Not Everyone Deserves a Second Chance

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

It has been a month since the prom incident. Marcus still isn't here. I quit making excuses after the second week. I called him and called him, but he never picked up. All I got was his voice message.

"Sorry I can't take your call right now. I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks, and have a great day"

Good ol' Marcus. His sweet, sensitive, polite voice, echoing through the receiver reminds me of all the good times we had together. The pizza place, the bus, Ms. L.'s class. Sigh, I wish I knew where he was. I decide to call him again.

"RING RING RING..."

"Hello?"

"Marcus! I'm so glad to hear your voice! I-"

"Marcus? Who's Mar- ohhh. No. This isn't my phone. I found it, and I was going to see who it belonged to. Sorry."

I hang up as quickly as I could, and start crying my eyes out.

"Where could he be! I haven't seen him for a month! If James made him leave, I'm gonna kick the **** out of him." I whimper. My mom was at work, so she had no idea that I was crying. I don't have the guts to tell her that Marcus isn't at school. She thinks were going through a fight, and that's why I haven't gone to see him. She really has no clue about my life. She doesn't know who I am. She never will. I'll never let her see me. Never.

I collapse onto my bed and stare at the phone.

"AAAHHHH!!!" I scream into midair while grabbing the receiver. I chuck it at the wall and watch as it bursts into tiny microscopic pieces of plastic. The batteries fly back towards me, and one hits me in the eye. I can only see blues and purples for a couple of minutes, but when everything clears up, I turn around and look in my mirror. My eye has a black and blue ring around it, and the mascara is smeared down my face. You can see the anger and sadness in my face, my mouth is turned upside down, the edges reaching my chin. My hair is a rats nest, and my nails are bit down to the nub. I listen for my mom, to see if she's home, but all I can here is my dad rummaging through my kitchen.

Why does he have to be here? This is the worst time of my life, and he comes and makes it worse. Thanks, Dad!

I storm out of my room and toward the cabinets. I grab out a fruit cup and ignore my father.

"What's up, Jess? Why so glum?"

"Shut up, Dad. Like you really care." I take a step towards my room, but stop when my dad grabs my arm.

"What?!" His face gets really red.

"You can't just walk back into my life again and expect everything is okay. You permanently scarred me, okay? It's going to take years for me to forgive you."

"Jess, you know I'm sorry. Your mother forgave me, why can't you?"

"Because I'm not my mom! And your not my dad! There is no possible way! You are so not fit to be a-" I'm cut off when my head snaps back. I stare at the man in front of me, his fist balled up and bloodstained. I stare at him with wide eyes, my left one hurting from the bruising, and run away. I hear footsteps follow me, but I reach my room first. I slam my door shut, but I see a foot caught in the crack. My dad bursts into the room and locks the door.

"Your mother isn't home for another two hours. You have no idea what I'm going to do until then!" I feel beads of sweat gather on my forehead. "And you better not tell her anything that happens, or you will get more than what I just gave you." He balls up his fist again. "Now, relax!" He grabs my arm and throws me on the bed. I close my eyes, afraid of what he's going to throw at me. I hear rustling, then a zipper. I gasp when I feel him trying to lift up my camisole. I grab his hands and try to push him away, but he slaps me. I have no other option but to let him do what he pleases. I'm afraid of dying. My shirt is lifted over my head, and I feel him move to my lower body. My skirt is pulled down, but when i feel his grimy thick fingers sliding under my underwear, that's when I draw the line. I grab one of his hands with mine, and I punch him with the other. I hate how grown ups are always stronger than the kids. He grabs my wrists and threw my arms aside. The upside of that for me, was that his hands were busy. I knee him, a low blow, and he crumbles to the floor. I throw my shirt over my laced bra, and grab my skirt while running out the door to the bathroom.

"I have to tell mom!" I whisper to myself. "But I can't. He'll kill me."