Falling Apart

Chapter 4

I'm lying on the couch and watching TV when I hear the front door open. Fuck. I sit up rapidly and pull the blanket with me, not revealing the bare bruised skin my short pajamas are showing. I thought he'd be out tonight.
He steps into the living room, a stupid evil grin on his lips. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. He's not only intoxicated, but also high. I can see in from his pupils. He can't adjust them and he doesn't understand anything in the real world at the moment.
“Come here,” he slurs. He's so drunk. I shake my head a little and I see the anger firing in his eyes. I jump off the couch rapidly, onto the cold floor. I look towards the stairs and start to think about how fast I could get there before he'd catch me. If I'd even get past him. But I'm too late.
His hand grabs the collar of my short sleeved blue pajama shirt and he throws me against a wall. My head thumps backwards and a sharp pain hits my nape just as another kind of pain hits my stomach.
I can adjust my eyes enough to see that my father is kicking me into the stomach with his foot. I'm in that much pain I can't feel anything. There's always some limit he doesn't cross, just enough so that I wouldn't need hospital. I have a feeling he's gonna cross that limit today.
I don’t know for how long he keeps punching and kicking me; it can be minutes or seconds, hours or weeks. I have no idea. When he finally stops, it's because he pukes onto the floor. I don't know, where I get the energy or how am I not dead already, but with some strength I push myself up and run out of the house.
The cold night air hits my body, but I don't care. I'm not even stopped by the fact that I'm barefoot or don't have anywhere to go. I just run. Far away from him, far away from the house I've grown to love with the few days we've lived here, far away from my warm clothes and soft bed. Far away from everything.
I fall somewhere. I'm not sure where I am or what is it that makes the crash so soft, but I don't have the strength to open my eyes. I curl my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, just wishing I could disappear. Wishing, that I could die. Wishing, that my mother would be alive to be here with me; hold me and kiss me and tell me that everything was going to be alright. Wishing for death.

I wake up when it's dawn. I can't see very well or remember anything. But then all the memories start coming back. All the pain hits up again. My throat is dry and painful from all the crying. All the food I've eaten the last few days with my new friends wants to come up my spine and out of my mouth in another form.
I wanna call for help, but I can't. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I mouth the words, but my deafening screams won't come out. So I just stretch my hand out. Water. I've found water.
I push myself to sit up and groan at the pain. “Help!” I shout. But no, it's just a whisper and no one is here to help me. No one is worried, no one is looking for me. Tears start draining down my eyes.
And the water is dirty. It's a river. The same one we crossed to get to the town. I rest myself to sit against a big gray rock, covered in some green damp thingy. It's not moss, but something similar.
My knees come automatically back to my chest, which makes my stomach hurt harder than it should. My arms wrap themselves around my knees and my nails dig into my dirty palms. I'm shaking from the cold weather. It's almost July.
My head shots up at a sound of someone walking. I look behind me and around, anxiously, but can't see anyone, so I tense up as the steps continue. My eyes travel over the river. Right. A boy or a man, I can't see good, is running, earphones in. There's no way he would hear me, but I sill try. I take the biggest breath I'm able to with my dry throat and painful lungs, “Help!” I shout. But he only keeps running faster, either not hearing, or not wanting to hear.
I drop my head onto my knees now. And I bury my face into them, not giving crap about the fact that they're covered in mud. My temple keeps pulsating in pain and my head is throbbing so bad. I'm not even mentioning the new cuts and bruises on my face and arms and stomach and legs. My throat hurts even more than before, because of the yelling and the sobbing what's happening at the moment. It feels like the inside of me is burning and I just wanna cut every single part of it out of me.
“Hey,” I hear a boy’s soft voice. I get startled and jerk a little, my head flying up, releasing another row of voices in my brain and pain in my head.
“Help me,” I sob out as he is slowly coming closer, looking really careful.
“I will,” he says, “Don’t be scared of me, okay?” he asks carefully with his smoothing voice.
“I’m not,” I sob. If someone came here to help that means that someone is a good person. Or a brave one. Many people wouldn't go near a crying almost naked girl.
He squats down in front of me and his soft warm hands touch my arms. “You're burning up,” he breathes out.
“I’m cold,” I cry. He nods worriedly.
“You probably have a fever,” he says quietly and brushes hair off of my forehead to touch my forehead. “Yeah,” he murmurs and stands back up.
“Don't go. Please,” I cry.
“I’m not,” he says, pulling his grey hoodie off of himself, over his head. He then squats back down. “Can you stand?” he asks, his hands going under my armpits like with a toddler. He pulls me to stand up, but my knees get weak, so he catches me.
“Okay,” he sighs and rests me against the freezing rock. He looks into my eyes for a moment and I do the same. His eyes are blue, sad and probably the most hopeful ones I've ever seen. I quickly lower my head again and keep crying.
I feel his hand touching mine and then a soft layer of some cloth on my arms. I look up at him. He is pushing my limp bloody arms into the sleeves of his beautiful grey hoodie. “Don't,” I cry, “The blood won't come out.”
“I don't care,” he chuckles sadly, his tone sounds like it'd be really obvious what he just said. “Come on,” he says and holds it for me, so that I'd make the right movement with my head for pulling it down onto my limp body. I do it and he pulls the hoodie on me. It is oversized, making it cover my pajama shorts as well.
“Gosh, you're barefoot,” he breathes out and then his hand is under my chin. He lifts it up carefully, “Betty, right?” I nod, not shocked that he knows who I am. “Where will I take you?”
“What do you mean?” I cry. He uses his other hand to wipe my tears off of my cheeks with his thumb.
“You’re obviously sick. You have no clothes on, you're bloody and dirty. I know where you live, but I don't think you wanna go there at the moment.” My eyes go wide, and I open my mouth to start lying something, but he sees that and keeps talking. “I’m not stupid, Betty, I know an abuse if I see one.”
Even more tears start flowing out of my eyes. He sighs, “Come here.” His one arm goes under my knee gaps and the other one onto my back. And then I'm up.
The moment I realize what's happening, I grip his shirt with my hands. He’s picked me up and is now carrying bridal style through some woods.
“I’m heavy,” I whisper. He smiles down at me sadly.
“You're not… Now,” he sighs. “I need to know where I'll take you?”
“Just put me down. Leave me your hoodie and I'll be okay.” I start sobbing again.
“Shh, I'm not leaving you anywhere. Calm down.” He seems really doubtful and stressed about something and his face is wrinkled up. It's a really intense grizzled snarl. I have a feeling I'll black out in a second.
“What's your name?” I whisper.
“Jughead,” he sighs.
“Thank you, Jughead,” I choke out in pain after what my eyelids get heavy and the pain in my chest takes over my nerve system and organs.