C A T C H 22 |BWWM|

Ch. 19 • Justice

Jackson, MS. November 1943
Tuesday, 8:37 pm
Later that night. . .

Paislee

"Why were you with that boy?"

"Why didn't you come home?"

"Where the hell were you?"

"We told you to stay away from him?"

My parents' questions kept coming, and coming. The yelling swirled in my head into one big jumble of words and arguing. I kept walking into the house, toward the stairs. I didn't want to be bothered. I wanted to go to bed, forget everything that happened, and never awake from my sleep.

"Paislee Miller–"

"Stop!" I screamed, my hands returning to tight fist. My throat was sore from all the yelling I had been doing. "Please."

It felt like today the only words I was saying were 'stop' and 'please'. No one actually stopped when I said to and the please went unnoticed.

My parents watched me with inquisitive eyes. They finally saw that what happened to me was far further from anything 'that boy'—Deen—could do. I rushed up the stairs and into the hall bathroom. My sisters peeled from their rooms scared. Their small baby-faces quite shook up.

I ran the hot bath water and stripped of my blood-stained dress and tied my hair up. My body, originally cocoa brown, was now adorned with bruises and weird marks. I shivered the memories away and sank into the tub.

"Paislee? Babygirl, please open the door," Mama said cautiously.

"No, I don't want to." I wiped the salty tears from my eyes and replenished my face with water. My fingertips worked with a cloth on my legs. The water slowly turning of a pink as I scrubbed my thighs clean of blood. "Why doesn't anyone understand that the word no means no."

I heard mama sigh from outside the door. Curling up to a ball, I felt the water slosh around beneath me. My head gently laying on both knees as I inhaled and exhaled. Just like Deen said:

"You are at home. No can harm you. Now breathe. ."

Using the cloth, I washed the rest of my body and stood from the draining tub. My legs and all didn't hurt as much and I felt somewhat clean. No amount of soap or scrubbing could really erase the evidence of the day though.

"Paislee?" I opened the door, a towel wrapped around my small frame. Mama's eyes softened and a hand instinctively went to my cheek. Her eyes traveled to my neck and shoulders. All of which were bruised. "Oh my. . ."

Deciding to ignore her, I kept pressing to my room. Tussling through my draws and throwing on a loose nightgown. The silk felt nice on the skin for the night. I curled up in my bed—mama still watching me—and laid comfortably between the sheets.

"These four boys. I barely know their names," I whispered.

My own voice sounded so confused. Was this me talking? With this hoarse, monotone voice, and baggy, sunken in eyes. So hopeless and empty with no expression.

"What did they do, Paislee?"

"Mama, I don't want to relive it." My voice cracked mid-sentence. Mama's face was pale, she looked sick to her stomach, but also ready to fight any, and everyone. "It's all my fault."