Patrice's Story (A "Living With The Choices We Make" Novella) ✔️

3 - Tower of Strength

3 – Tower of Strength

I would see Marcus Forrester again much earlier than I could have ever imagined. Trouble started as soon as my mom's friend arrived back home. My mom was just tucking me into her bed when the front door closed with a bang, a loud roar followed.

"Chantal, get your bitch ass out here."

My mom stroked the side of my face. "Stay in bed, honey. I'll be right back."

I hid under the blanket when the two women started to yell at each other. Their cussing upset my stomach and at some point, I stuck my fingers into my ears to drown out the sounds. When a man's voice was added to the mix, I got really scared. Something broke in the living room before my mom's scream echoed through the house.

"Mommy." I jumped out of bed and ran to check on her. My body stilled in the doorway, my muscles cramping at the sight in front of me. My mom was lying on the living room floor in a puddle of blood, this tall guy kicking the shit out of her.

"Leave my mommy alone!" I screamed. Tears blurred my vision.

He paused, glaring at me.

"That's the bitch's daughter," my mom's friend shrieked. "She's the one who squealed on Tisha."

He grinned. "You'll get a spanking you'll never forget." He took a step forward toward me.

For a moment, I feared my knees would buckle, but then my body developed a mind of its own. I spun around and ran, trying to hide in my mom's bedroom. After slamming the door shut, my small fingers turned the key in the lock. My heart was pounding so hard that every other sound was drowned out.

I tried to open the window to climb out, but somehow, the latch was stuck. My eyes darted around in the desperate attempt to find somewhere to hide. There was a small space under the bed or maybe the clothes in the closet could cover me, but both places didn't appear safe. That's where they would be looking for me first.

A whimper ran over my lips when banging echoed through the house. The guy was pounding against the bedroom door, shouting something my mind refused to absorb. My lungs were burning from working overtime while I rattled the window again until my eyes fell onto my mom's purse. I could use her phone to call help. In my panic, I pressed the green call button repeatedly and the phone must have dialed the last number on the log.

A man picked up. "This is Marcus Forrester."

"Help me." The words were barely audible between my sobs.

"Patrice. Is that you?"

"Yeah." I cried out when the guy kicked against the door. "Please, you got to help me."

"Are you at home?"

"Yeah." A loud shriek rang in my ears when the door busted open. The guy towered in the doorway, his eyes dark as coals. A loud "HELP" escaped with a gurgle when he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, the phone slipping out of my hand.

The air was pressed from my lungs when my body slammed across his thigh. I gasped, wiggling and kicking to free myself from his grip, but it was to no avail. Pain radiated through my small body as his large hand came down hard on my butt. The second blow stole me of my breath. I screamed at the top of my lungs, both from fear and pain, as my torment continued. Burning tears mixed with the saliva in my mouth as cry after cry sprang from my lips.

My punishment stalled when new voices melted with the huffs of the guy. I was dropped on the ground and used this as an opportunity to get on my hands and knees to crawl away. With blind eyes, my head bumped into an obstacle before two hands firmly cupped my shoulders.