Taking Whats His

Chapter Two.

Chapter Two.

I could feel myself being shaken lightly but that didn't stop my head from lolling from side to side where it rested on my upper arm. I was slowly being taken away from my unconsciousness, my temporary safe haven where I knew that he wouldn't be able to get me, where I was safe as long as I kept my eyes closed. It was odd but I was never attacked when I was at my weakest, when I couldn't fight back.

"Esme," the voice was quiet as if they were calling my name from far away.

My entire body was shaking and not from the hand on my shoulder. I was still in the wet clothes that I had run home in; the damp fabric clung to my frame. My clothes were cold; instead of a cocoon of warmth around my body I was surrounded by nothing but cold. I was sure that my teeth were chattering despite my half unconscious state and I wondered if my chapped lips were blue.

I wanted to stay in the darkness. I wanted to stay oblivious to the hell that surrounded me but I knew that was impossible. I was always going to have to wake up at some point but the hand on my shoulder shaking me harder seemed determined to bring me around before I was ready.

I had yet to mentally prepare myself for opening my eyes. I didn't know what was going to happen when I opened my eyes. I hoped that my mum was safe all I could see was the look on her face as my father continued to strangle me. I had never seen my mum's face so horrified, so scared and fearful. I knew that she worried about me all the time; that she was terrified of what I would do to set him off next, not that it took much. She would often try to stop him but sometimes she just couldn't. My mum was my protector; my guardian angel, she would protect me whenever she could.

"Esme, come on sweetie," another not so gentle shake to my shoulder as I felt my eyes begin to twitch, "wake up."

I knew that voice from anywhere. The soft, gentle wind chime of my mother was slowly calling to me. I was being taken away from the darkness and slowly pulled back in to reality. The reality that I was laying on my bedroom floor with bruises covering my body and no doubt my throat. A hand print that would fit my father's palm. I never wanted to wake up but I knew I had to if I wanted to protect my mum just as she protected me.

"Mum," my voice was an audible crack. My throat felt as if there was constant pressure on it whenever I spoke. It was nothing more than a faint whimper that had escaped.

"Oh Mae," my mum choked as if she was swallowing down a sob that had desperately wanted to escape. In any other situation I would have smiled at the use of the nickname that she had given me when I was little.

I hated the idea of my mum crying, especially if I was the reason for the salty teardrops that would roll down her pale pink cheeks. I slowly forced my eyes open. I was still in my room; the only light was coming from my bedside table casting an orange glow throughout my entire room. What caught my attention were the suitcases piled onto each other on my bed. I didn't know if my mum had packed my belongings while I was unconscious or if they had been there when I walked in.

It was then that I decided to really look around my room. My eyes widened as I took in the bare surface of my dresser that normally held my beauty products. My wardrobe doors were wide open revealing an empty closet and floor where I usually hung my clothes and kept my shoes. Just like I had expected my drawers were all open and empty. My bedroom wasn't heavily decorated only having the things that he thought I would need which included a dresser, a set of drawers, a wardrobe and a single bed that was pushed into the corner. I had never seen my already empty room emptier.

"What's going on?" I asked in confusion, my voice still weak and hoarse. I knew that it would take a while for my voice to work again, to resume its normal pitch. It would also take a while before I could talk without it feeling as if my throat was being scraped by sandpaper every time I opened my mouth.