Story of J

Chapter 10

“WHY IS THERE A BOY IN YOUR BED?? WHY IS THERE A SLEEPING BOY IN YOUR BED J??”

I am unexpectedly awoken by yelling. But it wasn't my parents fighting. It was just my stepdad. He wasn't yelling at my mother, but at me.

I bolt straight up, awakening E in the process. I look back and forth from my stepdad and E. My stepdad is standing in my bedroom doorway, looking so posted off and E is rubbing the sleep from his eyes, trying to comprehend what is happening and where he is.

I get out of bed and slowly walk over to my stepdad. “He just came over last night to do some homework we had and we wound up falling asleep. So he stayed the night. It's not a big deal. We didn't do anything”, I told my stepdad barely above a whisper.

He grabbed my arm and yanked me out into the hallway. I wasn't prepared for what was happening next. He raised his hand and slapped it right across my face.

“YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO HAVE ANYONE OVER! YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS. YOU ARE NOT IMPORTANT. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT. I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU FOR AWHILE”, he screamed in my face as I held onto my throbbing cheek.

I scurry back into my room, quickly pack the things that I can think I'll need for a few days. Clothes, toiletries, cords, school work. Rushing to shove everything into a duffel, someone clears their throat. And then I realize that E is still here.

E just witnessed that whole thing.

I don't have anytime to explain what's happening, so u grab his hand and pull him out of my room, down the stairs and out of my house.

“What the hell did I just see J? Is your cheek okay? Why did he hit you?”, he manages to get it as he is still trying to put all of the pieces together.

“Not here. Not now”, I say back.

“We need to leave. Now. Can we take your car? I don't care where we end up, but we just have to get out of here”, I plead to him.

“Yeah, of course. Let's go”, E taking control of the situation, already on his way to his car.

As we are driving to the mystery destination, I can tell that E wants to ask all of his questions again and get answers to them.

My hand finds his, not making eye contact with him, and I turn my head to look towards to road ahead of me. “My dad died 8 years ago from cancer, I was 7. The story I told you about him and always being early is the only story I have of him. My mom never talks about him anymore. So I never let go of the memory. My mom met Q, my stepdad, a few months after my dad's funeral. They apparently hit it off and got married the following year, leaving Q, some guy I barely know, my new dad”, I breathed and continued, “The abuse started when I was about 10. It used to always be verbal, but then something in him must have snapped and it turned to physical. He always slaps me, kicks, punches, kicks or drags me by my hair out of my house and tells me to never come back. He normally cools down after a day or two. So I kinda just live in my car when this happens. Shower at school, eat at the cafeteria, change in the backseat of my car. I have a routine planned out for whenever this happens. And my mom knows nothing about it because ever since my dad died, she never pays attention to me.”

I gain enough courage to look over at E, who is clutching my hand like his life depends on it as he let's all of my words just sink in.

I notice that the car is turning and pulling into a driveway. “Are we at your house?”, I suddenly proclaim.

“Um, yeah. I figured since we can't stay at your house we could come to mine. Don't worry no one is home. And plus we still need to talk about yesterday and this morning”, he gently replies.

We slowly get out of the car and enter E's house. I can't comprehend my surroundings as I'm still stunned that E saw what happened with my stepdad. We make our way through the halls to what I am assuming is his bedroom.

Settling on the bed, E just looks at me. Like if he looks hard and deep enough he can get the answer to all of his questions without even actually asking them. He breaks out of his haze, grabs ahold of my hands and takes a deep breath. “Is he a factor of why you arms are so marked up?”, he breathes out calmly, “because if he is, you should talk to your mom or somebody you trust and they can help you. People want to help you J.”

I look him dead in the eyes as I say, “no one wants to help me. I'd just be a charity case. I'm just the girl with a million things wrong with her. And yes. He is a factor of me “marking up my arms”, but he never holds back. He tells me the truth and that's the reason I cut because of him. He tells the truth about how I came across to others and about the things I've done that I shouldn't have. I cut because he was right. He is a reason of why I cut because each time he's physical with me, it shows me the truth and each time he hurts me it shows me be truth of who I am. So cutting myself shows the truth of who I am.”

“No J! You're wrong! He isn't telling you the truth. It's far from it. And him physically hurting you is just so wrong. No parent should ever do that to their child. You don't need to cut cut to have the truth of yourself shown J! The way you see yourself in your own eyes without the cuts and pain is the true you”, E calmly states.

“You're wrong E!!!! You're so so wrong! You don't know what goes on in my life, what I've been through. So don't you dare start giving me advice on what I should do and how I should handle it”, with that I break.