Charlie's Angel

18

Charlie

36 missed calls and voicemails from Aaron.

They all said the same thing. Either one: Baby, I'm sorry! Call me back, let's talk this out! I swear I love you! Or two: You know what? Fuck you and that yellow nigga. You probably on his dick right now. When I find you, I'mma fucking kill you.

It didn't phase me as much as I expected. I mean, how could it? I guess he thought he could scare me, but it wasn't working. Aaron was nothing to me anymore. At least, that's what I was trying to tell myself. But who was I kidding? This man haunted every second of sleep I managed to get and even when I was awake I could feel his grimy hands clawing at my neck. I could feel every kick and every punch. He wasn't with me physically, but he was with me mentally, and not the way I wanted.

A week and half until Christmas. Not a present for Paris in sight, because honestly I hadn't had time. And I really couldn't afford anything considering how much work I had missed because of the things that happened with Aaron. The stars just weren't aligning in my favor this Christmas season. Of course, I had the two thousand dollars from Chris. But that was to be untouched until I really needed it.

"Hello?" he spoke groggily into the phone. He yawned like a bear and groaned as he stretched his muscles. "Mystery?"

"It's really late, I'm sorry for calling you. I'll call you in the morning. Goodnight–"

"Wait, Mystery," he rushed. "I'm good. I'm awake now. What's wrong?"

"I just... couldn't sleep," my voice choked out. Strained and forced. Sleep was something that never happened to me anymore because I died in my dreams every time. They were so vivid, like I could reach out and touch Aaron. The only time I was at peace was when I was with Chris.

"Another bad dream?" When I didn't answer, he continued. "Tell me about it."

So I told him about nightmares, in detail, and sobbed on the line. He listened, adding a "mhm" to let me know he was still listening. But I knew he was falling asleep. I cursed myself for waking him up, for calling him, for jeopardizing his sleep. I envied his sleep, to be honest. I was just so terrified to sleep alone. Paris slept against me and snored quietly, and I was so grateful she wasn't as stressed as I was. She had other things to worry about, like Jackson in her class who gave her his candy. But I knew I had to tell her sooner or later that Daddy and I were no longer going to be a family.

"I'll be over in a few minutes," he muttered. In the background, I heard him shifting around.

"No, Chris," I sighed. "I don't want you to go out of your way. I'll find sleep somewhere, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice."

He chuckled. "I'm not going out my way for you. Just open the door when I text you, aight?"

The call ended and I was forced to stare at the ceiling, my body going stiff with the feeling of bugs crawling under my skin. Or maybe it was Imaginary Aaron trying to kill me again. I couldn't catch a fucking break. If I could, I would kill him. I really would. I was tired of his games. Tired of the abuse. Tired of him, period. Like, it was so fucking mind-boggling how much he had taken over my life; and I let him, for years.

I just wanted to be able to breathe freely. To be able to relax and not have to worry about anything. But that was just too much to ask.

I let my fingers slip up my shirt to my sore spot. I found a strange pleasure in running my fingers over my bruised ribs. At first the pain would be too much to handle and I was forced to withdraw my fingers–I'd even flinch from my cold fingertips touching my warm skin. But I would try again until I was used to it. It was a dull pain now that seemed to calm me–as odd as that was. It still hurt to breathe most times, and it hurt to move certain ways, but I found a peacefulness when I touched it softly. For the short period where my fingers would swipe over the slightly swollen skin, I was focused on that and that only. I wouldn't be focused on the source of the injuries and my mind would be at peace. Fuck, I was going crazy.