나는 너를 원해
***
A whole other season and a few teary eyes later, I lay down next to Colby, holding back the hurricane of emotions this last episode has left behind for me to cope with. These are emotions only fiction can draw out of me and as awful as it may seem, it's one of the best feelings you could ever have. I look over at Colby, who has fallen asleep and is resting on her side facing me, her hair creating a mesmeric halo around her head.
Well... one of the best.
I roll over to pick up my phone from the nightstand, checking the time. 12:02. I turn it off and shove it in my pocket, slipping off the bed deliriously and padding to the door, needing to clear my head. I reach for the door handle, hesitating. A tiny voice whispers in my head a warning but I ignore it, looking back at Cole before exiting the room.
The party downstairs is now a measly amount of people. The loud, annoying music has been reduced to a dull roar. I can't help but grin arrogantly. This is what I meant when I said our's are better. Usually at our parties a majority of the people are still intact until the early morning hours, when they either decide to retire back home or pass out depending on the amount of alcohol they consumed. Tonight when I descend the stairs to enter the main floor, a minuscule number of people still remain. A girl in a skimpy dress sits on the counter in the kitchen, her arms wrapped tight around the neck of the boy standing in front of her as they talk in low flirty voices. I see a few people still outside, some cleaning up the trash littered all over the ground - good souls - and others conversing drunkenly.
With a sigh I make my way to the kitchen, slipping coldly past the couple on the counter and reaching into the cooler for my second beer of the night. I pop the cap and chuck it into the overflowing trashcan and I lift the bottle to my lips. I sip on the bitter solution as I try to avert my eyes from the handsy couple in my peripheral vision, then deciding to make my way to the living room where Logan, Garret, and Wyatt sit with our other sports teammates.
I sit myself on the empty sofa, beer in hand and tuning in on the conversation going on among my friends, Bryson, and Jackson Scott. However, I honestly don't give a flying shit about what they're talking about, which is no joke the kinds of girls they want to bang in college. I roll my eyes at them, Jesus Christ why is it so hard for guys to drop that subject for even a second? It's getting old.
"Come on guys, are you serious right now?" I blurt out, causing heads to turn my way in surprise. I know I should be embarrassed right now but the truth is, I'm not. Better to address the problem and have people fear you than to leave it alone and allow it to be talked about more than it needs to. I sigh.
"Look I know at this point that this is the only thing you guys are good at -" this statement earns me a few offended looks but I ignore them because it's true. "- but have some fucking respect, stop talking about women like they're toys, because they're not. They're human beings with emotions just like us and you're treating them like shit," I can feel my face burning with anger but I remain calm, watching Bryce and Logan and the others look over at me in stunned silence.
"I'm done," I snarl as I take another sip of my beer. I gesture to Logan, Wyatt, and Garret. "You guys can find your own way home, I'm having nothing to do with this bullshit." I stand up and exit the living room, hearing uncomfortable murmurs of conversation behind me. I roll my eyes inwardly. They can all take a hike. Hell if I care.
I swing open the front door angrily and slam it shut behind me just as fast, sitting down on the front step as I tip up my bottle in a dull desire. I wipe the beer from my mouth with the back of my hand and look up at the dark sky.
I remember the story of Abraham that I learned in Sunday school as I look at the stars. It was years ago. Before Dad left. Before Mom went through her rehabilitation. We still lived in the house on Olive and I still went to church with my mom. I didn't have to go to therapy and I didn't have to live in someone else's house. It was the three of us. And as a five year old kid, it always seemed to be that everything was happy. But that was before I knew what my dad was capable of.
Some nights I'd wake up to screaming in the room next to me and I'd pull my Ren and Stimpy themed bedsheets up to hide from the monsters. Other nights I'd hear crying and wonder what adult movie my parents were watching to make them so sad.
I was seven by the time I began to understand what was going on. My mom and dad didn't love each other anymore. My dad would get angry and I would hear him yell mean things when I was supposed to be sleeping. Other nights he would get so angry that he made my mom cry, and then I could hear him hit her. I got brave enough to start spying on them to see what was happening. And now I wish I hadn't.
Sometimes I'd peek into the living room in the middle of the night to see them arguing really loud and mad. On the bad nights, they were in their room.
The first time I looked, the image was plastered into my mind for weeks. I couldn't look my father in the eye for fear that he would try hurting me too. I never wanted my mom to be anywhere near him so I always stuck close to her, earning suspicious glances from my dad ever so often. But I didn't care. All I wanted was to make sure my mom wasn't touched like that by him again. But as fate would have it, every night I failed. The image of my father thrusting into her weak and impaired body haunted me so deeply that I couldn't sleep. The night he shot her was the night I was taken away to live at Aunt Pam's.
I grit my teeth, angered at the one thing my male peers universally stand for. If they only knew how damaging it could be when they use it like they do. They talk about women like they are weak and like they are toys to play with. But what they don't know is that while they talk about females as a whole, they are including my mother.
My mother who should've been treated so much better than she was. My mother who put up with a monster to make sure I could be provided for. My mother who didn't deserve to be used and toyed with like she was because she was more than merely her husband's property.
And even Colby. Colby who has put up with so much shit people push on her to make sure that her reputation stays intact. Who is stronger and more confident than any other guy would ever know. Who can make it an entire school day without breaking when people talk about the person who hurt her the most out of anyone in her life.
This is the reason I get so angry when people talk as if sex is a pastime. Because it's more than that dammit. It's like making a promise to the person you're with, saying I'm in this for life. And the men who used the two most important people in my life for this pastime ought to suffer in hell for what they did.
I find myself sweating and I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.
Can you hear me? Can you hear me running?
I swallow the last of my beer and then chuck the bottle onto the driveway, watching it shatter into oblivion across the gray surface. My cold sweat drips down the sides of my face and I furiously try to get rid of it. I check my watch that reads 12:19. Jesus -
And that's when I hear the cry. I jump, looking back at the house in fear. It comes again and this time I look up to where it came from.
A window on the second floor. Bryson's bedroom window.
***
Author's Note
I'm so sorry for not updating in such a long time, I've been super busy. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed chapter 19, even if it was pretty short. I will make up for it, promise!
Don't forget to vote, comment, and share, I love you guys!
~ Cara
