CHRIST: FINDING THE LIGHT

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

"Your story?" I repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"My life story."

"Why would I want to hear that? I'm not interested." I got up, but she held me by my wrist.

"Wait! Please, just hear me out, okay? If, by the time I'm done, you still don't want to speak to me, I'll accept that, and I'll never speak to you again. I promise, please."

I might have strongly disliked my stepmother, but I was a kind person so I sighed and sat back down, leaving ample space between Stacy and I. Just because we were talking civilly didn't mean she wasn't still my wicked stepmother.

"Where do I start?" she muttered.

"From the beginning?" I mumbled, but she must have heard me, because she raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, sorry." I raised my hand in surrender, indicating that she should go on with her story—not that she had actually started.

"I was born to very poor parents. It was difficult for us to eve get one proper meal a day. Being the eldest, by the age of five, I was out on the street, begging for money with two of my younger siblings. Every day, rain or shine, our parents would send us out.

"More often than not, we'd never bring anything home, and my father—he'd beat us and send us to bed without food, while he went drinking with his friends. I did things I'm ashamed to speak of just to survive. He'd come home so drunk, ranting and raving about how it was all my mother's fault that we were poor.

"We'd sit in a corner of our room, and watch as he—he beat her black and blue. He did it so often, it was as if it was a normal part of our daily routine. I once tried to stop him; I ended up unconscious. All the while, he'd talk about how it was all her fault that the family was poor. He always said that if she were a better wife, a better mother--"

Her voice broke, and it took all my willpower not to comfort her. I didn't really trust her. She wiped her eyes, which were already smeared with makeup.

"Anyway, my mother still forbade us to speak ill of him. She believed that he was stressed form being unemployed, and that as soon as he found a job, things would get better. She was so positive, even to the end. He beat her to death. I stood there and watched as my father beat her to death right in front of me. I was only fifteen.

"Dad died the day afterwards, of alcohol poisoning. Our neighbours helped to bury them, but they didn't take us in, and it was left to me to take care of my five siblings. I went out, and found a Christian missionary, who said he'd help us. I was so grateful, I took him home...and he raped me and left me there.

"Eventually, someone reported us to the authorities, and we were taken to orphanages. I haven't seen any of my siblings since. I was adopted by a childless rich couple, who taught me to be proper, polite and refined. They told me to think with my head, not my heart, and as such, by the age of twenty, my heart was stone cold, I regret to say. I felt that if the world had been cruel to me, why should allow anyone in?"

"I married Marc, Stacie's father, because I was forced to. My parents told me he was my best chance at an easy life, and I actually believed them."

She laughed bitterly, as she found it somehow amusing. I wiped away the stray tear that had fallen down my cheek. If Stacy was lying, she was a really convincing liar.

"He was just like my father, except he abused me verbally, not physically. He chased anything that was female, basically. I sat at home, waiting for him, and he'd come back smelling like another woman's perfume. When I finally found the guts to confront him about it, he told me that it was none of my business, and that I shouldn't be peeking where I wasn't wanted.

"He demanded a divorce, although I got custody of all three kids because he said he didn't want them. Then a few years later, I met your father, and the rest as they say, is history."

I sat thinking for a while.

"I know that you're wondering why I'm just piling all this on you. Ashley, Stacie...she has cancer, she doesn't have much longer. I thought if we just set our differences aside and agreed to disagree for her sake, we'd make the rest of her life better. You have every right to doubt what I'm saying--"

"I believe you," I blurted out.

"Wait, you do?" She sounded surprised. I nodded.

"I know there's a chance you may be lying to me to achieve some ulterior motive—"

"I'm not lying," she hastily reassured me.

"I know that you care for Stacie a lot, and I believe that you told me all this so I could relate to you better. I'm not saying that we're suddenly going to be the best of friends, but I think I can tolerate you, for Stacie's sake. "

"Thank you," she gushed. "I love her....and losing her is going to be so hard." Her eyes brimmed with tears.

"I know. I love her too."

"And Ashley," said Stacy, almost hesitantly, "about your father. I know what he does to you, and I'm sorry I haven't defended you. But I'll try to be a better stepmother now, cross my heart."

She placed one hand on her heart solemnly, and nodded.

I laughed. Maybe this truce wasn't such a bad idea after all. So we weren't chums, pals or buddies, but we were allies, fighting for the same cause—Stacie's health.

And it's the little steps that make up the bigger ones.

Short, yeah. But it was originally supposed to be part of chapter 3, which was getting to long anyway. So, yeah...