You Can't Break Her

Three| This isn't a game

April 1993

The faded brown wallpaper met the stained beige carpet, making the room seem less inviting. But the employees and volunteers were always happy, making the old, lived-in building feel safe. The kitchen was always stocked, and every meal smelled like heaven.

"We just have to get these papers signed," the coordinator's office, closing the door behind them.

I returned to my spot on the floor among the other children of varied ages. Some were lying on their stomachs with their chins resting on their hands. Others were curled up like lapdogs with their mothers.

"Were leaving soon," I said with a pout.

The movie Peter Pan was playing, and everyone's eyes were glued to the screen. There was no response, only the sound of chopping in the kitchen, where the volunteers were cooking.

What could they possibly say? Those other kids were there for reasons strikingly similar to mine. My mention of leaving probably sent a few into internal tailspins that would take hours to gather themselves, reliving every horrible incident that led them to this home for lost souls.

My mother exited the coordinator's office, pulling me up by my arm. "We're leaving now."

I gave little resistance to avoid my shoulder being pulled from its socket. We grabbed our bags, starting our twenty-minute walk home.

"Do you think we will be back, Mom? I met some really nice kids. We don't have any kids my age in our neighbourhood-"

"Don't," she interrupted. "Don't go there. This isn't a game. You can't just go and visit. Don't be so stupid."

I hung my head, not looking back up until we walked into our driveway. I tried so hard to understand the uncomfortable tension at the shelter.

I ran to the front steps of our red-brick house, collecting my truck and ignoring my surroundings. I skipped up the rocky driveway, holding my yellow, metal dump truck as it squealed and clanked against itself.

My mother began shouting from the front door, "Fuck! Ah! The price of fucking shit... Stupid..." Anger smothered her sentences in curses.

Thud.

"Shit!"

I sat up on my knees, looking in her direction."What's wrong?"

She hobbled a few steps closer. "Ben was back after we left," her voice was soaked in concern. "He must have kicked in the front door. It's wedged in the hall so he couldn't get through." Her voice shook, her eyes filled with tears. "That means-" She looked back at the house, cupping both hands over her mouth.

I ran to her side, taking in the disaster that was left.

The patio doors were smashed, glass spread throughout the kitchen. I held my mother's pant leg as we stepped over the shards. Just beyond the door, our kitchen table top sat on the floor, its amputated legs spread around it. We avoided the table, walking further into the house.

Photographs that once hung proudly on the now laid in the shattered mess of their frames.

Figurines and keepsakes were obliterated in front of the shelves. My mother swept her feet across the floor to clear a path. The couches and beds were slit open. My mother's clothing, ripped beyond repair, was discarded around the house.

Tears burned my eyelids at the sight of our belongings broken, scattered in front of us.

"You might get your wish to go back to the shelter," Jess whispered.

The crunch of footsteps came from behind us.

"They can't protect you forever." His voice burned my ears. We turned to see Ben standing in the living room doorway. "You wanna tell me why-"

My mother reached for the coffee table, grabbing hold of a ceramic ashtray the size of a football. She threw it at his face.

Shuffling me to the bottom of the stairs, she hugged me. "Go upstairs and stay there, okay?" Releasing me, she shoved me up a stair.

I ducked down, running just past the railing, so I could watch the battle that was taking place in our living room.

"You fucking bitch! I can't believe you would cheat on me! After all that I've done for you?" He opened the china cabinet, picking out one of the plates. Was it worth it, you whore?!" He whipped the dish at her face. "How was he? Was it worth all of this, you stupid tramp?!" Ben plucked another item from the cupboard.

My mother searched for something to use to defend herself. She caught a glimpse of me at the top of the stairs. "Go to your room! Now!"

Ben took advantage of her compromised focus and chucked another plate at her. It missed, hitting the banister. Jess was still distracted with no way to protect herself, cowering on the spot as he stalked closer.

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her back and forth. "Next time, I will kill you. Make no mistake, Jessica." He tossed her onto the couch, leaving as quickly as he had appeared.

A few minutes later, I wobbled down the stairs with blood dripping down my face. A stray piece of the plate had ricocheted off the railing, lodging itself in my cheek. The blood was diluted with tears. My sobs made anything I wanted to say impossible as Jessica cried and cleaned my face, removing the shard. "We will fix this," she whispered, more to herself than anything else. She wiped my tears with the bottom of her sweater. " We will get new things to replace the stuff he broke, but first, we need to pack our bags. We're going back to the shelter."

At the shelter, my mother ended things with Ben, after some convincing from the police, he accepted his fate to no longer be my mother's toy.