Rescue Me
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
829
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
829
Reviews:
3
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.
Chapter One
A/N: This is for my boyfriend, Eric, who saved me from suicide. I can\'t thank you enough...you repeatedly rescue me and I love you for it as well as for a million other things. Ã Saira
The little girl slept soundly. Her bedroom door opens and sheÕs instantly awake. A dark shadow moves into the room and the door closes quietly. The figure moves straight, heading for the bed holding her older sister. Remaining silent, the girl rolls onto her stomach, pulls her stuffed tiger against her, buries her face in the pillow, and listens.
She can hear the sound of the spoon her mother is holding move through the air. She can hear it hit her sister, hear the sound of her sisterÕs muffled, ragged breathing, the sound of her quiet, nearly inaudible sobbing.
She wonders if she sounds like that to her sister. If she sounds so desperate,s o trapped, so scared. She figures she probably does. She hears her mother moving towards her and she freezes. She slowly turns her head so sheÕs facing the wall. Her mother looms over her and she counts off five seconds every time she breathes in and five seconds every time she breathes out. Forcing her breathing to be deep and even and keeping her face calm, she appears to still be sleeping. Sometimes, if her mother isnÕt in *too* violent of a mood, when she seems to be sleeping, she wonÕt be hit.
Tonight isnÕt one of those nights and my heart goes out to her as it does nearly every night when I watch this scene play out. The girl doesnÕt flinch as her mother raises the stirring spoon up. It makes a slight whistling sound as itÕs brought down through the air.
I flinch as it hits her backside. She merely bites her lower lip and squeezes her eyes shut. Wood tonight, not metal. Another hit and her head turns. She buries her face in her pillow, barely breathing, not flinching or pulling away. SheÕd learned early on htat fighting only made it worse. She doesnÕt make a sound.
About fifteen minutes pass and finally I can sigh in relief as her mother leaves. A sad smile flits across my face as I watch how she bravely wipes away the tears clinging to her cheeks. She slips out of bed, her feet moving her swiftly to her baby sisterÕs bed to make sure sheÕs still safely sleeping.
She walks to her older sisterÕs bed and makes sure sheÕs tucked in. She softly whispers goodnight then walks back to her own bed. She slips under her own blanket and pulls her stuffed tiger against her.
I get down from my perch on the girlÕs dresser and walk over to her bed. I look down at her. Her hair reaches her cheekbones, her face is thin and so is the arm wrapped around her tiger. SheÕs all skin and bones. Frighteningly thin. I sigh, concerned but unable to help.
I walk to the bed of the youngest girl, knowing sheÕll grow up to be a brat. someone who lashes out because she hurts. Someone who the little girl wanted desperately to save and couldnÕt.
I move to the oldest girlÕs bed and stare down at the beautiful child who will grow into an even more beautiful woman. A woman who seeks out physical love because she was denied emotional love as a child. A woman who will be a teen pregnancy case, whoÕll marry at eihghteen to someone nearly ten years her senior, who isnÕt the father of the baby.
Finally I walk back to the little girlÕs bed. I know her fate the best. At fifteen, sheÕll be saved. Saved from death by someone who cares. Someone sheÕll grow to love and need. Someone sheÕll lose and find time and again. I reach out to touch her cheek.
My hand touches cold glass. My mirror. My name is called and I dash out of my room, leaving the memories of my past, and the little girl I was, behind. IÕll face them...when IÕm ready. But nott yet yet...
The little girl slept soundly. Her bedroom door opens and sheÕs instantly awake. A dark shadow moves into the room and the door closes quietly. The figure moves straight, heading for the bed holding her older sister. Remaining silent, the girl rolls onto her stomach, pulls her stuffed tiger against her, buries her face in the pillow, and listens.
She can hear the sound of the spoon her mother is holding move through the air. She can hear it hit her sister, hear the sound of her sisterÕs muffled, ragged breathing, the sound of her quiet, nearly inaudible sobbing.
She wonders if she sounds like that to her sister. If she sounds so desperate,s o trapped, so scared. She figures she probably does. She hears her mother moving towards her and she freezes. She slowly turns her head so sheÕs facing the wall. Her mother looms over her and she counts off five seconds every time she breathes in and five seconds every time she breathes out. Forcing her breathing to be deep and even and keeping her face calm, she appears to still be sleeping. Sometimes, if her mother isnÕt in *too* violent of a mood, when she seems to be sleeping, she wonÕt be hit.
Tonight isnÕt one of those nights and my heart goes out to her as it does nearly every night when I watch this scene play out. The girl doesnÕt flinch as her mother raises the stirring spoon up. It makes a slight whistling sound as itÕs brought down through the air.
I flinch as it hits her backside. She merely bites her lower lip and squeezes her eyes shut. Wood tonight, not metal. Another hit and her head turns. She buries her face in her pillow, barely breathing, not flinching or pulling away. SheÕd learned early on htat fighting only made it worse. She doesnÕt make a sound.
About fifteen minutes pass and finally I can sigh in relief as her mother leaves. A sad smile flits across my face as I watch how she bravely wipes away the tears clinging to her cheeks. She slips out of bed, her feet moving her swiftly to her baby sisterÕs bed to make sure sheÕs still safely sleeping.
She walks to her older sisterÕs bed and makes sure sheÕs tucked in. She softly whispers goodnight then walks back to her own bed. She slips under her own blanket and pulls her stuffed tiger against her.
I get down from my perch on the girlÕs dresser and walk over to her bed. I look down at her. Her hair reaches her cheekbones, her face is thin and so is the arm wrapped around her tiger. SheÕs all skin and bones. Frighteningly thin. I sigh, concerned but unable to help.
I walk to the bed of the youngest girl, knowing sheÕll grow up to be a brat. someone who lashes out because she hurts. Someone who the little girl wanted desperately to save and couldnÕt.
I move to the oldest girlÕs bed and stare down at the beautiful child who will grow into an even more beautiful woman. A woman who seeks out physical love because she was denied emotional love as a child. A woman who will be a teen pregnancy case, whoÕll marry at eihghteen to someone nearly ten years her senior, who isnÕt the father of the baby.
Finally I walk back to the little girlÕs bed. I know her fate the best. At fifteen, sheÕll be saved. Saved from death by someone who cares. Someone sheÕll grow to love and need. Someone sheÕll lose and find time and again. I reach out to touch her cheek.
My hand touches cold glass. My mirror. My name is called and I dash out of my room, leaving the memories of my past, and the little girl I was, behind. IÕll face them...when IÕm ready. But nott yet yet...