Chapter One,

“Do you know why you’re here Miss Stone?” she asked me.

“It’s Chastity,” I said coldly. The idea of counseling wasn’t at all appealing to me. Nor was it to my father. Which is why I wasn’t into it. No one could possibly understand that, in the long run, I’d be the one to pay. “And no I don’t.” I did. But I didn’t feel like making things easy for her.

She nodded, like my being difficult was expected. “How much do you weigh Chastity?” I had to admit to myself, that her voice was nice and soft. She was rather pretty as well with deep brown hair and a smooth, elegant face.

“About a ninety pounds,” I said, stretching the truth by, oh, five or ten pounds. I knew I was unhealthily underweight.

“That, is one of the reasons,” she said gently. Her name was Danielle Morgan. She told me to call her Danielle. I called her Doc.

“What’s the other reason Doc?” I asked sweetly. She smelled sweet actually. Like peppermints and expensive perfume you bought at Macys from like ESpirit or something. The source of the peppermint smell was from the small basket of peppermints setting on her desk. I was eating one at that very moment.

“The other reason,” she began, then paused. I imagined she was thinking through all the ways she could say I looked like I was abused. “The other reason is those bruises on your arm.”

“Right,” I said, glancing at them. They were in the distinct form of several large fingers, as though a hand had gripped my arm hard. A hand had, in fact, done that very thing. But she didn’t know the half of it.

“Can you tell me about them?” she asked, resting her elbows on the desk between us. The desk had my “file” sitting on it, a jar of pens and pencils, a framed picture turned face down, a few post-its, and, of course, the basket of peppermints. The desk itself was very nice, smooth, and shiny and made of a deep red wood.

I sighed. What to tell her? “No,” I said finally, “I can’t.” If I didn’t know what to say, what was the point in me saying anything at all? It wasn’t like I could tell her the truth, and though lying would make things simpler, it would also make things way more complicated in the long run.

“Tell me about your father,” she said, acting as though she were genuinely interested… while she analyzed me for every possible emotion.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I said harshly, and much too quickly.

“What’s his name?”

“John.”

“How old is he?”

“Somewhere around fifty.”

“I see.” She didn’t see shit. “Do you like school?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because its stupid.”

“Why is that?”

“Do you always scrutinize your patients?” I asked curtly.

She smiled, like I was trying to be funny. “It’s my job I’m afraid.”

“You need a new career,” I pointed out.

“Well,” she began, but I cut her off.

“Times up.” I got up, grabbed my pack, and left.

The school was barren as I walked slowly across the front lawn to the street. It felt strangely quiet without the jostling of people brushing past me to get to their friends, without the sounds of cheerleaders practicing their chants or just talking in loud high-pitched, erratic voices, and the bellows of handsome seniors yelling at eachother to pass the football they were playing with. The voices of several “nerds” huddled in a corner discussing their science project or their latest radio controlled camera-car were missing as well.

I’d always wished everyone would just shut up and go away, but now that no student could be seen anywhere I felt alone. Of course, I’d never had any friends that made me not alone when people were about, but I didn’t feel so lost when there were people everywhere. Now, with not a soul in sight, I felt as though the silence would envelope me forever.

Strange, how those who hate you most can make you feel so alone when they’re gone.

I started down the street. It was one of those cold January days that bit through you to your bones. I shivered as I walked. In a way, I wanted to hurry home and get warm, as I hardly had a coat. But in another, home was the last place I wanted to be, who knew what, or who, would be there waiting for me?

A drop of rain landed on the top of my head. I glanced up and noted the dark grey clouds overhead as several more drops of rain landed on my cheeks and nose. Sighing, I walked on, ignoring the steadily rising amount of rain falling upon my shoulders and into my hair. I wondered if I’d catch pneumonia and die, it would be a blessing.

The torn hems of my too short, naturally faded jeans were beginning to become soaked as I sloshed through several puddles. I didn’t care. They had so many holes and rips in them they didn’t keep me warm anyway. The water was icy against my ankles though, soaking my socks and causing my feet to ache with cold. My shoes were no help with insulation, they were so warn on the bottom that each step felt like the earth was slapping back at me.

I stared ahead of me at my bleak future. I told myself that in a few seconds I would be walking right up there, stepping over that puddle and through another. It helped me not think. In reality, I had no future except whatever was just a few feet in front of me. That was all I knew of it.

Some thought I should be with the “goth” and/or “punk” crowd. I was accepted into neither. Maybe I was just as suicidal as they were, but I didn’t dress the same. In my opinion though, only angry rich kids could afford to completely redo their wardrobe with black, red, and chains. I was lucky if I could find thread and needle to sew up the holes in the coat I’d had since I was eight.

Anyway, I wasn’t looking for attention. All I wanted was to be invisible.

In the distance I could see my house. My heart sunk when I saw the car in the driveway. I wasn’t returning to an empty house as I’d hoped. It was my father’s car. He didn’t know yet that I was actually going to a counselor. Of course, when my school had brought it up to him he’d freaked, but he didn’t know yet that I’d actually begun what he insisted I didn’t need. Not that it was a matter of what I needed. It was a matter of what might put him in jail.

I reached the door and opened it gently. It creaked loudly. If I had any money, I’d spend it all on oil just to fix that door.

I hadn’t even heard his voice before I knew. It’s sad when you realize exactly what the next hour or so of your life holds and you can do nothing to change it. The only thing I didn’t know was exactly how bad. I knew it would be bad.

“Where the fuck have you been?” a cold voice asked as I walked into the kitchen. If there was any room I’d prefer to be in with him, it was the kitchen. I don’t know if it was the drawer with two carving knives in it that comforted me, or the fact that the floor was linoleum and hard, and there was no soft furniture within eight feet. Still, this was the only room I didn’t feel one hundred percent terrified in.

“School,” I answered, my voice wavering. No matter what, he scared the hell out of me.

“It’s five.” His voice was icier than the air outside and slurred. I figured he’d been fired again and had come home to get drunk and fix up and who knows what else. Obviously he’d wanted me home hours ago, for reasons I didn’t let myself think.

“I had that counseling thing,” I said, watching him as he sat at our small table, drinking and smoking. He looked angry.

“What fucking counseling thing. I said you couldn’t go.”

“They made me.”

“They can’t make you,” he yelled, getting up from his chair and pointing a dark greasy finger at me, “you just wanted to go. I told you you couldn’t, you bitch.”

“No, I didn’t want to,” I said quickly, backing away from him.

“I warned you. You breathe a fucking word and you’ll never see daylight again.” He stepped towards me and I backed into the wall. I could feel his hot breath, smelling of alcohol and marijuana, burning at my face as he grew even closer. “I wouldn’t want to have to get rid of you,” he said, his voice suddenly quieter and softer, but this new tone scared me far worse than his yells.

His fingers sought my arm and slid up it.

—Go. Gone. Away… I was walking along the beach, the cool sea air blowing through my hair. Sea Gulls squawked in the distance... no..stay...—

I held perfectly still, every inch of my body longing to run as fast as I could out the door and never come back. “Take of your jacket,” he said in that same low voice. I made no move to. Grasping the neck of my coat he jerked me to the side and growled, “I said take of your jacket.” He ripped it off of me and ran both hands up my arms and I was gone.

—The sand felt warm as it seeped between my toes. I wiggled them and smiled. When I looked up I noticed a little boy, about seven years old, sitting on an upside-down bucket, a fishing pole in his hands.

He looked up at me and waved. I laughed and waved back then broke into a run, the salty sea water lapping at my ankles. The sun beat down upon me but I didn’t care, it felt wonderful and warming. Out on the horizon dolphins lounged out of the water, playing a game of who can jump the highest. I stopped and walked further into the water and watched them.

Closer to me I noticed the head of a seal looking at me. I smiled at him and he dove under the surface. When he emerged again, several feet away, he had in his mouth a fish. I gazed past him and let myself be mesmerized by the glittering of sunlight on the clam ocean water. I looked up at the sky and at the white fluffy clouds moving about ever so slowly in their imaginary shapes of bunnies and faces. I stared at those clouds for a long time, seeing the shape in each. Some were hippos and others merely triangles. I even thought I saw one that looked like a puppy, complete with long tail, four paws, and floppy ears.

“I love this place,” I said out loud and spread my arms and turned around in circles until I was so dizzy I fell to the sand. I lay flat out and watched and felt as the world shifted around me, or at least seemed to. After a few seconds it stopped and I rolled in the sand. It was warm, comforting me. As if it were my mother, holding me close.

The sun beat down on me, warming me, and a cool ocean breeze kept me from being too hot. It was perfect. Too perfect.—

His snoring punctured the now silent house. I quickly scrambled away from his limp body which lay beside me, just barely not touching me. Leaning against a cabinet, I swallowed nervously and focused on getting my legs to work again. It was always somewhat freaky when I came out of…that place. Especially when I came out to find my father’s naked body lying near me.

I remember how, in all those books I read, the heroine’s legs always turned to jello when the hero even looked her way. How she’d turn to mush the moment his hands touched her and how her body would erupt with emotions.

Well, all those things happened when my dad touched me. When he looked at me I’d feel my body becoming weaker and smaller. When he’d touch me I felt like he was burning my skin away and all I wanted was to melt away and never return. And that’s what I did. I only wish I really could never return.

I’d tried to kill myself before. “Give me life or give me death” is what I’d told myself. How anyone could possibly call my life living… it’s so far from that. Death was a welcome blessing. But it never came, though I tried to force it. My wrists had several scars on them, one on each that were fresher than the rest.

Some people pray for immortality and superhuman immunities. And sometimes I wondered if I have those. It’s funny how when you don’t want something, you get it. Like my breasts. They’re huge and all I wanted was to be flat.

I pulled myself up from the floor, steadied myself, then went to my room and redressed. My body felt weak and wasted. I also began to wonder why people just ignored us. Our walls were far from soundproof. How could they not hear it? And worse: why did they do nothing?

No, on the contrary, they shun their children from me and whisper as I walk by. Sadly, flipping off their lights and pulling their curtains shut wasn’t going to make it not be true or make it go away. Then they proceeded to give me detention when I couldn’t get my homework done. Who would have thought people could be in such denial. And who would have thought that their denial might one day cost me my life if I could manage it.

I found my way to the front door and went outside. Things were so different when you really looked at something. Ants busied themselves walking in their little lines, like tiny freeways. Meanwhile, small children bounce a basketball against their garage door, laughing. In the sky overhead a raven flew by, carrying in its beak a dead snake. “That’s bad luck,” a girl a year or two younger than me told her grandmother as they sat on their porch.

I just stood there and watched as the world went on without me. I wondered if I had grandparents somewhere who would let me sit on their knee and explain why crows were bad luck. Maybe I had a cousin who I could play basketball with, or maybe an aunt who could take me shopping and buy me clothes that actually fit. How different would things be if I could actually remember when it was that I’d lost my virginity. How different would things be if I were never born?

Stepping out onto the street I glanced up as that kind grandmother suddenly hushed her granddaughter and lead her inside. That basketball suddenly bumped into my shins and I picked it up. The two little kids stared at me with wide, fearful eyes. I glanced down again and saw that I was standing in the pathway of those ants. Traffic was building up as they realized they could go no further.

I picked up my foot and stepped towards the kids, every inch of my body aching. I’d only just managed to hand the little boy his ball back when their mother came outside to check on them. She was a pretty woman but her face turned cross when she saw me.

I grimassed and stepped back, away from her children, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. She watched me disapprovingly for a moment then ushered her daughter and son inside. All I could do was watch after them, wishing I could join them; wishing I could be in that family for just one day. Who knows what I was missing out on.

Starting down the street, I noticed similar reactions from parents and their children. The rain had stopped and kids were playing in the puddles, wearing their brand new pink and red boots. I didn’t know where I was going, all I knew was that I hated it here and that I hurt.

I knew that my back was bruising all along my spine from being slammed against the hard floor and being held there as I struggled, or maybe I didn’t struggle at all. I really didn’t know anymore, and I didn’t care to think about it. My side hurt too from where he’d apparently kicked me.

After about twenty minutes of walking I found myself entering a building where I knew I could get drugs. I hardly realized what I was doing. It was the only escape I knew of and I was taking it once more. I didn’t care if that white powder killed all my brain cells or if it could even kill me; it was what I wanted after all.

I didn’t remember how I got home or what time it was when I got there. Nor did I remember what exactly happened inside that building after snorting that cocaine. What I did know was that I felt like crap when I woke up the next morning and that I smelled like men’s colone.

I also knew I hurt. As I’d suspected the night before my back was now so bruised it hurt to move an inch on my bed. I even wondered if he’d broken my ribs when he kicked me because that hurt so badly to the touch as well. I had a terrible headache as well, brought on probably from the drugs.

How I managed to drag myself out of bed is beyond me. Maybe it was fear that drove me to get to my feet. I didn’t have the heart to take a shower so I painfully—even my scalp hurt to the touch—tied my hair back.

When I went downstairs I found my father sprawled out on the couch, completely unconscious. Setting on our $9.99 coffee table laid several empty beer bottles and a few half empty ones. Also on the table were four rolled hits. I picked one up, lit it, and took a few puffs on it. I took the others too, he wouldn’t notice, from the looks of it he would remember anymore of last night than I did.

As I walked to school, every step jarring my bruised body, I smoked the rolled marijuana. It helped some. I didn’t care if anyone noticed either. It wasn’t like cops frequented my street and even if one happened to drive by I didn’t care. What was the worst that could happen? They’d throw me in jail? What a blessing. Anywhere away from my dad would be great.

But no cops drove by. No one drove by. And no one cared.