Chpt 2 - Sharp edges

Jen woke to a foot in the face. He was at it again.1

“Get up, you stupid fuck,” he shouted,” you worthless, filthy, whore! Off your ass and onto cleaning! I’m going out to run an errand and I want this place spotless by the time I get back. If your mother comes, tell her to leave because I don’t want to see her wasted fuck face.”2

He leaned over and spat into Jen’s face before turning to disappear behind the slamming door. 3

An already cracked photo frame crashed to the floor and glass spewed across a wide area. He wouldn’t like that. 4

She quickly made her way to her feet and scuffled to a small closet that was thrown in a corner. She retrieved the broom and started to sweep up the glass, but the broom did not help. 5

Examining the broom in the dim light, she saw gaps in the brussels. Throwing it down, she fell to her knees and started sliding her hand across the floor, clearing the glass into the dust pan. 6

When she was done, she threw the glass into the trash can as tears found their way to her face. They felt cool on her hot skin, but she wiped them away. She knew not to cry.7

As a small child, her father would tell her, “stop that crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.” 8

A small shard of glass remained in her hand, she fiddled with it. Sometimes she felt like sharp objects were calling out to her, “use me, just use me! I want to feel your hot, rusting blood on my edges. I want to be ran through your skin.” And her skin would burn in destitution. It was almost like she could feel the wound on her body before she put it there, before she carved away all that remained. 9

She glared at the glass, as if it were alive and she was afraid it would leave her, afraid it would abandon her need. So, she crawled over to her father’s bed and slipped the shard underneath the mattress. 10

Getting up, she searched through the house with her finely tuned eyes and assessed the damage. There were blood stains and blemishes on the far wall, in the back. And broken plates still rested on the floor, from when her father unexpectedly had a rage and took it out on her mother. 11

She decided to first take care of the blood stains because they would be the hardest to get out. Besides, that is what her father would want gone first, the evidence. 12

The water where she lived had only two temperatures, cold and freezing. It was something you had to get used to, but it seemed to work wonders on dried blood. 13

As Jen scrubbed away at the result of a vicious, yet ever so normal beating, she realized that her life really wasn’t all that bad. I mean, she had a mother and father, and yes they were terrible at their job as parents and yes they were broken, but they were still a family. There had to be something in that alone. There had to have, at some point, been the slightest spark of love, togetherness. It was of course very deep down, buried with her lost box of chocolates, but it was there nonetheless. 14

She wrung pink water from the cloth into the sink and ran the rag under the running faucet. Then kneeled over to pick up the broken glass laying on the floor, but the sight of her reflection sent her jolting away.15

What a terrible sight, she thought to herself. Such an ugly face, such a ruptured being. Where had a face as hers come from? So very lonely and plain. 16

She played with her brown, wavy hair. It was wrapped around her index finger like a snake making its way up a branchless tree. Split ends were plentiful because she only felt safe taking a shower when her father was not around. Besides, they did not always have the money to get their hair cut or to buy food for that matter. Rent was nothing to the average income, but for them it was a vast amount. 17

Jen moved toward the cracked plates and they reminded her of herself. Thrown on the floor only to be left laying there like pieces of trash on the side of the highway. It made her wonder when someone would finally stroll by and pick her up. 18

The picture frame glass was joined, in the bin, by the broken plates and together they would be. Broken and useless, but not alone. 19

An hour had passed and no one had returned. It was the perfect time to get some light. 20

After creaking the door open ever so slightly and checking for oncoming parents, she stepped outside into the sun. The glare burned her eyes and she closed them tightly, stumbling to find some shade. 21

It was a cloudy day, but the sun held its position high in the sky. Its flare pushed through the grayish clouds and rays of light flourished upon the ground. A blue bird fluttered by, chirping along the way. 22

Jen whistled the bird’s tune, a happy tune. Every note placed where it belonged. Like a song of freedom and comfort. 23

A breeze picked up and Jen’s hair blew into her face. She reached up to brush it away and when her eyes were clear to see, in front of her stood her father. Jen screamed and rushed to her feet, but it was too late. He grabbed at her hair and shouted, not caring about who saw or heard. 24

She knew not to fight back, but her instinct took over as she scratched and kicked, trying her best to hit something. He was fast and strong, so her efforts were a lost cause from the beginning. They were both panting like dogs in the summer. Trent kneed her in the stomach and pain ran throughout her body. The wind was knocked out of her and vomit found its way up her throat and into her mouth, she choked. Now inside, he did not back off. 25

Jen cried out for him to stop, “I’m sorry! I’m a sorry father! I will never go out again! I only wanted to see the sun, but I am not worthy of the sun. I’m not worthy of the same light as you father!”26

“That’s right. You are right. You are not worthy of the same light or air. You are not worthy of life or freedom. You are a woman and nothing more you filthy slut! But how can I be so sure you will not go back out?” He raised her head so that she was looking at him in the eyes and slapped her hard across the face. “How do I know that you will not be like your mother?” He slapped her again. “I must teach you that is how. I must teach you.”27

Jen shut her eyes because she did not want to see. She let out a scream to block out any other sound. To release what feelings she has left. To forget about the pain. She screamed for her life and her throat stung in protest. 28

Trent threw her head down on the floor and kicked her sides. He had to show her where she belonged in the world. 29

Jen huddled into a ball and covered her head, but her weakened arms were not enough to protect her body. She was a kitten and he was a truck, there was no maybe. And the kicking went on for hours it seemed, but in truth was only a matter of minutes. When she thought it was all over, he came at her again. One of his fists caught her in the mouth and blood rushed from the open wound. 30

It hurt and it bled, but she was too numb to notice. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as the world spun around her. She thought it was the end, she prayed it was the end. 31

Punches came and went, but the pain never left her aching body. She arched her back giving her just enough time to wipe at the blood on her face and throat. It was smeared across her chin and along the upper part of her throat and now on her hands. In that moment there was a quaint silence. 32

With one last force of anger, Trent kicked Jen in the ribs, hooking upwards only stopping after a snap. He slowly lowered his leg and stared in disbelief of what he had just caused. Backing away, he turned and left the home. 33

Jen still lied on the floor, afraid to move. Her bleeding face was forgotten by all thoughts in her mind as her attention framed the broken ribs. Agonizing pain shot through her entire left side whenever she dared to move. 34

She looked toward the door, faintly wishing her father would return and make everything better. She just wanted for everything to be okay again. To feel safe. But, as usual, her desires were not fulfilled. 35

Time when on as she stayed still and she longed for it to stop. For it to wait. 36

She could not take it any longer. Crawling, on hands and knees, to the bed she forced her hand beneath the mattress. Feeling around, her finger tips found what they searched for. They found what her skin craved. The glass fragment. She removed her hand, grasping the shard. Sitting back with care from the pain, she stretched out her arm to its full length. She gently rolled back her sleeve. Scars and scabs came in view with every roll of the cloth. It was like she was unveiling a piece of her heart to the world. The glass remained in her strong cutting hand as she raised in before her face. The reflex was blurred by the water building in her eyes. 37

Tears of joy.38

The glass was cool as she pressed it hard against her skin. She stared and watched as her skin almost cradled the acute edge. Down the blood flowed, following the trail of the cut. It reminded Jen of a river. Pure and absolute. Forever leaving its mark. Long after it’s dried and gone. 39

She crescendoed the pressure half way through the cut. Deeper and deeper it ripped into her skin. 40

She cries out in pain.41

She gives the glass one last flick as she lifts the piece from upon her skin. 42

Footsteps ring through her head just before the door is whisked open. In steps her father, beer in hand. 43

Jen drops the glass and scrambles back against the bed frame. She is surprised at the sight of her father falling to the floor at which he had been before. 44

Breathing deeply, he slept. 45

Jen watched in shock and beer trickled from the bottles topless opening. She sighs with a disclaiming grunt. Had that really just happened? Looking up at the clock hung on the wall, she realized it was almost 12:00 a.m. The first thought that came to mind was her mother. Why had she not been back yet?46

She wanted, so badly, to go looking for her missing parent, but the pain was unbearable. After minutes of consideration, she decide it was best to stay the night and look later tomorrow. Besides, for all she knew, her mom was right outside the door.