Silence: Life After the Storm CH. 2

Published by bmcgrew in the blog bmcgrew's blog. Views: 116

Chapter Two: Shattered Glass

Another sleepless night, I’d be sound asleep when suddenly I was cold and alone, my body pressed firmly against the hardwood floor. I would try to get up but I couldn’t, I struggled…something was weighing me down; something was holding me in place. Then I would open my eyes and see Mr. Morton’s sweaty face laying on top pf me.

Then I would usually wake up with a scream and sweat pouring from my face. This was the fourth day in a row I’d had this nightmare and it’s been four days since Mr. Morton alter my life forever.

“Jackie” my mother came barging into my room “Sweetheart, are you ok?” she turned the lamp on by my bed squinting- she always left her glasses somewhere besides on her face where they belonged.

“I’m fine” I whispered back “I had a nightmare”

“That’s the tenth one you’ve had this week” she over exaggerated.

“I’m sorry” was all I could say.

“No more pop after 6…only milk at dinner” she ordered. I nodded as I was already slowly drifting back into sleep.

I was startled out of my sleep by a loud siren… I looked around in shock until I realized it was my alarm clock going off. I smacked the off button as I buried my face in my pillow. It didn’t feel like I’d gotten any sleep…at all.

Lazily I got up; grabbing my towel and bathrobe as I headed towards the bathroom. My eyes were barley open as I yawned rubbing my eye lids roughly. I turned on the shower so I could let it run for a while.

I went to grab my tooth brush out of the cabinet when I got a glance of my face in the mirror. I could see the shadow of a bruise that I’d been desperately covering up with my mother’s make up. The faint scratches on my neck that I’d blamed on softball practice.

This was the first time I’d actually looked at my self…actually mentally documented each mark on by body caused by Mr. Morton.

I slowly unbuttoned my pajama top letting it fall to the floor. Large bruises painted my chest and lower stomach…deep teeth marks on my left breast.

I was a zombie as I absorbed it all in. I loosened the draw string of my pajama bottoms letting them hit the floor lightly. I let my hand gently trace the big purple bruises in my inner thighs. They’d come from how violently Mr. Morton pounded against me.

My body still ached…to a point where it was hard to sit or stand or lay every movement causing a fresh shock wave of intense pain through my inners and limbs. I had to lie to my softball coach all the week, blaming PMS-ing as why I could not attend practice this week.

Physically I was battered and broken…but what was going on emotionally and mentally was much worse than any physical scar or pain I could ever experience.

I’d lost a part of me that day. A part of me that I will never know again, that part of me will forever stay on Mr. Morton’s living room floor for all eternity.

I took one last look at myself before the bathroom door swung open.

“Damn it Cheryl you can’t knock” I yelled at my little sister as I quickly grabbed my towel covering as much of my battered body as possible.

Her eyes were wide in shock as she stared at me confused.

“Jackie…? What is all that, it …”

“Softball” I interrupted quickly “Close the door” I snapped. She went to say something but stopped herself she stepped back and closed the door. I quickly walked over to the door and locked it.

I knew what she saw but I knew she wouldn’t say anything…one day I would tell her what happened…someday.

Chapter 2 Part II

I sat in my room in the silence as I heard the many voices from down stairs echo through out the house.

I knew that any second my dad would call me down to help set up for poker night.

My heart sank the thought of Mr. Morton in this house repulsed me…the thought of ever having to see him again repulsed me.

But I was confident that he wouldn’t show his face here…he wouldn’t risk it.

“Jackie” I heard my father call from down stairs.

“Coming” I yelled back. I had to prepare myself…what if he did show up? What would I do? Would I snap? Would I cry? Would I act like nothing ever happened?

I shrugged all of those thoughts out of my head.

I slowly walked down the stairs. I saw my dad’s best friend Earl sitting on the couch with a beer, Pete was standing against the wall, Darryl was sitting at the table eating chips and my dad was talking to Joe.

I sighed in relief as I was finally completely downstairs.

“Jackie…can you make the sandwiches and pour some glasses of pop the fella’s don’t want pizza tonight and they are not drinking up my beers” my dad punched Joe in the arm

I nodded as I walked by them to head for the kitchen. I immediately went to the cabinet reaching on the tips of my toes for the glasses. I was reaching to the far back of the cabinet as I grabbed two with both hands.

“Hello Jackie” the voice was low…and anticipatory …and unfortunately familiar. I turned around immediately dropping both glasses to ground. They shattered into millions of little glistening pieces.

“Jackie…” Mr. Morton began to plead. But my dad interrupted.

“Hey what’s going on?” he questioned as he entered the kitchen his eyes falling to the broken glass on the floor.

“Jackie what the hell…” he began to say but Mr. Morton interrupted.

“No Dave…it was all my fault…she didn’t know I was in the bathroom down here…so when I came out I guess I scared her” he laughed “Isn’t that right Jackie…?” he added. I could feel him looking at me…I couldn’t look at him my eyes were staring at my fathers, wishing that I was able to convey my thoughts to him so he knew what a horrible and disgusting man Mr. Morton was.

I quickly blinked away from my fathers eye contact nodding “Yea…I didn’t expect anyone else to be in here” I said lowly as I squatted down to pick up some of the glass.

“Ok…well be more careful” he sighed turning around and heading for the poker table. “Come on Danny…I am ready to take your money” my father continued.

Mr. Morton laughed “I’ll be in there in a second”

My father was out of the kitchen, it was just Mr. Morton and I. He grabbed a broom and walked it over to me. I didn’t acknowledge him. He sighed and placed the broom on the floor squatting next to me. I quickly hopped up.

“Jackie” he whispered as I walked the pieces of glass to the garbage. He was now standing.

“Are you ok?” he asked me almost inaudible. What did it matter if I were ok or not? He’d gotten what he wanted and now he was here parading it in my face.

Still forfeiting eye contact I walked back to the pile of glass but before I could squat down to pick up the glass he grabbed my arm tightly.

“Don’t ignore me when I am speaking to you” he snapped his voice scary and acidic. His hold on my arm was painful…I knew I would have a bruise there to add to the collection.

Before I could respond or react I heard Cheryl call my name in shock.

“Jackie” her voice questioned. Mr. Morton quickly released me. He glanced at my sister then quickly walked into the living room.

Cheryl walked up to me concern plastered on her face.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing” I said quickly as I continued picking up the individual pieces of glass still on the floor.

“Then why was he talking to you like that? Why did he grab your am like that?” she questioned. My sister was 18 months younger than me but sometimes she felt like the older sister. I so badly wanted to tell her …tell her everything but there was no way my mouth could even form the words.

“I said nothing… just leave it alone” I said angrily. Her facial expression did not seem like someone who intended on giving up that easily.

“Please” I added…my voice almost begging.

She shook her head and I could see that I was hurting her by not telling her…we were so close but this…I couldn’t.

“Fine” she said as she turned around to walk away. She stopped as if she were going to say something but she shook her head and just walked out of the kitchen.

I fought against the tears that wanted to stream down my face…I wouldn’t cry over this.

I wouldn’t allow my self to continue to cry over any of this.

I knelt down and continued to pick up the shattered glass.

Each individual piece
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