Don't Hurt Me

Chapter 2

Sunlight filters in through the Venetian blinds, licking my room with belts of warm gold. I shift on the bed I'm lying on, staring up at the ceiling fan overhead. It circles with a sick slowness, making the air dull, thick and heavy.

Without my wishing it, the events of the previous night come back to me, playing through my head like a retold film.

The man who tried to follow me. The kids who beat him up. And what happened after I got home ....

Rolling over, I extend one arm, reaching for the clock I keep on my bedside table. It's late, nearly eleven. Which is a good thing. It means my father won't be around.

The thought comforts me, and I bring myself to swing my legs over the edge of the bed and set my feet on the floor. After digging up some clothes and a towel, I head out to take a shower.

In the bathroom, I peel off my T-shirt and check myself in the mirror for bruises, but can't find any.

I was hoping my father wouldn't find out that I snuck out yesterday. I guess I'm just not that lucky.

There's only so much any of us can do when he gets that mad. Our only chance is to apologize and beg, not to answer when he speaks, and of course, never hit back. Yesterday wasn't that bad, except at one point when he shoved me, throwing me backwards against a wall.

That part really hurt. Each time seems like an eternity you'll never escape, but in reality, it's never more than a minute or two. It always ends as quickly as it starts, like flames fizzling out.

I turn away from the mirror, stepping into the shower. I've learned a thing or two over the years about how to deal with my father, and I've followed these rules religiously. There is no one I fear more than my father. All the same, I'm starting to get tired of it. I'm fifteen now. I'm entitled to some goddamned freedom. I mean, isn't it my life? Isn't every choice mine to make?

I wish there was something I could do. Something we could do.

Nobody knows about the Conroys. Nobody knows what really goes on in our house. And I could never tell anyone the truth, not even Alex, my best friend.

I'm sure my mom and my brothers keep it a secret too. You think you'd know what to do if this were to happen, if that were to happen. You think it's simple.

It's not.

There are some things you just can't speak about. That's because they eat at you. They eat away at your insides and leave behind a kind of shame and guilt, until that's all you are. They make you believe that you're worthless, because that's what you're living. You look at other people and realize they're not faking their smiles or lying when they say things are going great. You start to think that maybe in some way ... you actually deserve all of it. That it's all some sort of punishment.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply as hot water runs over me.

None of it can last forever, I tell myself. At some point, it has to stop. I will leave this house, I will be free and independent. All of us.

I could be morbid and pray for my father's death, but I don't think the odds would be in our favour. And besides, we wouldn't last very long without him. His job isn't the best, but it's all the family has.

I stay in the shower for a long time. When I emerge, it's half past eleven. I put on some clothes, then pad down to the kitchen.

There's no one around. It's as quiet here as it was upstairs. Everybody must have gone out for the day. Famished, I raid the fridge and cabinets for food, but all I can find are overripe fruit and the remains of an old box of cereal. Not too appealing, nor suitable for a growing girl, am I right?