Prison Break
“Where’s my hello kiss, Bitch?” That
question has always haunted me. I cringe when I think about what used to happen
every day in that room, what would start after that question. It marked the
hell I was living in. It symbolized the bars I was behind, imprisoned in a
daily routine in which there was no escape.
I’m lying on the floor of my room surrounded
by my physics homework, starring at my light blue wall. I watch as the fading
sunlight flickers through my lime-green curtains, trying to figure out my last
homework problem when my younger sister knocks on my door.
“Mana, the phones for you,” she says,
brushing her perfectly straight blond hair out of her face and frowning at me.
“Who is it?” I ask, rubbing my hands
over my face, trying to wake up from the daze the physics homework gave me. I
hear a mumble as she speaks into the phone and a faint reply from the receiver
in answer.
“He says his name is K----, and he needs
to talk to you,” she says with a tight lipped smile. I groan. I contemplate
having her lie to him saying I was busy or something, but I knew it wouldn’t do
any good. I sit up and grab the phone from my sister, waiting for the click of
the door closing before I speak into the phone
“Hello?” I finally say into the
receiver.
“Hey, Bitch, wha’ took ya so long ta
getter the phone?” I hear his voice say.
“Because,” I reply after a small pause,
“I was finishin’ somethin’ on my homework. Wha’s up?”
“I’m bored. Be at my house in ten, or ya
know wha’ll happ’n,” was the quick reply.
“But, K----, I don’t know if –“ I hear a
beep and then silence. Sighing, I gather my homework up and put it in a pile on
my desk. I grab my black jacket off of my bed and head out of my room. I turn
the corner into the front room and make a beeline for the door. “I’m goin’ on a
walk. I’ll be home later,” I yell down the hallway to my mom, hurrying out the
front door before she has time to reply.
It’s an early fall day, the leaves
beginning to cover the damp earth in a carpet of golds, reds, and oranges. I
glare at the colorful leaves, jealous of how simplistic their short little
lives were. My mind wanders, trying to distract itself from thinking of what’s
coming once I reach K----’s house. How
wonderful it would be to be a fall leaf. I reflected. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. There would be no such
thing as school or friends or family. I would fly away with the wind. I would
be free, with nothing to feel. I wouldn’t be able to feel any pain. I pick
up a particularly large leaf off the sidewalk; it’s red color as bright as
blood. Nor would I be alive. I would
finally be free.
I hold onto the blood-red leaf until I
reach his gate. Hesitating, I look around the yard covered in Halloween
decorations and the white, eerie fence shining in the late afternoon sun. I
glance at the bright leaf in my hand then slowly drop it, my hopes of leaving
drifting off with it in the wind. I start to cross the yard and smile when I hear the two
four-year-old, diapered twins yelling my name through the front window,
everything else muffled by the glass.
I cross the threshold of the front door
and get bombarded by K----’s other younger siblings, all of them dying to tell
me about what’s happened since the day before. I try to make sense of their
little squeaks, but their small voices like high-pitched church bells clang
together and I give up trying to understand. I take a brief glance around and
notice C----, K----’s guy friend from school, lounging on the couch and my
heart sags. If he is here, that means K---- won’t be the only one who locks me
into his bedroom today.
Leaning down, I ask one of the twins to
take me to where K---- is. Feeling the sticky, dirty little hand in mine, he
leads me through the pillow and blanket fort to the stairs. Before we go down,
I nod a brief hello to C---- as we pass and he nods once back, intent on
beating the car race he is playing. We tread down the flight of stairs, walking
stealthily as toy tripping hazards appear. Reaching the bottom, the small boy
points to K----’s bedroom then gives me a kiss on the cheek and races back up
the stairs, giggling. I take in a deep breath and release it slowly, smiling
slightly from the kind gesture of the four-year-old. I tip toe my way across
the toy infested floor until I make it to the bedroom door. Knocking on the
swollen wood, I close my eyes and hold my breath, wanting to disappear. A click
and the door swings open to reveal my prison cell.
I turn into his bedroom, the strong
smell of axe failing to cover the cigarette smoke drifting from the far corner.
I walk in and close the door, the soft click sealing my prison bars. I continue
to face the door and pick at the chipping white paint; the soft bass lull of
Trace Atkins playing in the background. I stay there and wait for K---- to speak
first.
“Well sit down, Bitch. I gotta finish
this here smoke first.” says the voice hidden in the corner. I do as directed and
sit down on the un-made king sized bed. I pull my feet up under me and kick off
my tennis shoes, remembering the smack he gave me last time for having my shoes
on the bed. I sit there on the stiff mattress trying to look at nothing in
particular for a while, listening to the large stereo on the shelf in front of
me beating out K----’s favorite country artists. Finding nothing worth looking
at, I close my eyes and lay down on the bed, trying to ignore the world around
me, but unable to get the picture of the blood-red leaf floating away in the
wind out of my mind. And then I hear it.
“Where’s my hello kiss, Bitch?” I snap
my eyes open and sit up too fast. I finally look at the subject of my misery.
He stood there in front of me, arms folded in an impatient stance. I take in
his appearance in a glance to surmise what he wanted today. I notice his cowboy
boots in the corner by the door next to the baseball bat, and his usual baseball
cap on the shelf with his collection of pocketknives. His shirt was un-tucked
and hanging loose, his large belt buckle hanging down from the Wrangler belt
loops and his button and zipper undone to show the red boxer briefs underneath
his jeans. I knew that, today, I would not receive any mercy.
“I said, where’s my hello kiss, Bitch?”
K---- growls, his hands clenching into fists. I look into his deep green eyes,
trying to see the friend I once had but knew wasn’t there. The bruises on my
back, ribs, and thighs start to throb, reminding me again of their presence. I
pull my eyes from K----’s gaze and glance around the room, memories racing to
be remembered. I look at everything that has caused me pain: the baseball bat,
the pocketknives, the holes in the wall, the broken whiskey bottle glass that
was swept underneath the bed, the desk stool, and his hands. I look back into his
face, his mouth slowy turning into his crooked smile. He steps forward, the smell
of axe and cigarette smoke reeking from his body. More memories from the past
five years flood before my eyes: all the pain and fear, the hatred and the
love, the hope and despair, the loyalty and the shame, the fun and the depression,
all originating in those devilish green eyes and sinister crooked smile.
And I hear that question one more time.
“Where’s my hello kiss, Bitch? I ain’t gonna ask again.” I look down at my
hands and invision the blood-red leaf again, flying away in the wind. I make up
my mind and lean over to put my shoes back on. “Wha’ the hell do ya think yer
doin’?” I hear above my head as I finish tying my shoes.
I straighten up and glare directly into
the devil’s soul. “Wha’ am I doin’? I’m leaving. I ain’t staying here. I ain’t
gonna be your bitch anymore. My name is A-----, if you recall, and I’m leavin’
and ain’t ever comin’ back.” I shove him out of the way and reach for the door
handle. He grabs my arm in a vice grip and lashes me around to face him,
pushing me backward until my back slams into the door.
“I didn’ say you could go.” He spits
into my face, his face turning red. He stares me down, my mind racing in fear.
I break his stare, looking for something that could help me. Out of the corner
of my eye I see his pocketknife collection, and before I know what I’m doing I
grab one and flip it open towards those evil green eyes.
“I said I’m leavin’. Now let go of my
arm before I give you a scar on that beautifully chiseled face.” I grumble
through my teeth, hoping he wouldn’t catch my bluff. I feel his hand start to
relax on my arm and I get a burst of more courage. “If you let go of me now, I promise
I won’t ever tell a single soul what happened in this room. But if you don’t, I
will carve my way out, and your mom and the police will get the full story.” I
could see the blood pumping through his neck. I hoped this was a good sign. On
my arm, I could feel his hand going limp, and I seized my chance. I pushed his
chest as hard as I could and without looking back I race out the door. I hurdle
the piles of toys and run up the stairs, taking 3 at a time.
“Wha’ the f –“ I start to hear before I
barrel into C---- head first. We both tumble to the floor at the top of the
stairs. I shake my head and check that C---- wasn’t hurt too badly. He starts
to mumble something, and I decide he’s alright. Behind me I hear the loud stomp
of someone else coming up the stairs and an angry voice calling my name. I
scramble to my feet and rush for the front door. Adrenaline racing, I fumble
with the door handle. I hear K---- coming up behind me, and I start to panic. I
grab the handle and jiggle it, praying it would open. I turn my head and see
K---- turning the corner towards me, red face full of rage. I face back to the
door and pull at it, and right before K---- grabs me again the door swings open
and I fly out, running.
I don’t remember how long I ran or what
route I took. I don’t remember how I got home or what happened the rest of that
night. K---- didn’t call me for weeks, and it wasn’t long before I learned
through the gossip wheel that he had moved to go live with his biological
father sometime after my escape. I don’t know what will happen if he ever moves
back and calls me. But that doesn’t matter, because I broke out of my prison. I
had found my key to freedom in a blood-red leaf flying away on the wind.
Remember, you are strong, you are important, and you are a survivor, and there is no shame in that. You can write me your story of abuse of any kind or your story of escape, or if you have a friend, neighbor, or family member has a story and they don't mind you sharing, you can tell me at supermana.iamasurvivor@gmail.com. I am here as a kind of outlet, if you will. And I believe in you.
