The Next Great Adventure

Abby was shaking by the time the principal finally opened the door to let her in. He’d been in there, with her parents, for over an hour while she had sat quietly, with her over-active imagination running amok, and all the chaos inside of her coming to some horrible crescendo.
But finally they were ready for her, and the somber looks on their faces made her shake even more as she entered the cramped office. She sat down, slowly taking everything in. Principal Michaels’ stoic and resolute posture, her father’s calm, detached expression, perfected in nearly twenty years of police work, and her mother’s painful sobs. How pitiful she looks in that wheelchair, Abby thought sadly.
“Abigail, we are here because we are concerned about you,” began the principal in an even voice. “Your teachers have all noticed very…sharp personality changes in you. Last year, you were the first in your class, with extra-curricular involvement that made universities hound after you. You studied hard in the classroom, and excelled in sports,” He smiled sadly. “But this year has been entirely different. You are failing every course you are taking, Abigail. You have no extra-curriculars. You--“
“You don’t even brush your hair or change your clothes day-to-day, Ab,” her father piped in.
Well, how would he know? a cruel voice inside her head asked. Hardly ever home, barely notices he has a daughter, except when—
“Shut up!” Abby yelled, not realizing she had spoken out loud until they were all staring at her. Good job, Abby, said the voice, now trying to reason with her. You need to be trying to soothe them, and here you are yelling at a voice they can’t hear. Calm down, baby.
Right, she thought, calm down. Just take a few, deep calming breaths. In…out…in…
“Its like we don’t even know our own daughter any more!” her mother complained, “She hardly comes out of that room of hers anymore, and when she does, she is just…just…vicious,” Her mother let out her most heart-wrenching sob. “Maybe…maybe this is all my fault…if I hadn’t gotten into that car accident…if I wasn’t in excruciating pain every moment of the day…” And just for dramatic effect, she let out an exaggerated sniff, and buried her face in her Kleenex. The principal rushed right to her side, offering a comforting shoulder to cry on. Abby’s dad didn’t move.
Here we go again…said the voice, better get ya rainboots on…we’re in for a flood.
The principal suddenly looked angry, his kind, round face turning beet read. “See what you are doing to your poor mother, Abigail? You should be ashamed of yourself, doing this to her after all she has been through!”
Abby looked down at her mother, who was sobbing in his arms, whimpering things like “I don’t know where I went wrong,” and “She has become such a horrible child…I don’t know what has come over her…” Then looked over at her father, who still hadn’t moved or even, as far as she could tell, blinked.
And, like always, her father’s face, eyes boring into her, was the last thing she remembered.
******
Abby was alone again, in her dark bedroom, when her thoughts came back into focus As usual. Not that they were really ever focused, with the never-ending chaos inside her. She turned her head to watch the seconds tick by on her alarm clock, the only light in the room. It was 10:36.
She sat up so quickly that her head reeled. Seven hours? How the hell had she lost seven whole hours? One second she’s at school, the next she is laying in bed, seven hours later, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
10:36…Momma would be passed out drunk by now, and Daddy is due home soon.
Most nights she was alone. Her mother was home now, but only because she had to be, bound to the wheelchair as she was, with no license. She used to have one, of course, but after the accident they yanked it. They didn’t take to kindly to drunk drivers these days, but they went easy on her for some reason. Abby thought it was because of her father, but she couldn’t say for sure. Her father was a policeman, and worked nights downtown. He didn’t get home until about eleven…maybe later, depending on how busy he was.
Abby suddenly felt sick. What if something happened to him? What if he got shot or something? What if he got killed? What if Momma finally drank herself to death? Or got into a car with one of her stupid drinking buddies? She wasn’t likely to survive two accidents…no one is that lucky. She started to cry.
C’mon, baby…you know that is what you want. Every single time you see some shoot-out on the news, you hope that good ole Daddy got shot. Every time there is a high-speed chase, you hope that he wraps his cruiser around a telephone pole. Just think…you wouldn’t have to worry all the time about Daddy coming home…wouldn’t have to worry ever again.
No, that’s not true, Abby argued. I love my parents. They are good people. They just have problems, that’s all, just like every one else. She was really crying now, her whole body shaking with sobs. It is all my fault anyways…If I did well in school again, like they said today…Maybe if I took better care of Momma…made her dinner…talked with her…maybe she wouldn’t drink so much…Maybe if I was different then Daddy wouldn’t…Abby choked back her tears and glanced over at the bright red numbers of the alarm clock.
10:43…Enough time for a shower, maybe? crooned the dangerously soft voice once again.
Yes. A shower. That is exactly what she needed. Abby scooted out of bed, and quietly crept down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Once there, she quietly opened the drawer and slipped a small filet knife from inside.
See, baby, old habits die hard. How many times do you promise yourself, never again? But you know you can’t do it.
Abby stared down at the knife, fascinated by the way it glittered in the light, then turned and crossed the hallway into the bathroom, shuffling her feet on the semi-dirty carpet.
Before undressing, Abby turned on the hot water, and looked at herself in the mirror. As the steam started to create its thick, dense fog, she analyzed her face. She was pale, and looked sick. The dark circles around her light blue eyes didn’t help too much, either, nor did the wild mane of brown-black hair that surrounded her face.
When the mirror became too cloudy to see, she set the knife down carefully on the edge of the tub, and began to undress, resolutely ignoring the purple scars and red cuts that covered her body, all in various stages of healing. Look at yourself, baby, you are pathetic. They are going to lock you away some day, and throw away the key. They’ll put you in a straight jacket, and throw you in a padded room. It’ll be dark in there, baby, so dark that you can’t see at all. You’ll think you are blind, except when they come in everyday to make you take their crazy pills. Hey, baby, maybe they’ll even try shock therapy. Do you wonder what it is like to be a human bug zapper? Zzzzt.
The tears were back once again. So were the shaking and the ever-looming sick feeling. Abby just wanted it to stop. It was just too much to handle. This is the very last time, she promised herself. I won’t do it again, just this one time.
Abby stepped into the scalding water, not even noticing how it burned her skin, and picked up the small blade. She touched it to her skin, making several deep, long incisions, and instantly felt better. As she watched the bloodied water slip down the drain, she felt all the chaos and turmoil that had welled up inside her go away too. The constant noise in her head, the bickering, the static and snide voices that whispered in her ears, suddenly quieted. Abby felt herself relax.
After the shower, she slipped on her pajama top and reentered the kitchen, washing the knife and placing it carefully back into its place, feeling suddenly ashamed. Never, ever again, she told herself firmly. That was the last time, the very last time. Ever.
When she heard the front door open and close, breaking her reverie, Abby glanced at the clock on the stove, 11:14. He was late.
He greeted her in the kitchen, with a kiss on the cheek and a bag of take out. “Chinese,” he said, placing it on the counter and opening the brown paper sack. “Broccoli and chicken for you, baby…with extra white sauce…fried rice…and an egg roll,” He placed the containers in front of her, and she smiled sweetly at him. “General Tso’s chicken for me, with fried rice, egg rolls and pot stickers. Yummy…hey, Ab, will you grab some forks out of the dish drainer? I forgot to get the plastic-y ones,”
Abby took two forks from beside the sink, then two plates from the cabinet, and sat down across from her father. “I got some shrimp Lo Mien for your mother…she asleep?” Abby nodded, and a look of sheer relief spread across his handsome face. She knew exactly why, too. He’d told her before, that he’d only married her mother because she had a baby on the way, and had stayed with her for the very same reason. Their affair had been a one-night stand. She was a beautiful young woman, he told her, and they’d met at a party. They’d both had a bit too much to drink, and one thing led to another, and the situation snowballed into some ridiculous shotgun wedding. It didn’t take Officer Walsh too long to figure out that his young wife’s drinking wasn’t just a social habit, and their baby girl was born two months early, and barely survived.
According to her father, that was what made him finally hate his wife. It only made Abby feel worse, to know that it was because of her that everyone was so unhappy. If only you had never been born, sneered the voice, none of this would have happened. Your father wouldn’t feel like a trapped rat, and your mother might have grown out of the drinking phase…would never have been in that accident…they’d all be happier without you. Abby clenched her teeth, and looked down into her dinner. Maybe the problem isn’t that you cut, baby. Maybe it’s that you don’t cut deep enough. Think, baby, about how happy everyone would be without you.
Abby’s dad noticed her sudden silence, but thought it was for an entirely different reason. “Ab, you shouldn’t have yelled at the principal like that,” he began, setting his fork down. Abby’s head jerked up, confused. “Now, lookit what’s happened. You were suspended. What are we gonna do with you, baby?”
I’ll bet he knows exactly what he’s gonna do with you… sneered the voice.
“You gotta learn to keep your cool, baby. It never pays to lose your temper. And the guy’s right, you are gonna have to start applying yourself to school. Think of your future, baby,”
Yeah, baby, think of your future. Think of night after night, coming home from school, dealing with your pathetic drunk of a mother until she passes out, then wait and wait for your father to come home, play nicey nice, until its bedtime…’cept he never goes to his own bed, does he, baby? Not until after he is done…Think about your future, baby. Screw the thoughts about whether THEY would be happier if you kicked it. Wouldn’t you be happier if you were dead? If it was just…over?
“Daddy, I…” she started, but didn’t know what she was going to say. Daddy, I don’t remember yelling at the principal? Daddy, I hear voices? Daddy, I don’t want you to touch me any more? What? “Daddy, I’m sorry,” she said, finally, in a quiet, defeated voice. “I’ll try harder next time.”
Her father smiled broadly, “That’s my girl. ‘Course you’re gonna try harder, you’re a Walsh, baby. If ever there was a line that could pick themselves up by the bootstraps, it was ours,”
Abby glanced at the clock again. Almost midnight. It was going to be bedtime very soon, she knew. It was every night. She started to feel sick to her stomach, so bad that she thought she was going to throw up but applied herself to her dinner anyway, the fork shaking wildly in her hand.
“Hey, baby, why don’t you leave the rest of that for lunch tomorrow, so that you don’t have to cook?” Here it comes, baby…time for bed. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow, but I should be back by suppertime. Figured we might go see a movie or somethin’. You know, just me and you.”
Abby offered a fleeting smile, and began to clear the table. She took her time, being very careful and deliberately slow. She was sure that she was going to throw up, now more than ever. She knew what was coming. She knew. But maybe, if she took long enough, he’d get tired, and just go to sleep. Abby squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe he’ll get bored with waiting, she thought. I’ll do something…anything…like the dishes.
She half-ran over to the sink, and added the dinner dishes to the week’s worth that already sat on the counter. She figured there was enough to take up a pretty good chunk of time, but she had no sooner started to fill the dishpan with water than he had come up behind her, placing his strong hands on her frail shoulders.
“You can do the dishes in the morning, baby,” he whispered, his lips almost touching her ear. She felt his nose in her hair, heard him breathe in her scent. She shuddered as his hands slowly drifted to her waist. He turned her around, and pressed her small frame against the counter with his own, larger one. Abby’s heartbeat sped up, and she felt like it was going to jump right out of her chest and run away, just like she wanted to. She wanted to yell and fight and run away, but she couldn’t move. She just wanted it to stop, but felt so helpless to end it.
He dipped his head, lips brushing against her neck, right at the pulse point. Surely he felt how fast her heart was beating. He must know how afraid she was.
He doesn’t care, baby. Probably tells himself that you’re hot for him, that you want it. Maybe you do want it. You never, ever fight. You don’t run. Sure you don’t like it, baby?
“Mmm, yeah, baby, you can do the dishes in the morning…but we’ve both had such a long day…time for us to go to bed, baby. C’mon, I’ll even tuck you in…”
As he lead her back up the stairs, Abby slowly became numb again, and she quietly slipped out of herself.
******

When Abby came back, she was staring at the red numbers of her alarm clock, alone in the darkness of her own bedroom. It was 3:09.
She still lay as he had left her. Her nightshirt was pushed up around her hips, her legs were still apart, and her fingers were still clutching the headboard, knuckles white. Her tears were still wet on her expressionless face. When she finally moved, she realized how sore she was, both inside and out.
Get a little rough, did he, baby?
Suddenly all Abby could think about was how he might have touched her, the things he might have done. Even though she couldn’t remember, she could still feel his big hands on her skin, touching her in very intimate places. She realized that she could still smell him in the air. It was her breaking point. Her stomach finally did what it had threatened to all night long.
Sobbing now, Abby crept down the hall to the bathroom. She felt so…dirty, so used. She felt as though she would go insane if she didn’t get the feel of his hands and the proof of his use off of her. When she slid, yet again, into the scalding water, she scrubbed every inch of her burnt-pink skin raw, re-opening many of the cuts and scars that were struggling to heal. Like it had just hours before, her blood slid down her body and down the drain, vivid against the white porcelain tub. The rational flow of her own blood didn’t calm her emotions this time, as it had many times before. She was beyond even that. She was in a place that allowed no comfort, no soothing. She couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t shake the feeling of him on her, in her. She felt so dirty, like she could never be clean again. She just wanted it to go away.
You know how to make it go away, baby. You know just how to stop it.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” she yelled desperately, clasping her hands over her ears. The hot water had run out, but Abby didn’t notice yet, her heart beating fast enough to warm her. “I’m not listening to you anymore! Shut up!”
C’mon, baby. You know you want to. You know that it’s the only way to make it stop.
Abby squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly feeling the chill of the water. Gasping, she turned the faucet and stepped out of the tub, out the door and into her room, cool water and blood dripping onto the carpet as she went. She stumbled over to her dresser, and found an old t-shirt, barely realizing that it had been her father’s, one that he’d given her when she was little, because she had missed him when he was gone, working the graveyard shift. She slipped it on, and turned to her bed. Numb, she stripped it of linen, balled up the pale pink sheets, the princess-themed quilt that had covered it for as long as she could remember and her soiled pajamas. She carried them all across the hall and deposited them into the washing machine. Trying not to think of the fluids that made them so dirty, she became desperate to make them clean. She poured in twice the amount of laundry detergent she was supposed to, and an entire bottle of bleach, then calmly shut the lid and turned the machine on.
She felt so calm as she entered her father’s bedroom, and slid next to his bed. Her heart took on a normal, steady pace when she took his handgun into her small hand, marveling at how heavy it was. She turned around and silently returned to her own room, flicking on the light for the first time that day. She sat cross-legged on her bare mattress and stared down at the firearm. She wondered if her momma would miss her.
Nah, this is the perfect situation for her. She’ll get to play Poor Pitiful Momma again…you know how she loves that, baby. Its all she does anymore, cry, cry, cry.
Well, she has reason to, Abby reasoned. She was in a horrible car accident.
You were there too, baby. It was seven in the morning, baby, and she was drunk. Who the hell gets drunk at seven in the morning? She could have killed you, baby. You could have been paralyzed. And did she care? Of course not, baby. She wasn’t even the teeniest bit concerned when they had to helicopter you in to the hospital. All she cares about is herself, and you know it.
What about Daddy? Won’t he miss me?
Aw, baby, he isn’t going to miss you. He’ll miss having a toy to play with, sure, but it won’t be his little girl that he misses.
Abby still felt so numb. She wondered if she should be feeling something. Shouldn’t she be sad, and crying? Shouldn’t she feel afraid to die?
C’mon, baby. You know this is the only way. You can’t tell nobody. Can’t go to the police. He IS the police. No one will believe you. Your momma don’t care. All your daddy ever does is hurt ya. This is the only way to make it stop, baby. It’s the only way to make the pain finally stop. Sure, you can keep cutting it away, baby, but it’ll always come back. You’ll always have to keep pushing it away. This is the best way, baby. Its final. You’ll never have to feel it again.
That was all Abby could think about, how it would finally be over, how the pain would just stop. That’s all she ever really wanted. All her life, she had only wanted to be normal, like everyone else. She wanted a mommy who didn’t drink all day, and a daddy who didn’t come to rape her in the night. She wanted to not have to cut herself so that she didn’t have a nervous breakdown. She wanted to make the voices shut up, and not loose big chunks of time. She just wanted to be normal.
You can never be normal, baby. You’ll never be like everyone else. You won’t get better and you’ll never be able to forget. This is the only way. Be brave, baby. This is the only way to make it better. I promise.
Abby stared down at the gun, its barrel glinting in light. Or maybe that was just from her eyes, suddenly full of tears. Daddy had taught her to use the gun, once. He showed her how to take off the safety, how to cock it.
It’s the only way, Abby thought.
It’s the only way, the voice confirmed.
Abby took a deep breath and gently placed the barrel of her father’s gun in her mouth, and wrapped her lips around it. She remembered reading something in a story once, that seemed kind of funny now. Death is but the next great adventure, it had said. She closed her eyes and prepared herself.
I just want it to be over, she thought.
On the count of three, baby. One…
It’s the only way, she repeated. Fat tears ran down her face.
Two…C’mon, baby, be brave…Three!

A/n: the voicey-parts were meant to be in italics...but it refused to show up...so sorry about that.