The Station Girl

Chapter 9

Three years. Three, long years that David spent with us. Thankfully, he never lived at the train station like Sir and I did. Rather, he would come to visit us every day. And by us, I mean me.

I suspect that they made up in some way the first night David showed up behind us. I never pried to find out whether or not they did, but judging by the friendly attitude they had toward each other the next day, I doubt anything else could have happened.

Initially, David spent more time with his father than with me. It may have had something to do with how I acted though too as I spent as much time away from him as possible. I would eat breakfast with them in the morning, and I would leave as soon as I'd finished my meal. More than once, David would make a snide comment to my retreating back about how I should be doing dishes or some other chore. I ignored these comments as best I could, fuming on the inside.

During the earlier part of the day, I would spend my time in town helping people out with their errands. Payment would vary between each person from money to food or, to the ones who had a longer standing debt with me, a book. The town people knew me well, and I knew them well too, but there was a chasm between me and them. I remembered the days where they would ignore me as a young child, and they did too.

But no matter how long I was gone during the day, I would always return to the station in time to see the evening train. It didn't take David long to catch on. Soon enough, he was waiting at the stations' steps for me every evening. The only good that came from the situation were the times the towns' people had given me food. He would take them to Sir's building for me, saving me from having to go closer to it than need be.

As for the rest of the time, my pleasure from seeing the train and speaking to the conductors outweighed the displeasure of having to spend an hour or so around David before everyone would begin to arrive and put his nasty attitude into hiding.

I couldn't help but wonder sometimes if the reason David insulted me was because he wanted to destroy the confidence I had in myself. But despite how much he tried, my memories of them and the bad room had instilled a self-confidence inside me that his nagging couldn't tear down. And in the times where my esteem was chipped at, I had Lucy's memory to perk me back up every night when I wished for her to come back to our train station.

It was after that first year that David began to ramp up his insults and started to become more physical toward me. Sir had always known about his sons' attitude and was constantly apologizing to me and scolding him for it during that first year, but as David's aggression picked up, so did his attitude in front of his father and other people.

In public, he would complement me and try to help me with the errands I ran in town. He'd carry my basket for me, or he'd lift the heavy things for me. He would even go as far as to open the doors for me when he was feeling especially gallant.

In private, David showed his true personality. No longer was he saying things behind my back. Now, he said them to my face. He cursed and swore, told me how useless I was. How I didn't belong because I had no home to live in. Time after time, he returned to how I needed a husband and how he would be the perfect fit. There were even times where he called me a tease despite my modest dress.

And then he started to get aggressive. Gripping my arm so tight that when I looked at it later, it would be starting to bruise. Casually sticking a foot out so I would trip and hurt my knees. Shaking me as he whispered insults at my face. The times where I turned and walked away from him, he would grab at my ebony locks and jerk me back.

He was violent, but I thought I would be okay. On the days it was particularly bad, I would sit in my shed and contemplate about whether or not I should tell Sir about what his son was doing to me. The idea of breaking the second rule the bad room taught me terrified me even more than David did. It was one of the reasons I never told Sir about his son.

The other? I couldn't bear to see the misery on his face when he found out that his son was a violent man. If that thought alone wasn't enough to stop me, then I would go on to think of how Sir would sacrifice his relationship with his son to save me.

If he did that, then he would wither away and die. There were times where I heard snippets of conversation between Sir and David. David was his last living relative, and I couldn't bear to rip a family apart when I had none of my own. Even as the situation got worse, not once did I ever want to tell Sir about what was happening.

There were times where I thought Sir knew what was happening behind his back. He just chose to ignore it, as unwilling as I was to break away from his last remaining bit of family. Thinking back on it though, I don't think Sir ever knew or else the situation would never had escalated the way it did.

The third year David spent with us was similar, if not worse than, the second year. By then, I was certain his actions were a result of him trying desperately to break down my self-confidence. It was starting to work. Little by little, he was returning me to the small girl who'd been dumped on Sir's station at the age of five.

By the end of the third year, when no was around me, I often glanced over my shoulder to make sure David wasn't hiding nearby. When I came to eat with Sir and David, I barely lifted my eyes up off of the food in front of me. When I slept in my shed at night, it was with a chair at the door so he couldn't come in unannounced.

Eventually, even the excitement I felt with the trains began to ebb away. I was a shell of my former self, even less than what I'd had as a child, and David knew. He even rejoiced in it when he thought no one was around.

Andthen one day a month after my birthday as my spirits began to finally fade, hestopped.