The Strangers (TheWriteAwards2014)

chapter 2 edited

When I finally woke up, I called in at work and told them I would be out for a couple of days. They gave me a tough time, but at the same time, I think they knew. I had too many unexcused absences, too many bruises and an aching body. After I hung up, I went into the bathroom to look over my broken and bruised body. Looking in the mirror, I realized that my wounds were worse than usual. Half of my face was swollen and bruised. So much so that my left eye was almost entirely swollen shut. I took in a deep breath and came to the conclusion that I had two broken ribs. As I was inspecting the rest of my body, I was relieved to find that there wasn't much more damage except some sprains here and there. Cleaning my cuts had hurt more than usual, but it was always a neccessary evil.

After cleaning up in the bathroom and taking a shower, I wrapped my ribs and wrist in gauze, then  returned to my bedroom and into my walk-in closet. I truly had a beautiful home. My room was an off white color with gold trimmings, my bed was a dark oak wood with a glittering gold canopy that hung loosely around the edges, and my bed spread was also white with gold trimmings with matching pillows. I had wooden floors, a huge dark oak desk where I spent most of my time, a 72' flat screen TV and stereo system. It was a breath taking room and I loved it, but I would trade everything I ever had, just to have my old father back. A sober father, a kind, loving, gentle man. And a mother who wasn't so self absorbed, who could and would help her daughter, who was being beaten because of her.

The phone ringing broke me of my thoughts, picking up my cell phone, I realized it was Mikal. I really didn't want to talk to him, but I knew I couldn't ignore him either. The last time I did, he showed up at my house, guns blazing and demanded to see me. Sighing, I hestiated for another moment, before answering.

"Hey Mikal, what's up?" I asked casually. Wincing as my sore throat strained to sound normal.

"I don't know, why aren't you at work, Sky?" He was always checking in on me, ever since the last time he dropped me off and saw my father hit me. He almost lost it, I had to hold him back, yelling at him to leave. He wouldn't have left, but the look on my face said it all. He knew if he didn't leave, he would only make matters worse.

"I-err, wasn't feeling well this morning?" I ended on a high note, making it sound more like a question than a statement. I heard Mikal sigh on the other side of the phone. Then in a gruff voice said:

"I'm coming over to pick you up. Be ready in 30 minutes, no longer than that. And have a bag packed with some clothes and other things you may need." His tone said it all. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. A that is that, no questions asked.

"Wait, what? Why?" I asked, clearly confused to as why I would need a bag packed. I checked the time, the clock reading 10:38. If I had gone to work, I would have only been there for a few hours. Glimpsing in the mirror briefly, I decided he couldn't see me like this, he would kill my father. No regrets, no hardships, no remorse. And no hesitation.

"Because Sky, I'm coming over and taking you back to my apartment. I will not allow you to stay in a home where you're not even safe from your own parents!" He growled. A few stray tears slipped from my eyes when he said that, even though he said it angrily, it tugged at my heart to know how much he truly did care about me. He had always been protective, even when he tried to distance himself emotionally, he had always cared.

"Its' okay, Mikal, really. Thanks, but that would just give my father even more reason to get angrier. I can't, I-"

"No, you can, and you will. You're 18 now. You can move out of the house." I felt relieved to hear those words, but also terrified. It terrified me to think of leaving the home I had lived in my entire life. A part of me still believed that one day, my father would wake up, sober and regretting all he has done. it was a long stretch, but it was what I dreamt of, night after night.