Save ourselves- One Direction

Avery

I missed my parents. I missed them terribly. I missed climbing with them. I missed the bike rides and the hikes with them. I missed my mother's laughter and her warm hugs. I missed Dad's smile and the scratching of his beard when he gave me a kiss on the cheek. I missed the way he called me " little monkey". I wonder if they missed me too. The question still on my mind was how Lucy had managed to convince my parents to sign them up for this camp.

It just didn't seem like them. When I messed up, my parents would talk to me. Sometimes my father would get loud, because he was often impulsive. My mother also often scolded me. But I never thought that they would have sent me away without listening to my point of view. Could I have been so wrong about them? Oh, I wished so much that I could at least call them.

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After dinner, I first helped Linda do the dishes. Apparently she wasn't feeling too good that evening since she kept sitting down. So I stood at the sink and washed the dishes. I put Linda on a stool next to it and let her dry the dishes. She kept stroking her belly and stretching her legs.

"Is everything all right?", I asked worried.

"I'm fine. The little one just kicks a lot. Besides, I'm so fat now that I just can't stand that long," she explained.

"I see. How long are you going to be here?"

"Until February next year," Linda replied, stroking her belly again like she was trying to soothe the baby inside.

"But your baby will be born by then, won't it?"

"I know. But don't worry, my sister will take care of it until I get out of here," she then said.

I nodded.

"And what are you going to do after that?"

She shrugged.

"I'll finish my school and get a job. As long as I don't have to stay here anymore."

I nodded and handed her a pot.

"What are you here for anyway?"

" Self-defense, which unfortunately has been construed as assault," she then explained curtly.

I frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

Apparently Linda could see my question, because she now explained in more detail.

"I broke my stepbrother's arm with a hockey stick because he tried to grope me," she said it as if she was chatting about the weather.

I stared at her, bewildered.

"Now don't look at me like that. You wanted to know," she said harshly.

"Your stepbrother touched you?", I asked, stunned.

Linda looked at me in surprise. Apparently she had probably expected me to be rather horrified because she had broken someone's arm.

She shrugged her shoulders before nodding.

"Yes, ever since he moved in with his father, he's had a hard-on for me. At first he would always say silly things when I was around or gawk at me. But then I was alone with him at home and he started groping me. I told him several times to keep his hands off me, but he didn't listen. Then he held me down and I got scared. Then I grabbed the hockey stick and just hit him," she told me without looking at me.

All her attention was on the pot in her hand. I didn't know what to say to that. I had never heard such a story before. Of course, I had heard rape, sexual harassment and such, but never from someone personally.