Behind the Lights (Tommen legacy 1)

Chapter six

GRACIE
My face is pushed into the scratchy bed beneath me. I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe. It plays on repeat as my pants are torn off my body. I kick, scream, and fight back, but I can't. I'm too weak. I feel helpless; no one hears my cries and screams. My body shakes, and my throat dries.
"Please," I beg, as rough hands push my head further into the bed, hot tears streaming down my face.
"Shut up, you stupid whore," The animalistic voice sounds above me. I scream, but it is muffled by the face being engulfed in the bedspread. My throat closes up, and I'm gasping for breath.
"No, No, No," I chant, but it's useless. No one is coming to save me. I'm going to die.
I hear the unlocking of a belt above me and a tremor races through my body, No! I want to scream. Stop! But I can't breathe. Tears stream down my face as my body jerks and thrashes.
A loud whip and soaring burst of pain snap through my back. I scream, and the hand pushes harder on my head.
My back burns and aches as another whip crashes through me.
"Please!" I cry again, barely audible.
"You like that, don't you? Dirty little slut,"
Please, please, please, I sob into the bed as the rough hands of my violator yank my hair, causing my head to jerk upright.

"Ma'am? Are you okay?" A soft hand lies on my shoulder, drawing me from my nightmare.
"Huh," I turn around and stand face to face with a middle-aged woman carrying a baby on her hip.
"Are you okay? The counter has called your number four times,"
"What, oh yeah," I mumbled, tears pooling in my eyes as I tightly clutched the array of fabrics in my arms. Calming my erratic breathing
"All right, sweetie," she says before kissing her baby's forehead and walking over to the racks filled with spools of thread.
"Number Twenty-one!" calls the old lady working at the fabric station, "this is your last call, Number Twenty-one," her old voice shouts as I wave my hand and go to the station.
"Four yards of that one, please, six of those two and Two of the rest," I point to the seven different fabrics I have laid out.
She mumbles something inaudible as she gets to work cutting. Still shaken from my memory, I take deep breaths and place my hands on the fabric wall before me. The lady calls my number, and I gather my fabrics, quickly pay, and rush to the bus stop, desperate to get home.
~~~~~
"Da?" I call from the front door. My dad works as  a PE and Geography teacher at BCS. His last class ends a little after lunch, so he is usually home before Corey and I.
"Hey Gracie, How was school?" Dad walks in from the kitchen, throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder.
"Grand, I went to the fabric store to get some materials for my Christmas dress!" I tell him excitedly. Dad has been my creative consultant since I started designing. He is the one pushing me to pursue a career in fashion.
"That's great, sweetheart," he grabs the fabric bags in my hands and walks to the kitchen.
The aroma of grandma's famous scones floods my nose as I follow my father into the kitchen. My body melts at the sheer smell. My grandma is a baker; since we were little, we have had a constant supply of scones, cakes, cookies, and bread stocking our kitchen.
As I sit at our breakfast table, my dad grabs two scones from the stove and puts them on plates for us.
"Where is Mam?" I ask. She is usually home from work by now.
"Out getting hors d'oeuvres with Shannon and Lizzie." My Mam, Shan, and Lizzie have been friends since primary school but became even closer when Shannon moved to Tommen College during her third year.
"So um, dad," God. Why is this so hard? My therapist says I need to tell my parents when I have a flashback or if they are occurring more frequently. Both my parents and a lot of my friends know about my assault, but every time I try to talk about it, my throat closes up, and I feel like I'm back on the couch telling them about it for the first time.                          
My dad takes a big bite of his scone, nodding and urging me to go on.
"At the fabric store, I had another flashback of that night, and on Friday at the Kavanaghs, it happened again, and they are becoming more frequent, and I don't know how, and I'm scared," I breathe out quickly, desperate to get it off my tongue.
My dad scoots his chair closer to me and takes my hands. His large hands engulf mine despite my height and size. My hands are tiny and skinny. He squeezes my hand straight, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, sweetpea. " He runs a hand over my back lovingly. Do you know what brought it on?"
I shake my head against his shoulder, letting a tear fall.
"I don't know," I admit; the past two flashbacks usually come up randomly. Something sets them off, but lately, they have just been a spur of the moment. "I feel so embarrassed," I cry.
"Gracie girl, you have no reason to feel embarrassed. You didn't ask for what happened to you,"
"I know," I sobbed as he held me tightly, "But I feel like I can't normally live without this plaguing me; it is suffocating."
"I know, I know, Sh," he continues to run a hand down my back, "And that's normal , okay? It's not your fault. When I was your age, I struggled so hard with my trauma. I held it all in and covered it up with jokes and acting that I was fine. When I wasn't, Gracie, I was suffocating too,"
When Corey and I became teenagers, my mom and Dad sat us down and talked to us about what happened to my dad's sister and Dad; it was a rough day. It was the first time I had seen my Dad cry. The second was when I told him about my assault. That is one of the reasons I always tell my dad about my struggles first; he understands on a personal level what I'm going through.
"Feeling these feelings is good, Gracie. It means you're processing," I nod against his shoulder. "I want you to understand that this won't leave you. What happened to you that night will stay with you forever, but that doesn't mean you are broken, okay? Because I thought that, but your Mam taught me I wasn't; I was just healing," he took a deep breath over my head; I could tell he was getting emotional. He told us that Mam and Johnny saved him from drowning in his head, "Eventually, Gracie, all that pain and hurt you are feeling will simmer, and you will be overflowed with a sense of relief, but until then, it's gonna hurt, and you will feel days where you can't even function, but you can't let this overtake you okay?"
I nod, crying harder. We sit like this till I settle down.
"Thank you, Dad. You're my best friend," I tell him, pulling away and grabbing my now-cold stone.
"And you mine, Gracie," he says, wiping the tears under my eyes.