Just Hold My Hand

Chapter Eight- Charlotte

Charlotte's P.O.V.

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I was in my room, but it wasn't really my room anymore. It was how my room used to be. When I was young child. I saw my favorite, old stuffed tiger, and my old ballet slippers. I even saw the crayon drawings I made when I was four, and were never removed until I was ten. This was the room of my eight year old self. Suddenly the door opened, and a young girl walked in. I vaguely recognized the girl. She was carrying my doll. My favorite doll. I had the urge to snatch it from her, i loved that doll and i never allowed anyone to touch it.

She walked to the window and looked out. She obviously was unaware of my presence. It was like I was there, but watching from distance. Like a movie. She looked outside at the rainy day, and sighed. It was a sigh, but the sound was exemplified and echoed in my ears. She walked over to her bed and her footsteps were clear and echoed as well. Everything was silent all except for my breathing. Every noise was much louder than it should be. Where was I?

I was starting to recognize this girl, but if was as if my mind was being blocked. I just could not remember no matter how hard I tried. The girl was sitting on her bed, snuggling her doll. It was as if I was her though, I felt my arms a round the doll, I smelled the recognizable sent of the dolls hair, and I could sense the sadness pulsing from her.

Suddenly I felt like I was going to cry. I was fighting tears, but they would not come. The girl began sobbing. It was silent, and she as shaking with tears streaming down her face. I started crying too, feeling all the anguish and pain this girl was feeling. Tears were streaming down my face, and I silently sobbed. I could not make noise though.

Slowly I felt myself fading. I was losing my body and my vision was blurring. I did not want to go, I wanted to comfort the poor crying girl. I wanted to fix what was wrong with her, and dry her tears, to hold her close. I falling away though.

Once I was all gone, I could still see. My perspective was different though. I was crying still, and I was looking at the room from a different angle. I was no longer standing, but on the bed. My bed. I recognized the blue striped comforter, and the tiger that was sitting on the edge. I looked down and realized I was snuggling with my favorite doll. I gasp through my tears in shock, my hand was small and smooth and plump. It had pink nail polish on it, and a small purity ring from my mother.

Suddenly the door burst open. I jumped with surprise, and my doll dropped to the floor. I looked over to the door and my jaw dropped in utter horror. It was my father.

He was in his old business suit, and his face was one of pure rage. He was holding the door knob in one hand, and in the other a belt. This scene was so familiar but also so unknown. It was like reliving something from a different point of view. I was confused and utterly horrified as he approached. I could sense how small I was. I was no longer myself.

He growled and raised his arm with the belt and drew back. I cringed for subconsciously I knew what was coming next. I began to whimper, and the whimper was not mine. I should not be whimpering! I had nothing to fear anymore.

Suddenly the memory flooded back, and I knew who I was. I was not this little fearing girl anymore. I was a woman, a strong, and courageous woman. He could not hurt me anymore. I felt myself changing. I stood off the bed and held my self tall. I felt my self grow, and my father stopped. He watched me with a look of pure bewilderment.

I felt myself stop changing, and I glanced at my vanity. It was me. I looked to my father and spoke.

"You're dead." Those words he had spoken to me countless times before he beat me. I spoke with authority and courage. "You can not hurt me anymore, you are dead." I said it with finality.