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Angst › General
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Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,131
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
The Wire Hanger
I came straight home from school one day in November. I had turned thirteen two weeks prior and had received nothing from my father. Not that it was much of a surprise. All that I really wanted was for him to leave me alone"”to let me be.
I had passed out during school that day, and I begged the nurse not to call my father. I convinced her that I would be all right, and she let me spend the rest of my day in the clinic. I told them I hadn't eaten all day, but I knew the real reason I was so tired, and I knew what I had to do about it.
Alcohol. That would never work. It would probably only make things worse. Arrigo would notice it was gone and it would result in a beating. Besides, I couldn't hide that from Rocco. I'd probably become loose-lipped.
The stairs. That should work, shouldn't it? No. On second thought, it would probably only draw more attention to the situation. One of the tenants would find me and take me to the hospital. Arrigo must never find out about this. However, a fall might be the best possible solution.
No. Any kind of a fall could possibly require medical attention, and that would be the worst say to go. I'd only just convinced Rocco that Arrigo had stopped beating me, and something like this could cause a battle between him and our father.
Pills. My father kept two prescriptions for painkillers in the medicine cabinet in his bathroom along with countless other over-the-counter and off-the-street pills. Those would work for sure, but probably too well. He would notice them missing more than the alcohol. One slip, and I would end up in the hospital with a tube down my throat and needles in my arms. Not only that, but I would have the threat of a severe beating looming over my head. Besides that, there was no telling what people put into those things.
As I turned the key in the lock on the penthouse, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew what I had to do.
I looked around the apartment to make sure no one was at home. Nicola didn't get out of school for another half an hour, so I had at least an hour before she would be home. Rocco would be at football practice until six at the least. There was no telling where Arrigo was, but wherever it was, he wouldn't be home until after midnight.
I ran back to my bedroom and slid open the closet doors. My closet was practically bare. The only reason I got anything new was because Rocco had a job, and would buy me new clothes when I grew or needed them, but once my father touched me in them they were soiled in my eyes, and I threw them out. I would tell my brother they'd been stolen from the laundry room, or that someone had taken them out of my gym locker as a prank and I couldn't get them back, and he'd buy me enough clothes to get me through another month of torture. By the end of the month, though, I would be down to my last shirt and pair of jeans.
I pulled down one of the empty wire hangers and stared at it in my hands. I wasn't sure that this was exactly what I wanted, but I knew it had to happen.
I closed and locked the bathroom door behind me, then I locked Rocco's entrance to be safe. I plugged the bathtub, ran hot water to the brim of the tub, and placed the hanger on the counter as I undressed. I did my best not to look at myself in the mirror. I hadn't looked at myself naked in a year, and I never wanted to again.
I grabbed the hanger, shut off the water, and stepped into the bathtub. The water was hot, but I didn't care. I had become used to it. I took a hot shower after every time my father left me. I thought that if the water was hot enough and I scrubbed hard enough, then it would wash off the guilt and shame of what was happening to me. So far, it hadn't worked.
I unbent the hanger and folded it in half. I would use the sharp end first. As I inserted it inside me, I continued to remind myself that this had to be done. The hanger was sharp, and I could feel it everywhere. It hurt as I stabbed at the walls inside my body a few times. Through all the pain, all I could think was that it was better than what would have happened. It was better than what Arrigo would have done to me if he had found out. I put in the other end, just to make sure I had finished the job, then I dropped the hanger into the water and lay my head back against the wall. I was convinced that I had done the right thing.
I'm only thirteen years old. I couldn't possibly have done that. My father did that to me. It was sick. Disgusting. Wrong. My father's child! How could I do something like that? Not at thirteen. Not now, and not ever.
That night at dinner I sat quietly at the table while Nicola and Rocco ate. I wasn't hungry. Rocco was helping himself to a third serving of spaghetti when he noticed that I wasn't eating.
"Something wrong?" he asked me. I didn't look up from my plat.
"Why do you ask?" I responded as I shook my head.
"Because I made you spaghetti and you've been playing with the same noodle for twenty minutes, and you haven't even touched your bread."
"I'm fine."
"If there's something bothering you, Amby"¦"
"I'm fine!" I snapped as I rose to my feet and looked up from the plate. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
He called to me as I left the kitchen for my bedroom, but I didn't answer. I entered my bedroom, locked the door, and fell onto my bed with my face in my pillow.
I'm a teenage murder. But"¦But I had do. I had to do it! I didn't have a choice! But now"¦Now I'm not any better than he is. I'm a horrible person. I did to"¦what he's done to me. I took life from my child just like he's taken life from his. No concern for thoughts or emotions, only for what I wanted. But I couldn't help it. I had to. It was my baby's life or mine.
I had passed out during school that day, and I begged the nurse not to call my father. I convinced her that I would be all right, and she let me spend the rest of my day in the clinic. I told them I hadn't eaten all day, but I knew the real reason I was so tired, and I knew what I had to do about it.
Alcohol. That would never work. It would probably only make things worse. Arrigo would notice it was gone and it would result in a beating. Besides, I couldn't hide that from Rocco. I'd probably become loose-lipped.
The stairs. That should work, shouldn't it? No. On second thought, it would probably only draw more attention to the situation. One of the tenants would find me and take me to the hospital. Arrigo must never find out about this. However, a fall might be the best possible solution.
No. Any kind of a fall could possibly require medical attention, and that would be the worst say to go. I'd only just convinced Rocco that Arrigo had stopped beating me, and something like this could cause a battle between him and our father.
Pills. My father kept two prescriptions for painkillers in the medicine cabinet in his bathroom along with countless other over-the-counter and off-the-street pills. Those would work for sure, but probably too well. He would notice them missing more than the alcohol. One slip, and I would end up in the hospital with a tube down my throat and needles in my arms. Not only that, but I would have the threat of a severe beating looming over my head. Besides that, there was no telling what people put into those things.
As I turned the key in the lock on the penthouse, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew what I had to do.
I looked around the apartment to make sure no one was at home. Nicola didn't get out of school for another half an hour, so I had at least an hour before she would be home. Rocco would be at football practice until six at the least. There was no telling where Arrigo was, but wherever it was, he wouldn't be home until after midnight.
I ran back to my bedroom and slid open the closet doors. My closet was practically bare. The only reason I got anything new was because Rocco had a job, and would buy me new clothes when I grew or needed them, but once my father touched me in them they were soiled in my eyes, and I threw them out. I would tell my brother they'd been stolen from the laundry room, or that someone had taken them out of my gym locker as a prank and I couldn't get them back, and he'd buy me enough clothes to get me through another month of torture. By the end of the month, though, I would be down to my last shirt and pair of jeans.
I pulled down one of the empty wire hangers and stared at it in my hands. I wasn't sure that this was exactly what I wanted, but I knew it had to happen.
I closed and locked the bathroom door behind me, then I locked Rocco's entrance to be safe. I plugged the bathtub, ran hot water to the brim of the tub, and placed the hanger on the counter as I undressed. I did my best not to look at myself in the mirror. I hadn't looked at myself naked in a year, and I never wanted to again.
I grabbed the hanger, shut off the water, and stepped into the bathtub. The water was hot, but I didn't care. I had become used to it. I took a hot shower after every time my father left me. I thought that if the water was hot enough and I scrubbed hard enough, then it would wash off the guilt and shame of what was happening to me. So far, it hadn't worked.
I unbent the hanger and folded it in half. I would use the sharp end first. As I inserted it inside me, I continued to remind myself that this had to be done. The hanger was sharp, and I could feel it everywhere. It hurt as I stabbed at the walls inside my body a few times. Through all the pain, all I could think was that it was better than what would have happened. It was better than what Arrigo would have done to me if he had found out. I put in the other end, just to make sure I had finished the job, then I dropped the hanger into the water and lay my head back against the wall. I was convinced that I had done the right thing.
I'm only thirteen years old. I couldn't possibly have done that. My father did that to me. It was sick. Disgusting. Wrong. My father's child! How could I do something like that? Not at thirteen. Not now, and not ever.
That night at dinner I sat quietly at the table while Nicola and Rocco ate. I wasn't hungry. Rocco was helping himself to a third serving of spaghetti when he noticed that I wasn't eating.
"Something wrong?" he asked me. I didn't look up from my plat.
"Why do you ask?" I responded as I shook my head.
"Because I made you spaghetti and you've been playing with the same noodle for twenty minutes, and you haven't even touched your bread."
"I'm fine."
"If there's something bothering you, Amby"¦"
"I'm fine!" I snapped as I rose to my feet and looked up from the plate. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
He called to me as I left the kitchen for my bedroom, but I didn't answer. I entered my bedroom, locked the door, and fell onto my bed with my face in my pillow.
I'm a teenage murder. But"¦But I had do. I had to do it! I didn't have a choice! But now"¦Now I'm not any better than he is. I'm a horrible person. I did to"¦what he's done to me. I took life from my child just like he's taken life from his. No concern for thoughts or emotions, only for what I wanted. But I couldn't help it. I had to. It was my baby's life or mine.