New Identity

Chapter 6

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone grabbing my dinner dishes off the desk. I sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The light from the hallway lit the room enough for me to make out Chelsea’s figure.

“I will take it down,” I said as I edged my way to the side of the bed.

Chelsea jumped about a mile high. She placed the dishes back on my desk as she placed her hands to her chest. “You have only been here for a day and you are already acting like Ian.”

I gave a small smile and looked down at my hands. “Sorry,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry about it dear,” she said. I felt the bed dip next to me and saw Chelsea take my hands into hers. “I apologize about what happened at dinner. Ian and I were not expecting that kind of reaction.”

I looked up at her face, searching for the truth. A small smile broke across my lips as I saw that she was sad, confused and I think I saw a bit of understanding in her eyes. “It’s okay. They just caught me off guard.”

We were quiet for a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts, before Chelsea took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Your father told us about everything that happened.”

I looked away from her and leaned against my headboard, knees clutched to my chest. I didn’t want sympathy. I don’t want someone telling me how stupid I was for letting that happen to me for so long.

“I wanted to let you know that if you need someone to talk to, I am here for you. I know what you are going through.” The last sentence was spoken so quietly that I had to strain myself to hear it.

I looked back at her with my eyes wide open and my jaw on the floor. She looked at me with sad eyes and I could have sworn she aged five years before my eyes. She sat closer to me, with her legs folded Indian style. I wanted to ask her what happened but I couldn’t get the words out. So I sat there, waiting for her to speak when she was ready.

“When I was ten, my mother died from cancer,” she started quietly. “My father and I knew it was coming but it was still a blow to the heart. My father was there by my side. He tried his hardest to take my mother’s place. Our relationship grew stronger as the days went by.” She took a deep breath and scratched the back of her neck before she started speaking again. “But that all changed once I turned thirteen. My father lost his job, and no matter how hard he tried to get another one, they gave him some lame excuse. So after the sixth denial letter, he started drinking.”

The look in her eyes when she looked up at me was one of hurt. I quickly thought to myself, 'What hurt her so much to make my heart quench in agony for her?'

“One night I came home late from a friend’s house and I found him completely drunk. He got mad at me, and called me a slut. That was when he started hitting me.” With the faint light, I could see her slender frame shake slightly. I moved closer to her and laid my head in her lap. I didn’t know what else to do but I did know from experience that a simple touch could mean so much to a person that needed comforting. It wasn’t the words just the thought that someone was there for you. “Everyday my father drank, I would get hit and the more that he drank, the worse the beating. I got so use to it that I never thought about what could happen. When I started high school, I got really good at hiding the bruises and the pain that shot throughout my body whenever I moved too fast.” Chelsea absentmindedly ran a hand through my hair as she continued her story. “When I met Ian, I immediately fell in love, but I tried my hardest to stay away from him. Of course he wouldn’t have that. Your father, Charles and Ian made it their duty to annoy me every day and get me to talk to them.” She let a small, sad chuckle escape through her lips. “One Friday, I went to the football game. I watched as Ian and Sal made touchdown after touchdown, winning the game. Afterwards, Ian offered me a ride home and when I walked through the front door of my house, I saw my father standing by the door with a gun in his hands. I couldn’t move or scream as I watched him point the gun at me. I remember the look on his face. There was no sign of love or happiness of the father that I once loved. I saw regret, anger and loneliness in his eyes. He didn’t say anything to me as he pulled the trigger.”