I CLOSE MY NOTEBOOK, stare at the cover. My grandfather gave it to me on my seventeenth birthday, told me it was a journal my mother never got to use. It was supposed to be inspirational, filled with bible verses and philosophical phrases…
It’s all bullshit to me. As if God is going to save me from what’s happening to me, save me from the person I have to live with, what he’s going to do. What’s the point of inspiration if it’s unrealistic?
I look up, outside. Jeremy’s outside, talking to him, and I feel every lie stab me as I try to make out what he’s saying.
Mark says she’s going crazy.
You know, hallucinating, making up lies.
I don’t know, Mark wouldn’t tell me what she was lying about. I just know it was bad enough to send her to a therapist.
Then he looks up at me, his blue eyes way brighter than I remember. He smiles, and just for a second I smile back, forget what happened last summer, nearly half an hour ago. It’s as if I’m alright, as if nothing ever happened. My smile fades when I see the look on Jeremy’s face, and I remember.
Bark met my face.
He keeps glaring at me, green eyes threatening to tear me apart, muscles straining as if he were about to break me in half. Just when I think he will, his attention breaks, focuses on the black Mercedes pulling into the driveway, Mark’s fiancée sitting in the front seat. I remember the day I met her, and I wondered why Mark fell for her. I mean, of course he’d like her. She’s sweet, but she’s just so… different. Her name fits her perfectly: Jessie. Imagine a middle-aged woman with cowboy boots and eyes filled with joy. She listens to hardcore country music, loves to wear faded plaid shirts, sleeves rolled over her elbows. She has long curly blonde hair, which is often pulled into two braids that fall beneath her shoulders, and bright green eyes. But her biggest trait? She loves her son, more than anything or anyone.
To make a long story short, she’s nothing like Mark, and I still wonder what they actually see in each other.
I watch Jeremy as he walks toward the driver’s side, opens the door for his mother. She steps out of the car, smiles at him as he slams the door. Then she glances up at my window and her eyes gleam as she runs toward the front door. I can hear her boots clack as she runs up the stairs, opens my door.
“Hey!” she screams, her soft country accent engulfing the room.
Oh… great…
“Mm.” I force a fake smile as I set my journal down onto my pillow, stand up. Her arms are held wide open for me, and as she hugs me I try not to squirm. I hate being touched, being close to people. Whenever I am, it takes me back to Jeremy.
His fists.
And that’s not somewhere I want to be.
“How have you been?” she asks as she pulls away. I sigh.
Take a wild guess.
I shrug. Jessie may be sweet, but she’s also senseless. She doesn’t notice my silence, doesn’t pretend to care. Doesn’t really matter to me, how oblivious she is.
Just one more person to ignore.
Leaves, dirt, everything hit me.
Pain growing deep, so much of it I couldn’t scream.
“This year’s been hell! You ever tried planning a wedding?”
Hmm, seems more like a funeral to me.
I shake my head, look down.
He smiled, took me into his arms, carried me back to his truck.
Then he raped me for an hour, his body pushing and heavy, nearly…
“What college are you going to?” Jessie asks. I jump, realize she had been talking the entire time. She stares at me, doesn’t wait for me to respond. I guess she figures that waiting for something that’s never going to happen is pointless.
“Oh God, I haven’t even made dinner yet!” she glances at her watch, “We’ll talk at dinner.”
I smirk. God, I love it when Mark’s family uses we in a sentence. Makes me wonder who exactly they’re talking about because I know I’m not involved. She storms out of my bedroom and I turn toward my bed.
His body was pressing onto me.
It’s really sad. My room is the only place in this house that remained the same after my mother died. Same sickly pink walls (I forgot why most little girls tend to love this color; it makes me sick), same daybed next to the window, same oak dresser that stands next to the door, the big gash in its side from when Mark and my mother tried to bring it home. And no matter how much this room remains the same, I still don’t want to be here.
I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth.
And somehow, my lungs refused to work.
I climb onto my bed, look out of the window again. He’s walking out of the yard, and Jeremy’s nowhere in sight.
“You fucking bitch,” someone whispers. I jump, turn around. Jeremy’s standing in front of the closed door, his eyes angry, forcing their way into my head. He smirks. He knows what I’m thinking.
“Lay down,” he says. My eyes widen.
“Jeremy, I just got here—”
“I don’t care,” he interrupts, walks toward me, “Lay down.”
I can’t argue. Won’t solve anything, only causes more anger, which leads to more pain. I obey him, and he lies on top of me. I hold my breath as his lips touch mine, as he kisses me deeper with every second. His fist crashes into my side.
“Kiss me back,” he commands. Again he kisses me, and I kiss back as my heart quivers, throat tightens. This isn’t enough for him. He starts unbuckling my belt, pulling my shorts down.
You can survive this.
My heart’s pounding, blocking out the thought.
Yo ca su vi thi.
I can’t hear it anymore.
And then he was inside of me, and…
He’s raping me again, and tears try not to force their way out. What would crying do? Make him angrier, cause him to hurt me more than he normally does?
Either way, it won’t stop him.
After a few moments, he pulls away from me, sits up.
“Get up,” he says. I sit up, pull my shorts over my hips. He watches me as I walk toward my dresser, stare at the reflection. The hair is matted, clothes wrinkled. Jeremy takes the brush off of my dresser, begins to brush my hair. He’s crazy about the way my hair falls, tells me he loves it. It’s probably one of the reasons why he does this to me. Once he’s done with my hair, he smiles.
“Do you love me?” he asks. I nod, and it’s so funny. Last year I never lied, thought of it to be immoral. Now things have changed. I lie just to get everyone to leave me alone.
…everything turned black, blurred together.
“Dinner!” Jessie calls from downstairs. Jeremy wraps his arms around me, squeezes tightly.
“You better,” he whispers. Then he pulls away, unlocks my door, disappears out into the hallway. I look back at the reflection, lift my shirt up. Right above the cuts lies a fist shaped bruise, right where he hit me. I smirk. Hopefully he killed part of the filth he gave to me. But it wasn’t enough. I still feel him all over me, the sharp stinging pain cutting my skin away.
“Emma!” Mark calls, “Come down here!”
I sigh as I smooth out my shirt and make my way downstairs into the dining room. Mark bought a bigger dining room table than the one we had before. Six seats compared to four, definitely enough room for everyone. Mark sits at the far end of the table, closest to the kitchen. Jessie walks out with food. Salad, meat, the usual things a perfect family would eat.
Hilarious.
She sits next to Mark, just as Jeremy does. Mark motions for me to sit next to him. I obey him, and we all join hands, say grace. Like I said, we’re the perfect family. Nothing’s wrong with us, no flaws…
Bullshit.
“So,” Jessie says as she fills most of her plate with salad. She’s still complaining about how fat she is, wants to be flawless on her wedding day.
She looks like a rail to me.
“How long are you both staying here?” she continues. I stare at my plate, only half full. I don’t eat as much as I used to. I’m not like normal girls. When something’s bothering me, I don’t eat. I just do the exact opposite of the right thing, I guess.
“Until you get married,” Jeremy says, devouring the food on his plate. Devour… the way he just devoured me, but not nearly as repulsive. “Gives me time to spend with my new little sisters.”
I tried to think about all of the reasons why I could live through this.
He smirks at me and I look down at my shorts, wondering how no one noticed how messed up they look, the blood stain on the rim.
Just ignore what he said.
He told me he wouldn’t do anything as long as I do what he says.
I start eating, stare at the wall as I do. Cream, clashing with the hardwood floor. Jessie stares at me, eyes asking me, trying to force me to answer. I don’t talk, silence blocking my throat, the words that want to come out piling up, causing me to choke.
Jeremy raped me.
Last summer and a few minutes ago.
Look me straight in the fucking eye and tell me he didn’t…
I don’t think you could.
Mark scowls at me, eyes narrow and ready to attack. I concentrate on what’s outside. He’s long gone, but other neighbors are still outside. The sky is hell orange, the sun setting, day fading into hell. Nighttime is when Jeremy’s the worst.
“Well,” Jessie continues, “you’re going to the wedding then, right?”
A couple jogging, someone walking their oversized dog, people laughing.
“Emma,” Mark says harshly, “answer her.”
His truck passing our house.
“Emma?” Mark says again, a horrible tone. I then feel a harsh squeeze on my thigh, look at Jeremy. His face is twisted in annoyance, eyes warning me to talk.
“Yeah,” I say, prying his hand away from me. Jessie smiles, the same bright, toothy smile Mark uses. I seriously doubt it’s fake. Jeremy smiles also, and Mark continues to glare at me as if he wants to rip me apart, to punish me for not answering her when he wanted me to.
But he seemed to have overtaken them all.
I press my hand to my side, want to feel blood draw, to cut away that part of me that Jeremy owns, the part he wants. I stand up, tell them I’m not hungry. They believe me, Mark resentful but pleased because I said three words to him.
Three words. That’s all.
I sprint upstairs, grab the razor out of my duffel bag. Back into my bathroom, the razor slicing the film again, tearing away just a little part of what Jeremy left. I smirk, stare at the reflection in my bathroom mirror, see the dead girl I’ve always seen. Then I clean the blood before it stains, walk back into my bedroom. My phone is on my dresser, vibrating. I pick it up, tap the screen. My grandfather called me several times, three new voicemails. I frown.