.
“You too sweetheart, you stay safe,” she warns me, like she knows what I am about to endure at the expense of saving her.
I nod and then run back inside, wishing I could stand on the bitterly cold street a while longer so I am away from the demon clouding my house in darkness.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, breathing heavily in relief as I see nobody in the entrance. I steady myself, trying to alleviate the tremors running through my body. I take three steps towards the stairs to take them to my room, to the safeness and light I can find there.
I stutter back a little as a shadow appears from the corner of the hallway ahead. The kitchen door remains slightly closed as my father rounds it. I gulp in fear, sweat and tears beginning to soak my face as I see the strip of leather wrapped around his fist.
“Abigail,” he sneers at me and I swallow the spittle in my mouth as I pray to God, this time around he ends me, end everything. Maybe I can find my mother on the other side and finally be safe. “Come here now!” he commands.
Chapter Eleven Leighton
“Shhh, it’s okay sweetheart.” I soothe my daughter as she cries in my arms. Her tiny body trembles in my arms, along with my own as I cry in relief of having her home. She had woken up in fits of screams ten minutes ago, causing me to jolt in my bed, where I slept alone. “It’s going to be okay baby girl.” I kiss her wispy dark blonde hair, carrying her from her room, downstairs so I can make her some warm milk to soothe her hungry stomach.
“Evening, Leigh,” I hear Ant say as he sits at the bar nursing a cup of tea. It has been a hard day for us all; finding my daughter, killing the man that has ruined my wife’s life and hearing the hurtful things Abigail had to say.