|A Cross Country Drive
Author: KuromeruMizu PM
Kristen is a sixteen year old girl with an abusive father. when the father decides to start abusing her brother she takes him and runs away from home on a cross country drive where she meets new people & tries to leave her past behind her.a little angstyRated: Fiction T - English - Angst - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,671 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 12-13-07 - Published: 04-05-07 - id: 2344323
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A Cross Country Drive- Chapter 2
I'm a dead girl walking. My heart beats, my blood flows, my eyes blink, and my brain functions but I'm a dead girl walking. Living girls feel. Living girls see color. I do not feel. I am numb. I do not see color. Instead I see a dull world, so I must be dead. I'm a dead girl walking. If you were with me right now you would hear my bitter and sardonic laugh. How can I be dead if I feel pain? How can I be alive if I feel numb? So what am I? I must be a contradiction. Dead and alive at the same time. I am… no…there's no word for what I am.
Here I sit listening to the droning voice of Mrs. Barter in Lit. Class. Aren't I glad it's the last class of the day. But then again, aren't I supposed to be unfeeling?
My school is a prison bent on squeezing the originality out of people like you squeeze orange juice out of oranges. All that's left afterwards is the dead and bitter peels of the orange.
The bell rings.
Class is over now.
Sigh. Why must I go through the same fucking routine over and over again? Life's a bitch and that's all there is to say about it. But then again, I don't care. I'm dead, aren't I?
Questions, questions, questions, how utterly useless they are when there are no answers. Now I'm in my car driving to that hell hole I call home. I'm driving towards my doom and there's nothing I can do about it.
Why does no one care? I ask myself. Why do people sit by and do nothing? Why does no one notice anything? At least I have answers for these questions.
People only believe what they want to believe and they want to believe that I am okay, but I'm not okay. I'm not fine. I'm not even moderately happy. I'm a dead girl walking and I don't see that changing anytime soon.
"Daddy, are we still going to the state fair tomorrow?" Ben asks.
"That depends." My lunatic father replies. "Did you do your homework?" Why does he even bother pretending to care?
"Yes." Ben replies.
"Is your room clean?"
"You failing any classes?" my father asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Well then, we're still up for tomorrow."
"Thanks Dad." Ben says with a huge sloppy grin on his face. Ben is a cute eight year old when you think about it, with his blue eyes, dark brown hair, and freckled face. His whole persona proclaims innocence. He is the exception to my dead state. With him, there is color. With him, I have a purpose. With him the numbness in my heart fades, if only for a second. I never stop being amazed at how such different people, my father and Ben, can get along so well. Why is it that my father can be nice to Ben while he treats me like a speck of dirt on his shoe?
"Kristen!" Father snaps. Why he always has to say my name so harshly, I will never know.
"Yes, Father?" I reply. I've learnt from experience that when talking to him I should do it sweetly and with no trace of disgust or what I actually feel about him in my voice.
"I have no tolerance for people who disobey me you know. I specifically told you not to cook the chicken today." He did not tell me that or else I would not have cooked it, but there is no arguing with him. When he says something he is always right of course.
"Sorry." I reply to his accusation quietly.
"Sorry? Sorry?" He said angrily. "Sorry doesn't quite cover it. You know you are going to have to be punished now right?"
I will always remember this moment as the moment that everything changed, the moment that my life was turned upside down, not that it was the right side up in the first place. I hate my father. I hate the way he's so full of himself. The way he thinks he's above everyone else. What gives him the right to lay his hands on me in that way? What gives him the right to be so artificial? He tries to act so strict and sincere at the same time when in reality he's just an abuser. The scum on my shoe is better than him. I detest him more than anything in this world.
"I don't think she meant to disobey you, Daddy." Ben says on my behalf not knowing what kind of danger those words bring with them. I can see my father getting mad. The vein in his neck starts to pulse. His eyes turn red and he looks like he's about to explode at any second. It is the most frightening experience I have ever had to live through because for once, all this anger is not directed at me but at my brother. It scares me to death what this man might do to him and right now all I can do is watch.
"Ben," I say once I gather my wits about me. "Go clean your room or something so daddy can tell me what my punishment is." I'm too late and I see it. Everything moves in slow motion for a while.
I watch as my father lifts his hand and whacks Ben right in the face. I watch as a bruise appears and blood comes out of his mouth. I watch as tears gather and spill from his eyes. Reality then hits me hard in the face. I yell for Ben to get to his room. I jump up and push him in the direction of his room and he runs. I try to run but my father already had a tight grip on my arm and it was too late. His belt was in his hand in no time.
I was back in the trance I fall into when he beats me. He whips and punches and I feel every blow this time. This time is different from the last times. This time something has changed. This time I won't be staying long afterwards. This time I have a purpose and it's the same purpose I have always had and that is to keep Ben safe. I feel a few more whips on my back but I do not make a sound. That is one thing that will always be the same. I will never give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurts me. I look over to the door and I see Ben standing there crying watching my father beat me to a pulp. My resolve hardens. I know what I have to do now. I know what I have to do. But for the mean time I will wait. Wait until he gets tired from beating me. Wait for him to get drunk. Wait for him to leave. I just have to wait.