Redemption (Rewriting)

I'M STILL BREATHING

Dad's here. I can hear his glass clinking from the kitchen. He's drinking again and he's coming to find me. His boots colliding with the wooden stairs gave away his location, so when the light flooded through the small crack beneath my door, I hurried into hiding.

I tossed my body onto the ground, and despite the pain ricocheting through my ribs, I brought my knees to my chest and tried to hide in the little bit of space I found between the bed and wall. My back pressed deeper against the surface behind me as I wished for an escape, but there's nowhere to go, and no room to run.

As the door opened, I pleaded with him to stop where he was, hoping he'd show mercy. Then Fletcher's voice called out to me like an angel finding me stranded in hell, and suddenly I realized the light wasn't giving up my hiding spot, it was saving me from the darkness.

"Shit, Sully," my brother approached. "Did I scare you?"

I flattened my palms against the wooden floors to stand. Even if my legs wobbled, I'd get up every time.

"I could've helped you."

I didn't put distance between us or ignore his attempt to lift me from the ground because fear still coursed through my veins. I did it because I didn't trust him. It's nothing he did or said. I don't trust anybody. It's easier this way. It's like expecting disappointment so you're never disappointed.

"It got worst after I left, didn't it?"

It did, but I wouldn't tell him that. He deserved to sleep at night thinking he made the right choice. So, I won't tell him anything that'll make him regret saving himself when he had the opportunity to. That's why I shrugged it off.

I'll hide the scars on my back. I promised myself that. I'll do anything to keep Fletcher from seeing the ragged pink skin that dad created with his belt.

"Talking about it makes it easier."

Maybe he's right. It's not that I'm scared to tell somebody about the horrors of living at Hell House. I'm embarrassed. I don't want to be the little girl with a dad who didn't love her, so he beat her every night, hoping one day she wouldn't wake up.

I gotta be honest though, the only thing that kept me alive was knowing it'd bring my dad satisfaction if I died.

"I should've taken you with me."

"I don't hate you for leaving me."

"Why? I knew what'd he do if I left," he dropped his head to his hands. "My biggest regret is leaving you. I couldn't call or visit. It's been three years and suddenly you're calling me in the middle of the night. Why didn't you call me sooner?"

I wouldn't have waited if I knew I'd see my plan through, but if dad got his hands on me during an attempted escape, I'd be as good as dead. So, I thought of every way it goes right for me and every way it'd go wrong. That's why I'm still breathing.

"I know the answer, so you don't have to give me one," he sighed. "I get it. I really do. I just wish I would've said my goodbyes or something instead of leaving you a lousy note."

"You proved to me it was possible."

His head tilted to look at me as he sat beside me on the bed, and I saw the shadow of a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Let's make a pact, right here, right now."

I nodded. "Okay."

"No matter what, we stick together," he pleads. "No secrets. No lies. No hiding. We promise to never leave each other behind. Most importantly – we stick together."

I stared at the pinky he extended toward me, and I didn't hesitate to link mine with his. Promises may be useless. I may not trust anything he says. But this gives Fletcher a sense of security. It's like a safety net for the boy waiting on the world to fall out from beneath his feet again.

"I love you, Sully."

"Love you too."

He got up from the bed, quickly wiping his eyes. "Why don't you take a shower and meet us downstairs, yeah?"

"A shower?"

"It's next door."

"I can use it whenever I want?"

The sadness caved in his eyebrows. "Yeah, Sully. You can use it whenever you want. I'll be downstairs. Towels are in the closet, but if you need anything, let me know."

"Thank you."

"Oh," he motioned to the tote outside the door. "Joey also wanted me to give you this. She planned on giving it away, but thought you'd get better use of it. Some of it clothes and other things she hopes will make you feel more at home. She plans on going through her closet tomorrow, so I'm sure you'll have fun helping her. With that being said, good luck. She's a hoarder and it'll take forever."

He looked at me one last time before getting off the bed. I watched him leave the room and I didn't waste any time searching through the tote. I found a pair of satin deep green pajamas. he pair of shorts dropped to the hardwood floor. I can't remember the last time I wore anything like this. I never felt safe too. Not in hell house.

Within minutes, I pulled the oversized t-shirt from my head, leaving me in nothing but a sports bra, and a pair of sweatpants that hung loosely on my hips.

When I rose from the bed, I found my reflection staring back at me in the gold mirror from across the mattress. I didn't want to know how badly my back looked, but from what I could see on my ribs was blackened skin, slightly purple, a few green dots, and the outline of my dad's boot.

I decided not to spend much longer looking at myself. I always hated seeing the defeat in my sunken eyes. It looks like I gave up, but I never stopped fighting, and I never will.

So, I draped the sleep set over my arm before sneaking off to find the bathroom. After counting every door on my way down the hall, I finally found myself two rooms away from the one Fletcher assigned me, and as I twisted on the golden knob, I awaited a shower. Instead, I found a shirtless boy, sprawled across his white sheets.

His eyes flickered up from the book in his hands to where I stood. I shouldn't have stuck around as long as I did, but I wanted to see the books on the shelves hung on the highest points of the wall near his bed. The orange glow made it difficult to make out any of the titles, but my focus quickly shifted to the man sliding off the mattress with a look of confusion on his face.

As he made his way towards me, I slammed the door shut. My heart rate accelerated. No matter how badly it hurt to breathe or pace quickly down the hall, I hurried to find the bathroom before the stranger opened his door and came searching for me.

Just when I threw myself into the door beside the boy's bedroom, I found myself in the comfort of the bathroom, surrounded by dark green paint, and golden accents.

I listened to the floorboards outside the door creak. I waited for the doorknob to jiggle or the boy to question me from the other side, but nothing ever happened, and I wasn't sure what I'd do if it did.

I almost wondered if I'd stay in here to avoid him just in case. These four walls felt safer than hell house ever did.