After careful consideration from a reviewer I realized my error in forgetting to remind you all that the first memory is based off a Criminal Minds episode, while a few parts of others are as well. When I watched that episode an idea shot through my head and in my haste to get it out I forgot to give credit where credit is due and I thank that reviewer that pointed this out to me.
"This is all your fault!" she screamed, her green eyes filled with rage, black rivers of mascara dripped down her face. She stalked towards me, a white summer dress hanging from her small shoulders, her hand splayed protectively over her pregnant belly.
I gripped the chain attached to the metal collar around my neck tightly, the skin on my neck burned from the chaffing; blood oozed down my neck. I flinched, my body ached, my throat was parched, my hair matted with dried blood.
"No, no! I didn't do anything!" I yelled, pressing my back deeper into the cement wall.
"NO!" I screamed jolting awake, hand flying to my throat.
"Kasey!" my mother ran into my room, pink fluffy house robe flying behind her, hair in a messy bun.
"Honey are you okay." Her hands found mine; I pulled them away, not missing the flinch when I did. Guilt pressed into me, but I pushed it away with a blank face.
"Sorry mum" I mumbled, gripping my comforter tightly in my fist, "just a dream."
"o-okay" my mum stuttered slightly, she looked down at her hands, seeming unsure of what to do; there was nothing she could do.
"I have to get ready for school." I pressed on, trying to get her out of the room so I could shake away the fear that had gripped be only moments earlier.
"Sure honey, I'll make you a lunch." She forced a smile on her face and flitted out of the room I didn't have the heart to tell her I never ate lunch.
Sighing, I climbed stiffly out of bed, absentmindedly ringing my hands, a habit I had picked up. I dressed in a loose pair of jeans, a black shirt, and zip up hoodie; a nondescript, under the radar ensemble.
I grabbed my bag and my shoes and slipped down the hallway, pausing outside of the kitchen door.
"She doesn't even let me touch her Harold, her own mother." My mother's voice was filled with pain, I clenched my jaw.
"It's only been a year honey; you have no idea what it was like." My dad cut in, most likely reading his daily newspaper, sipping a cup of strong brewed coffee, acting like he knew what he was talking about.
"I'm her mother. Her mother, she shouldn't be afraid of me," anger refilled the pain fueling my frustration.
I tensed, pushed open the door, grabbed the lunch off the counter, and left.
"Love you honey" my mother called after me, it didn't warrant a reply, she was fake.
The walk to school was uneventful, my hood was pulled up over my face, blocking out the crisp autumn breeze. The trees just began to lose their brightly colored leaves, a blanket of red, gold, and orange covered the ground. My worn sneakers crunching across the cracked concrete sidewalk, my hands shoved in my pockets.
It was a year ago, a year ago that I escaped with my life. A year ago that my life changed, a year ago that I did a little inside. I felt as if someone was watching me, my eyes flitted nervously from side to side; shivering I hunched my shoulders starting to walk faster to school.
The looming building of rusted brickwork towered into the fall sky, wrought iron gates were propped open as hordes of students ambled towards its peeling painted doors. I waited patiently, leaning against an old oak tree. The last group of students pushed through the doors and I made my way to the doors.
Two figures caught my eye; a tall broad shouldered guy leaned against the school. I couldn't see him well from this distant but the glowing ember of cigarette sharply contrasted the shadows that surrounded him and his companion. I opened the door to the school and went in, giving the school skipping degenerates no more thought that the gum I just avoiding stepping in.
This school was not fit to be an educational building in my eyes. Loose, crumpled papers littered the ground along with ripped folders and empty bottles. I shuffled my way through the crowded narrow hallways, hood up, shoulders hunched, fists clenched. No one noticed me; I melted into the background, an inkblot on the portrait of the school. I weaved my way through chattering gossip mongers, their jeweled cell phones glued to their hands, their skirts borderline indecent; passed Jersey Shore wannabee's their pants sagging below the butts, obnoxiously large diamond earrings glinting in their ears; and passed the honors students, their thick framed glasses high on their noses, their jeans ironed, and their hair perfectly tailored.
I slipped unnoticed to my locker, spun the dial, and gather my books I would need for my first class, World History; otherwise known as naptime for the students. The warning bell rang and the crowds began to disperse, I shut my locker and made my way to the History room. Claiming my seat in the back corner, I lounged back. It was the spot I had chosen after my last years…vacation.
Breck, a tall, muscled linebacker sat in front of my, his large muscled shoulders hunched in concentration; but obstructed Mr. Witherbee's view from me. Mr. Witherbee was a short rolli-pollie man with no neck and an unattractive toupee. A thick mustache decorating his upper lip made him look as if he had a hairy caterpillar growing under his nose. He held a white handkerchief in his hand, which he frequently used to mop the sweat from his overly large forehead.
I absent mindedly doodled nondescript shapes on my notebook while he prattled on about Julius Cesar. My head began to nod forward, my vision darkened, and I slipped into unwanted sleep.
"Please just let me go. Before he comes back. Please." I begged, my throat was raw, I refused to cry.
Her back tensed, her hand gripped the doorframe, "he's not coming back." She muttered darkly.
I froze, sick relief poured through me, I hesitated, "what he's not? What happened? Let me go. Please." She stalked towards me.
Grabbing my chain she yanked, sending me toppling to the floor, I groaned, my body radiated in pain. she stepped on the collar with her foot, it pressed against my wind pipe. "Stop please" I gasped, trying to suck in air.
"You're not getting out of this room alive." She sneered, tears threatened to fall.
"Please, please, please." I repeated over and over again.
I jolted awake in class, eyes were focused on me, snickers filled the classroom, "Miss. Grant, if you wish to fall asleep in my class, you can do so in detention." I stared at him blankly, still fighting off the tense dream.
I looked back down at my paper; a screaming face stared back up at me, two bottomless black holes I had scratched for eyes, an open black mouth. I closed my notebook and stared out the window, a burning sensation made the hair on my neck stand up. I swiveled my head towards where it was coming from and stormy grey eyes pierced back at me. I quickly looked away, forming a curtain with my hair.
School droned on before the bell shrilly rang; I gathered up all my books and shoved them into my bag. Slinging it over my shoulder, I left class swiftly behind the rest; school was done for the day that filled me with relief. Dark clouds rolled in from the east, a cool breeze picked up and played with loose strands of hair around my face.
I slipped down the back pathway leading away from the parking lot filled with sports cars, pick-up trucks, and old beater cars. My parents wouldn't be leaving the house for their evening shifts for another hour, so I decided to kill time.
I strode down the empty sidewalks of the town, passing windows filled with pastry cakes, shiny shoes, and piles of books. Hal's Diner came into view and I pushed through the glass door, the bell chimed over head, echoing throughout the almost empty diner. An older man sat in a window booth, hunched over a cup of steaming coffee and a folded newspaper. I threw my bag into the empty side and slid in.
The older man looked up in alarm and then smiled, the soft wrinkles around his navy eyes crinkling. "Hey Kase. How was school?"
I shrugged and ran a hand through my wind-tangled hair, a plate of house-seasoned fries slid in front of me. I smiled up at the waitress, "thanks bonnie."
"No problem Hun, you're looking skinnier every day. Want anything to drink?" I munched quietly on a fry.
"Just ice water please thanks you." She ruffled my hair, shoved a pen in the front of her apron, and went to fill up a glass with water.
"How are you George? How's Lisabeth?" I dumped some salt onto the fries and began to pick at them.
George was a detective, the one that helped me through tough times last year. He looked ironically like George Clooney, though he denied it ferverently His dark hair was graying at the temples, his navy eyes dark, skin tanned.
"Lisabeth is good; Bobby is in his terrible two's. I swear that little boy is hell bent on making her life miserable." He grinned cheekily.
A glass of ice water slid in front of me, ice tinkling against the side, I smiled up at Bonnie. "Thanks" I took a big gulp.
George stared at me intently, "you look tired Kase, have you been sleeping?" I swallowed, toying with the fries on my plate, frowning.
"I've been having those nightmares," I mumbled, wiping the salt from my fingers on a grease spotted napkin lying on the table.
He frowned, his lips thinning, brow furrowed. "The dates' coming up again isn't it?"
I nodded mutely, having lost my appetite; I now pushed my fries around on the plate.
"I'm going to go see Sam tomorrow, it's his birthday. I got him a Tonka Truck." I leaned back in the booth, hands in my lap.
George took a big gulp of coffee, grimaced, and pushed the mug away, "you're a good girl Kase." He said leaning on his elbows, folding his hands together.
I shrugged, "it wasn't the kids fault his father was a psychotic serial killer and his mother was submissive bitch." I grumbled.
George's eyebrows raised at my hot outburst rather than at the use of curse words, with a deep chuckle he dug into his pocket and slapped some crumpled bills on the table.
"well Kase I've got to get home before Beth starts calling my phone every minute." He stood and ruffled my hair, I slapped his hand away.
"Get outta here old man." He just shook his head and strode out of the diner, I quickly followed suit waving goodbye to Bonnie.
The streets were silent once again; the afternoon rush had dwindled down to a few scarce people coming home from work. Their jackets closed around them, mitten hands shoved deep in pockets. I hoisted my bag higher on my shoulder and started the walk home. I took shortcuts through well lit alleyways, tossing some folded bills to a homeless man asleep under some ripped newspaper. An old woman with scraggly grey hair, a patchy coat, and a shopping cart ambled by my slowly. Her coat riddled with unpatched holes, savage tears, and stained with dark spots.
Without a second thought, I pulled off my beloved brown winter jacket, the cold autumn air biting at my bare skin, goosebumps erupting along them. I hesitantly jogged back to the woman, my bag bouncing against my back and handed it to her.
"Here you go ma'am. I don't need it anymore." It was a lie, a small one that wouldn't let her lose her dignity and independence.
Her tired eyes lit up in joy and she gave me a toothless smile, "thank you, your such a darling child."
I smiled softly and helped her put on the jacket, suddenly wishing for its warmth. "There's a soup kitchen down on Harper's Avenue and there's a shelter over on Dogwood if you need them" I told her, hoping she would find a way out of the dangerous cold of the night.
After I had made a ways away from her, I wrapped my arms around my middle, attempting to conserve some warmth. I had never been this do-gooder person, but life was about a lot more than material things now that I knew what it was like to almost lose it.
I spotted a figure in front of my house when I was about a block away, I cautiously approached. Stopping at the edge of sidewalk, I eyed the man. He was sprawled on the front steps, leaning back on an elbow.
His dark hair strewn with dyed white was pulled back into a pony, a few strands loose framing a face that appeared to be carved out of concrete. A nondescript plain grey shirt fit his muscular form and was tucked into his jeans; unlaced boots were crossed at the ankle. A toothpick was rolling between his teeth. He would have looked like any other average Joe if it hadn't been for the uncountable number of tattoos that decorated his body. It was like artwork scattered over a canvas of skin. My eyes were drawn to the roman numeral of thirteen on the right side of his neck, thirteen was my lucky number. Everything about him screamed dangerous.
I looked into his flat dark unemotionless eyes, "who are you?" my voice didn't waver as much as I thought it would I was tense, ready to sprint if needed.
"Your mother needs you at work; I'm here to get you." His voice was as flat as his eyes, bored; a thick Russian accent coated his words adding to his dangerous appearance.
I eyed him speculatively once more, "you work for my mom?" disbelief picked at my common sense and polite manners. My mother was an award-winning physicist, it was hard to believe that this tattooed Russian mafia look-alike worked for her, my mother despised tattoos.
"I don't work for her. I'm her boss." His tone belied the glittering anger swimming in his dark eyes. I almost choked on the piece of gum I was chewing absentmindedly; I began to wring my hands nervously.
"Oh okay," why was her boss coming to get me, why not some other worker.
He pushed himself gracefully off the stairs; I twitched as he strode over to me. A tower of slabs of granite muscle encased in a threatening art canvas. He reached for me; I froze and backed away quickly.
His eyes narrowed, "I'm just going to carry your bag," he growled.
I gripped the strap tighter, "I can carry it." I continued to edge away from him, his face darkened. I shivered from the cold seeping into my numb skin, he pulled the toothpick from his mouth and snapped it between his fingers and I jumped slightly.
"Get in the car, your mother is waiting, and I have more important things to do than wait for an uptight child." His Russian accent was thick, making his words seem even more dangerous than the dark look of anger he was giving me.
He threw the pieces of the toothpick to the ground and climbed into a black 2010 Chevy Camaro. It gave away the fact that he had a large sum of money. My better judgment screamed at me to run in the house and lock the doors, but some part of me knew he would just break down the door and forcefully throw me in the car.
I climbed into the passenger seat, the smell of leather and clean lined assaulted my nose. I clutched my backpack to me, the rough texture painful to my numb skin. I stared out the window; a sudden rush of heat poured over my skin and unconsciously leaned towards the heat flushing from the vents my fingers tingling.
"Idiot girl" I heard him mutter under his breath, I clenched my fists and pulled my hands back, watching as he sped down the road at an illegal speed.