Lost in the Shadows

Chapter 3

The bruises would soon fade, Star knew, but the cuts to her soul would take a while. How could her father accuse her of such awful things?

Hank had whup'd her, rampaging and roaring like a wild animal, until he threw a punch as she curled up on the floor and he missed, smashing his fist open on the broken glass and spewing blood all over them both. He had cried then, landing flat out on his ass and cradling his broken hand. Star had held her tears as she picked the glittering shards out of her father's flesh, cleaning and bandaging the wounds, which were fairly superficial, with whatever she could salvage from the small bathroom cabinet. She had even kept herself together when her father had cried like a baby, wrapping his good arm around her rigid shoulders and weeping a half-hearted apology, as he so often did. In the morning, he would only remember his injury because of the blood-spotted bandage and the stiffness in his fingers. His words would be chased from his memory by the hangover from hell.

Star pulled her knees up to her chest as she lay on her bed many hours later. She had helped her father to his room, pulling off his socks as she shoved his feet under the ratty blanket that was stiff with who knew what. Fetching him a glass of water for when he woke, though she knew it would probably be the whiskey he reached for, along with his packet of smokes, she flipped the light off and limped to her own room down the hall.

Her back ached; a thick, dark bruise blossoming from her left side and twisting up along her spine where Hank had driven his foot into her. Her head pounded and her lower lip was split. All in all, she'd had much worse before. The tears came then, as she curled around a small, white lace pillow and squeezed her eyes shut. A small black and white photograph in a cheap tin frame lay on the bed beside her; a close up of a dark haired, dark eyed beauty that could have been Star but for the broader nose and chin. It was the only photo she had of her mother, Kiera, who had taken her last beating one particularly hot morning, fifteen years before. She'd packed a small bag when Hank had finally left for work and tearfully kissed her children, two year old Ellora and her four year old brother, leaving them with Mrs Laws next door. Kiera had no money, not a nickel to her name, and no real place to go. She knew that despite the beatings she received, Hank had not lifted a finger against their children.

'But when will you be back, dear?' the grey haired widow had asked in surprise, peering through her thick glasses that magnified her milky blue eyes at the tear-stained Kiera hovering by the kitchen door.

'I don't know,' the thin young woman had replied, wringing her hands as her pretty face contorted with anxiety at leaving her children. 'I don't even know where I will go.' She held back a sob, pressing the sound back into her mouth with the back of a shaking hand as the tiny Ellora had looked up at her, clutching a chubby fist full of her mother's threadbare mustard coloured skirt. 'Go play with your brother, Ellora, go on. Mommy will see you soon.' Kiera had pulled her skirt from the child's hand, urging her into the lounge where the girl's brother was already hunting for Mrs Laws' fluffy grey cat to torment.

'I can't feed them much, I won't get to the store til Thursday when my son Billy will pick me up. I don't have much by way of toys, either,' the old woman protested.

'Mrs Laws, please, don't trouble yourself. Their father will be back around noon, put them out in the yard if they become too much trouble.' Kiera held an index finger under each eye and blinked furiously for a moment, willing the tears to stop falling.

'You don't have to do this, dear,' Mrs Laws had said, shuffling forward to lay a wrinkled hand on Kiera's arm before the younger woman could leave. 'There are people that can help, don't leave your babies.' Another sob threatened to spill from her trembling lips.