Rain Season in The Holy City

The beginning of the beginning of the end

TW: abuse

Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Or at least the beginning of the end, but the beginning of the beginning that became the end of what once again became the beginning of something much better. (That's confusing, I know, just stick with me for it)

It was February of the previous winter. My father and I had taken in a boy named Dylan, of whom I had dated in high school (disclaimer: we were not dating while he was living with us, reasons to be explained). The evening was very cold, my feet hurt from a long shift at my job as a waitress at a very busy pizza joint, I had just gotten home from work, dreading coming home to yet another argument with Dylan, who had been sitting at home all day playing video games and not paying rent for living with us for what was going on for 7 months now. Him and I had reconnected the summer before and when we did, his parents kicked him out and he had nowhere to go but with me, and being the warm and caring people my dad and I are, we allowed it and gave him refuge until he could get back on his feet again, although that had yet to happen.

I should have known at the point of going back and forth with him for three years, full of verbal and mental abuse, that it would not be a good idea for him to move in with us, but I could not break the trauma bond at the time.

I walked in the door to loud music playing from the TV, Dylan sitting as close to the screen as he possibly could, not even aware that I had come in, and my dad nowhere to be found, but of course could you blame him for not wanting to be there? He was probably out with a friend or something, not wanting to be around Dylan after dealing with this bullshit for so long but not knowing what to do.

I dropped the bag of food I had gotten for Dylan and I on the counter.

"Hey Dylan, I got you your favorite: A chicken Hibachi plate from Tokyo Grill"

No response.

"DYLAN. Can you get off the stupid game and come eat please"

"Clara, you know how much this game means to me, you can't just barge in here and call it st-"

"Well, if it is so important to you, why don't you try to make some money from it then?"

He stood up from the chair he had propped in the middle of the living room and stormed over to where I was standing in the kitchen, grabbing my arm with a death grip, towering over me with anger washing over his eyes. You know when people say they can see someone's eyes go dark? Yeah it's one of the most horrifying things to see.

I started to tear up at the pain that was coming from his fingernails digging into the skin of my upper arm

"Dylan, you're hurting m-"

"You CANNOT just come in here and start throwing a bitch fit, CLARA. You are not living in a movie and I am not going to be the good guy this time"

With fear in my voice, I tried to defend myself, " What is your PROBLEM?"

Dylan stepped back, not used to my then timid voice being raised at him, muchless me standing up to him.

"My problem? My problem is that you can never let me LIVE IN PEACE. You are always trying to bitch at me for doing things I enjoy. You're always trying to do things for me without asking first, like getting food ASSUMING I'm going to want to eat, but it is not going to magically make me fall in love with you again!"

He slapped me across the face, so hard I didn't even realize I had fallen to the floor until I was already there.

Tears brimmed my eyes, my valiant efforts of trying to be a stronger person than I was crumbling to the cold wooden surface with the rest of me.

He jerked me up by my already hurt arm, grabbing my hand and bending my thumb back much further than it is supposed to go. I broke free, trying to run away and lock myself in my room so I could get away from this situation that had never gotten this bad before, but I knew from watching many people I had loved that if a person hurts you physically, they will almost always do it again, and not knowing what else Dylan would do in his fit of rage, I had to get away from the sharp objects in the kitchen.

I was not quick enough. He grabbed me and threw me into the kitchen table, already set plates and silverware crashing to the floor as I hit it. I knew I was not large enough to put up a fight against Dylan, so with only drive to live and no regard for my feelings for him at this point, I bolted for the door, running out of our apartment complex and to the woods as quickly as I could. It was raining and I no longer had shoes or a jacket and with my lungs not being used to running like they used to be they were on fire, but I knew if I wanted any chance of being safe, I had to push through my pain and get somewhere where he could not find me. I was deep in the woods, now covered in mud and leaves and blood, all mixing together making a not so pretty picture of a girl who might be mistaken as a swamp monster at this point.

I figured I was far enough now. I grabbed my phone from my back pocket of my jeans, completely surprised it was still there AND still intact.

All I could think of was to call my dad, so I did.

I did not tell him all that had happened, I simply told him that Dylan had hit me and I would not be going back to our apartment until he was gone. I had a dear friend, Melvin, come and pick me up at the nearest road from where I was. He took me back to his house in the town over and him and his mom let me stay the night after I told them what had happened.

I'm sure it took my dad everything in him to not murder Dylan that night, but when I came back two days later, every trace of Dylan was gone except for a plastic container of his gaming stuff, I guess to be some sort of sorry excuse of an apology, which I later sold to a gaming store for probably less than it was worth, but hey it was still money. All that mattered now was that he was gone for good and I would never have to see or hear from him ever again, or so I thought at the time.

Fast forward to three months later at the end of May, I am sitting at the pool with my friend Athena, posting on our snap stories that we want someone to come hang out with us, and I get a slide up from a boy named Harry that I had kept blowing off, asking what pool we were at. It wasn't that anything was wrong with him, but after the whole Dylan thing, I was having a hard time making the ice on my heart melt for anyone who wasn't already close in my life. I was still healing, and healing at the time couldn't see myself trusting anyone in a romantic sense for a very long time at that point. I was traumatized, ready to hurt anyone who came near me that dared to attempt to make me trust them. That was all about to change after that fateful day in May.

Note from author:

Okay okay I know this doesn't line up with the intro chapter, but I PROMISE this will make sense as the story goes on.