Beating

Beating

Arabella

SCHOOL WAS ABSOLUTE hell today. My cousin is determined to make my life more miserable than it already is and there's nothing I can do to stop her. She wouldn't give a shit about the way I live my life or how I'm the only one making sure my little brother is taken care of. Collette wouldn't care that I'm beaten on a regular basis and I'm in desperate need of help. Of some way out of my situation so I can take Vinnie away from the living nightmare we call life. Our life. I don't want him to grow up around our mother and the revolving door of men she brings in our house. It's not even a damn home because there's no love inside the walls keeping us as safe from the elements as well as it does considering all the holes, cracks, and spots air rushes inside.

Karmen is also on a warpath for some reason. Her attacks are becoming more brutal each day and I don't know why. I could understand if I were still friends with the guys, but they don't even look in my direction. Hell, I barely see them around campus because it's so large and they are older than me. Still, she goes out of her way to taunt me, spread lies, and has even gotten at least one professor to turn on me. Nothing I do is good enough in class and even when I'm right, I'm wrong in his eyes. Needless to say, I'm fucking miserable and ready to drop out. The only thing keeping me going is the knowledge that it's the only way to ensure a better future for Vinnie. A way for me to get away from this hellhole and out of High Point for good.

My ultimate goal is making sure Vinnie doesn't have to remember the hell our mother put us through. That he never feels an ounce of pain like I do daily. It comes at me from every damn side and I don't know how to make it go away. To stop everyone from making me feel as if I'm lower than pond scum and can come up with a way to make everyone leave me alone. I'm sure if I really looked into things, I'd be able to make Karmen and Collette back off along with their little followers. I simply don't have the time or energy to figure out what I can use against them.

I've walked all the way home in the freezing cold with a coat so thin it does nothing to stop the arctic wind from running right through me. For some reason this year, the weather has an unexplainable chill in the air. One so cold I feel as if I'll never again be warm. It would be nice to have a car of my own, but I still don't even have my license. I've only got a non-driver identification used to cash my checks from work. Eventually, I'd like to learn how to drive, but there's no one to even teach me.

There are only two bright spots in my day. Time spent with Vinnie and Brock. My brother is my entire reason for getting up every day and getting through no matter how bad it gets. The second I see Vinnie, I know what I'm doing is right. It's going to ensure he grows up in peace and doesn't know the exhaustion of living with our mother and her daily dramas. Brock is becoming a steady rock in my life. If he's around, I don't have to worry about the bullies coming for me because he puts an immediate stop to it. Plus, he makes me laugh and forget about my problems for a while on a daily basis. When I'm with him, I know I'm safe and will have a great time. If he's around, I know I can push all of my pain to the back of my mind and forget about it for a short period of time. Brock has no clue what kind of gift he gives me every day I see him.

This is what I think about as I walk through the frigid afternoon on my way to get Vinnie from Mrs. Andrews' house. It's my day off and I plan on spending the rest of the day doing homework and making sure I don't overlap on tutoring with Brock and Danny. That's the last thing I want to happen. As long as I make sure I have a set schedule with each of them, I can also ensure my work schedule doesn't interfere with the time I need to be at school to work with them. It's important to me that I never let either guy feel as if I'm pushing them to the side or not taking our tutoring sessions seriously. They want my help and I'm going to be there for them as much as they need me. It's how I do everything—always give myself to those in need because it's my way of ensuring I'm not going to turn into my mother.

Stepping up on the porch of Mrs. Andrews' house, I hear a loud crash from my own house next door. Mrs. Andrews opens her front door as I turn to face the place my mother moved us to. More sounds of a struggle follow and I know the man who's been staying there for the last few days is beating the shit out of my mother for some reason. A large part of me wants to ignore the haunting sounds of her screams breaking from the crude structure we live in while another part of me needs to rush over there to help her. To make sure this man doesn't kill her because he's pissed off for some reason. None of them ever really have a reason for flipping that switch that turns them into monsters—it's simply who they are.

"Arabella, don't you do anything you shouldn't do," Mrs. Andrews cautions me, her voice telling me she knows what's going through my head already.

"I have to," I state, leaving her porch and making my way across the yard between our houses.

My heart beats frantically in my chest as I make my way carefully between our houses. The distance isn't far, but it feels as though miles stand between my mother and me. While she might not be a good mother, it doesn't mean I have to leave her on her own to be hurt, or worse, by some asshole who doesn't like something. Or got his panties in a twist because she ran out of alcohol or drugs. That's usually the reason they beat the fuck out of her after all. I will always step up when she needs me no matter how horrible she treats me because I'd want someone to do the same for me. No one ever does, but it's still something I dream about.

I carefully step up to the front door and take a deep breath as my heart beat races even more and I take a deep breath in an attempt to get it somewhat under control. It doesn't help, it never does. But, it doesn't stop me from doing it all the same. Making my way inside the house, I find it completely destroyed. Everything has been ruined and there's no salvaging anything in the living room, kitchen, and down the hallway. Not that there was ever a lot of furniture or belongings in this house, but what we had is now gone.

My mother is laying in a crumpled heap on the floor in the middle of the living room. She's curled in a fetal position with her hands over her head. I can already see the bruises forming on her almost gray skin and the visible cuts bleeding on her exposed skin. My mother is naked as the guy who's been here for a few days kneels down next to her body. I can't honestly tell if she's still breathing at this point or not. What I do notice is the knife in his hand as the small amount of sunlight coming in through the door I left open glinting off the blade. It's one of the steak knives from our kitchen. He has it raised above his head in preparation of bringing it down somewhere on my mother's body. That's not gonna happen while I'm here!

Racing up behind him, I kick the knife out of his hand. The man, I never bother to learn their names, turns his face to glare at me over his shoulder. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under without hesitation.

"You little bitch!" he yells out, his voice high and nasally instead of the deep growl I was expecting. "You're gonna pay for that!"

I know his words are a promise as his attention turns from my mother to me. In the blink of an eye, the asshole has one hand wrapped around my throat while he punches me with the other one. Like my mother, he's naked and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what they were doing before this fight broke out. I bring my hands up to try and fight back while protecting myself at the same time. For an addict, this twatwaffle is surprisingly fast in his movements with no hesitation on his part at inflicting the most damage he can in a short amount of time.

I'm unable to suck in a full breath as his hand squeezes tighter and tighter around my throat, closing off my airway. Black spots start filling my vision as the douche canoe slams me into the wall at my back. Glass and something else cuts into my skin through my clothing as a pitiful scream erupts from the pain filling my body. He finally lets go of my throat to grab a fistful of my hair. Slamming my head off the wall repeatedly, I know I'm going to have a concussion. It won't be the first time I have one.

The fucker starts kicking out at my legs, hitting me in the exact spots necessary to give me Charlie horses. I can't hold my own body weight up as I collapse, ripping strands of hair from my head as they remain in his fist. I don't have a chance to curl my body up in a protective pose as he follows me down to the floor.

"Since your whore of a mother doesn't want to give me what I want, I'll take it from you," he states, drool sliding down his chin as he lets his gaze roam over my body.

This gets me fighting back against him. I give everything I have to keep him from getting my clothes off my body. I'm landing punches, scratching at his face, and making sure my legs are firmly closed as he straddles my body. My eyes don't leave him for a second as he swats my attack away and rips the shirt I'm wearing right down the middle. The tearing of the thin fabric seems to echo off the now bare walls. This man doesn't give a shit what he has to do in order to get what he wants. He's going to rape and beat me. There's not a doubt in my mind that's where this is leading as I continue to struggle.

Every part of my body hurts as I spot an old art project I did in elementary school. It's one of the few things my mother didn't throw out or get rid of for some reason. I have a feeling she's been using it to store her drugs in, but I don't give a shit about that right now. This art project is one of those clay things you were supposed to make to resemble a bowl or something along those lines. I used way too much clay so it's thick and heavy. I stop my attack on the man and reach out for the piece. It's just out of my reach as I try to move slightly in that direction to grab it before he realizes what I'm doing. I know it's not going to knock him out or anything, but it will stop his assault long enough for me to hopefully get away.

Just as I go to reach it, the man lands a solid punch to my ribs. I scream out as I feel one of them crack. This man just broke at least one of my ribs, but I can't let him get my clothes off. He's already pawing at my chest, making my skin crawl as he attempts to rip my bra from my body. Fear fills me as I try to shut it down because I can't afford to black out from my fear and anxiety right now. If I do, there's no stopping this asshat from getting what he wants.

I finally manage to get my fingers around the bowl thing enough to pull it toward me. Raising my hand despite the pain filling me, I manage to slam it against the asshole's head.

"Fuck!" he roars out, his voice coming out as a screech.

Grabbing his head, the man falls to the side and writhes around on the floor. Like I said, it's not heavy enough to knock him out, but it did get him off me. Pushing the pain away, I get off the floor and stumble through the trashed living room. My mother doesn't even bother looking at me as she remains locked in her own misery. She didn't once try to help me or get the man off me. The woman who gave birth to me would have literally laid there and let him rape me so he left her alone. That's what I get for trying to protect her.

Tears roll down my face as I try to get out of the house as quickly as possible. Pain fills me more and more every second I'm on my feet. It's unbearable as I get through the door of the house and on the small porch. The cold wind burns the cuts on my body where my shirt flutters open in the breeze. There are people outside, and I couldn't care less about them seeing me in a compromising position. None of them fucking helped me when they undoubtedly heard my pathetic screams. They choose to remain in their own little world and not give a shit about their neighbors or anyone else.

I'm barely able to stumble back over to Mrs. Andrews' house as she stands in the open door. Tears roll down her wrinkled, weathered face as she takes in my beaten body. I did this to myself by going over there to help my mother. She doesn't need to cry for me. No one does. Not that anyone but her gives a shit about what I live through daily.

"Oh child!" she cries out when I stumble and fall to the cement steps leading up to her porch.

My chin bashes off the cracked wood and I immediately feel the skin rip apart as blood coats my skin in another place. Mrs. Andrews rushes out the door to help me up the steps and inside her house before she shuts the door firmly behind her. My eyes are barely open as she leads me through the small, clean living room toward the bathroom.

"I'm gonna get you cleaned up, Arabella. Make sure you don't need to go to the hospital," she informs me, her voice wavering with emotion.

Mrs. Andrews sits me down on the toilet in her small bathroom. My eyes remain closed as she moves around the small room. I can't focus on anything she's doing as the pain I've been pushing to the back of my mind takes over. There's no way I can focus on anything else with my body in as bad shape as it is. That asshole did more to me in a matter of seconds than my mother has ever done. He must be in some sort of rage to have as much power behind his hits as he did.

I remain sitting on the toilet as Mrs. Andrews cleans the blood from my body, checks out every single cut on me, and helps me remove my coat and shirt. There's no way for me to stop the screams from erupting when I have to move enough to pull on my ribs. My breathing is coming out in harsh pants and I know it's only a matter of time before I pass out from the unbearable pain. Pain I inflicted on myself in a way since I ran over here with no thought to my own safety.

"I'm gonna get you in a different shirt, Arabella. Then, you're going to bed. I don't wanna hear any arguments about it either. Neither one of you are gonna go to that house tonight. Not when he's still there," Mrs. Andrews states, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Mrs. Andrews takes care of me. She makes sure the shirt I put on with her help doesn't press against any of the cuts she's just bandaged up. Hell, she even wrapped my ribs so I'm not randomly moving all over the place with no form of protection for them. Once I'm dressed and as cleaned up as she can get me, Mrs. Andrews helps me off the toilet and leads me to the second bedroom she has in her home. There's boxes lining the walls, a crib against one wall, and a small bed. It's not the first time Vinnie and I have stayed over here because of my mother and I'm sure it won't be the last.

"You rest, sweet child. I'm gonna get you something to eat in a little while and don't you worry about Vinnie. You get some sleep now," she says in a warm, caring voice as she covers me up with the blankets covering the small bed.

It doesn't take long for me to fall into a restless sleep. The pain doesn't let me sleep too deep because every single time I move the slightest fraction, it infiltrates my sleep and wakes me up. Something else I'm used to happening after a beating. For the first time since Vinnie was born, I don't worry about him. I know Mrs. Andrews will take care of him so I don't have to do anything other than rest. Guilt fills me because Vinnie is my responsibility and I should be taking care of him no matter how bad I'm feeling or whatever else is going on.