Outliers

Chapter 14: Deborah

The slaps, punches, and hits were seriously getting old to Deborah by now...

Slap. Cry. Scream. Run.

Hit. Cry. Scream. Run.

The bruises were darker, softer, bigger, and hurt more often. Mr. James also would strike her frequently, more often than not and more often than before.

The neighbors also seemed to peer in on them on more than one occasion.

The door bell rang, and Deborah tiptoed down the hall quietly, past her 'passed-out-drunk' father (who was splayed across the couch), and gently turned the knob.

"Hey there, little Debby!" Deborah's neighbor, Mrs. Lound, quietly chirped, almost like a cricket. Deborah flinched when Mrs. Lound threw her hands around, flailing.

"Hi, Mrs. Lound. What did you need at -" Deborah paused, and glanced back in the house to see glowing numbers for the time: 9:24. "What did you need at 9:24 at night?" Deborah pasted a false smile onto her lips, and Mrs. Lound seemed relieved.

"I just heard a commotion and a little ruckus over here a little while ago, is all." Mrs. Lound spoke quietly with a southern drawl, and Deborah remembered she was from Alabama.

"No, no. We're fine, really. You don't need to check up on us," Deborah spoke a little too sharply, a little too much forced into it. "You can go home, Mrs. Lound. Really - we're fine." Deborah heard shuffling echoed behind her, and knew her dad was stirring. Crap.

"Well, little Debby, come on now. Is there really something wrong here -" Mrs. Lound started, but Deborah cut her off quickly.

"No. We're fine," Deborah muttered through clenched teeth. "Please, go home and back to bed. You must be awful tired." Deborah mimicked her accent, and refused to look the woman in the eyes; she could'nt lie very well.

"But sweetie -" A loud crash splintered through the chilling air, and Deborah turned to seemed an infuriated dad making his way towards the open door. Deborah quickly shut the door on Mrs. Lound and turned back to her dad.

"Who was that, little girl?" Deborah's dad spoke a little too sweetly, ending with a squeal. Deborah flinched at his awkward, drunken voice, and took a shaky step back. Deborah's tongue seemed swollen and dry, making her unable to speak. "Who was that, Deborah?" He spoke with a loud force this time, and it scared Deborah.

She was very, very sure that Mrs. Lound was just on the other side, with a dainty ear pressed against the door to hang onto every word she heard.  But Mr. James paid no mind, now beginning to raise his voice at Deborah. "Who was that? Did you tell them? If you told them, I swear it girl - I'll beat down until you don't have any sense in you anymore! Did you tell the person outside?!" 

"No, dad, no!" Deborah shrieked, feeling the stinging tears of fright and hate begin to fall from the corners of her eyes. "I didn't tell her! I promise, I won't tell anyone! Please, please, please don't hurt me..." Deborah whimpered, and pressed her back against the cold, hard door before sliding down; she was trying to make herself smaller. Her back began to go numb, feeling the coldness of the door. Just like her father's heart.

A slap stung her cheek, and Deborah began bawling out loud, and she stopped caring about whether her dad saw her upset anymore.

Why should she hold in all of this hatred she felt? She  ceased trying to stop the blows to her face with her arms, face, legs, everywhere. She stopped worrying about covering it all up, and knew that no one would care, just as little as her.

Deborah felt her dad's fist make a dull thump against her cheekbone, and a sharp pain shot to her brain; screaming at her to get up. Screaming at her to get out of there; screaming at her to stop the pain.