Peaches

Eleven

I bought myself a TV to put in my bedroom so I didn't have to sit in complete silence while I hid myself. The bed was my safe space, buried deep in my blankets. It didn't matter that it was nearly eighty degrees outside, making my room was a furnace- I wouldn't move.

I couldn't move anyway.

Shielded under big t-shirts, and baggy sweatpants, was the only way that I was willing to step out of the sanctuary that was my bedroom. Let's not forget the pounds of concealer, and foundation needed to cover the bruising that spanned the side of my face.

My swollen lip.

Chris and I hadn't seen each other in nearly two days now, keeping busy with our own lives. The only sure way of keeping this hurt that I felt away from him, was to avoid him entirely. The moment he would open our front door, close it, and lock it, I would take my cue to hobble out to take care of what I needed to. Of course, only after waiting a good ten minutes, just for good measure. He would leave the house to be at work by six o'clock, and would usually return home at around two in the morning. Thus giving me plenty of time to eat, shower, and cry as loud as I needed to.

I went to Honeys to fulfill my duties to Daddy, working only in the bar so I didn't have to dance. Tonight, I was fortunate to have a night off, our schedule remained unchanged. Daddy knew he got through to me.

How long will these bruises stay?

To my surprise, Chris actually kept to himself for the most part. Occasionally texting me small worded messages at late hours in the night. Probably sitting on the couch in the living room, kicked back with his guitar in his lap, blankly watching the television as he strummed. It was almost as if he missed me.

"Peach."

"Let's drink."

"Brat."

I couldn't so much as look at my phone without crying. The thought of even being around him made my insides churn. I wanted him, with all of my being. I longed for him. Just to be able to feel his warmth as he holds me in his arms, his long fingers lazily dragging along my tender skin to soothe my worries. To feel his soft breath against my head, lips laying amorous kisses on my temples. Would his touch ever feel the same to me? Even over the painful reminder Marcello left me?

Just one more time.

It was nearly eleven o'clock, the house was silent despite Momma's delusional rambling coming softly from her bedroom- her safe space. What horrors has she seen? Had she ever been in such a place, faced with the reality that could have been mine? I could only imagine the memories she couldn't tear from her broken soul.

That night we lost my father wasn't her only breaking point. It was when she realized that there was really no way out. She knew that I would never have a chance. I knew, without a doubt that she could foresee my own fate. It all made sense, all the sadness in her eyes wasn't just for her. It was also for me. Constantly crying out my name, begging and pleading. She wasn't calling for me, she was crying for me.

Chris was gone, but he was everywhere. The damp towel he used from his shower this morning draped over the arm of the couch, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. It was almost as if he was just in the next room, about to come out to the living room and greet me with a sarcastic slur.

There was a loud bang at the front door followed by a booming laugh- his laugh. Before I could even think of moving my legs to retreat from the sound, the front door was unlocked, and two men crashed inside the house. None other than Chris, and his freaky friend, Zach.