One Foot In The Grave - Part Seven

The room seemed fuzzy around the edges; fatigue still clouding my eyes over and making everything a little blurry. After Deanna had addressed me, I looked over at Conor, seeing him kicking back, that smirk on his face. I kept my poker face on, tilting my head back and staring at the ceiling.1

“Tegan, what progress have you made?”2

Deanna’s voice sliced through my nerves like an ax and I fought back a frustrated growl, before looking up at her and smiling sweetly. “Obviously not very much, or else I’d still be a level three now, wouldn’t I?”3

“Is there anything you would like to address to the group today?” She asked, taking on my posture and folding her hands together on her knee.4

I pretended to think for a moment, chewing on the inside of my cheek and swinging my leg around jerkily. My eyebrows raised and then furrowed in mock thought, something I’d been able to master since I’d arrived there and then shrugged. “Not really no.”5

“What about anyone else?”6

The drone just went on and I returned my focus to the ceiling.7

Cut back to me being six years old, my father sitting behind me, his legs splayed out in front of me while I played with my toys. His fingers messed with my hair absently, and every once in a while, he would lean his head down and place a soft kiss on my neck. Uncomfortable. The swirling in my gut told me that something was wrong with this, but at six years old, I was afraid to say anything. Especially after seeing the kind of damage control my mom had to carry around to conceal the bruises he’d embedded into her flesh after his hair trigger temper had given out and she was within arm’s reach.8

Snap. Return to the group room, where my eyes had started to film over, my gaze still targeted perfectly on the ceiling, taking in every single detail of the tiles, leg still jerking back and forth, more feverishly now. My head swam and I pinched the outside of my thigh, reminding myself that I’m real, that it’s all real and that there’s no turning back.9

Flash to me at nine years old when I’d finally accumulated the nerve to tell a teacher about the violence my mother faced at him. Imagine Child Protective Services coming into my house, asking questions, taking pictures, and talking with my parents and me. Picture my parents with their arms wrapped around each other in the perfect image of happiness and peace. 10

Imagine being labeled a liar by everyone in town because they felt I’d filed a false report to get my parents in trouble. If you can picture the look of sheer fury that had been plastered onto my parents’ faces once the CPS people had left, then you’ve either been in a similar situation, or have an excellent imagination. The expression that I’d received turned my blood ice cold and made my stomach clench with nausea. 11

“We’ll talk about this later.” My mother had said as she pulled her coat on and grabbed her purse. “I have work.”12

I glanced over at my father. My knees trembled and I followed after her through the kitchen, “Mom? Mom… take me with you. Mom! Ma? Take me… please? Take me-TAKE ME WITH YOU!” 13

The door slammed shut and all of the blood in my body seemed to pool into the soles of my feet. I was afraid to turn around, knowing that my dad would be waiting there, and fearing that he would either beat me as badly as he had my mother at some points, or just flat out killed me…14

“Does ANYONE have anything to say?!” Deanna finally cried, snatching me from my daze and bringing me back into the real world. I actually flinched.15

“Can I go to the bathroom?” I asked, raising my hand up. My stomach was freezing, swishing around violently and threatening to spill. “It’s an emergency.”16

Deanna just let out a sigh and waved me off. I rose to my feet and walked to the door, waiting for the guard to open it. When he did, I stepped out and tried to walk calmly into the bathroom. When I made it in, I stepped into the stall farthest from the door, dropped to my knees and heaved into the basin, keeping my eyes closed tightly. The bitter flavor of bile soaked into my taste buds, only making me gag more as I gripped onto the bowl with white knuckles, tears streaming down my face in scorching hot trails.17

My small, nine year old feet turned and darted underneath my father’s arm, bolting for the back door when a hand curled into my hair, kicking the back of my knees out from under me and sending me knocking to the floor. My face planted heavily onto the floor.18

”YOU LITTLE BITCH!” My dad screamed at me, applying more and more pressure until my skull felt as though it was going to crush. Already, petrified tears streamed from behind my eyes and I felt my canines digging into my tongue, tasting blood and choking on it. 19

Tiny, pale hands smacked against the floor trying to push my body up, onto to receive a hard punch in the kidneys. I yelped, my breath coming out in a whoosh and the blood from inside my mouth spattering onto the floor. I felt a jerk upwards and through the pained expression on my face, features coiled in a grimace, I saw the back of his hand once again near my face. I heaved out a yelp from the back of my throat as I felt my head whip to the side, then again and again and again before the taste of copper invaded my mouth as my nose bled. 20

“I-I-I’m so—“ I choked out, my voice high in pitch as the words came out in a whine before I felt him slam me back down on the floor, fingers digging into my shoulders as the back of my eyes began to sting with petrified tears…21

The moment his hands had reached to the waistband of my jeans, my world imploded… from that moment, something dark had begun to manifest itself. Spawned in pain and terror and anger…22

It’s a wonder I hadn’t shot him sooner.23

“You’re fine,” I whispered into the white porcelain of the toilet bowl, reaching up and jerking the lever down to flush it. “It’s over… it’s not real anymore… get a hold of yourself.”24

A sharp knock on the bathroom door sent me wheeling into the last few dregs of fear that had kept hold of my nerves. “What’s taking so long in there?!” 25

“I-I’ll be out in a minute!” I called, wiping my eyes and walking out of the stall. I rinsed my mouth out with water from the sink and splashed cold water onto my face, drying it with the brown, scratchy paper towels in the dispenser and gazed at myself in the mirror. My eyes were puffy and red, although it was beginning to go down. I scrubbed underneath my eyes with my sleeve until all of the moisture had dissipated and heaved a deep breath, maintaining the calm, apathetic persona I’d adopted at age nine. 26

If I didn’t care about anything, then nothing could hurt me.27

I ran a hand through my hair briefly and turned, walking out of the bathroom easily and back into the group room. I sunk back into my chair, crossing my legs with ease and looked around the room raising my eyebrows. 28

“What’d I miss?”29