The Oak Tree And The Shotgun.

Chapter 3

Jackie's POV

I promised myself I'd do everything he asked of me. I didn't know what it felt like but all I knew was that I was afraid of it. Of him.

But sooner or later I slipped up.

I came home from school, I had taken some cash from our savings jar to buy lunch at school. As I walked into the house he closed the door behind me.

"Where the fuck is my money Jackie! You stole it. Do you know what happens to children who steal ?" He grabbed my wrists.

My mother was still working and Izzie was only 2 then. That made me about 8 at the time.

He watched me, his eyes burning like a wild fire was captive inside them. I could feel his angry breath clawing at my skin and I felt like a tiny house mouse caught by a angry fire breathing dragon.

"Their hands get cut off." He said as I cried.

"I'm sorry! Please don't cut my hands off please! I was hungry so I used the money for lunch! Here's the left over money please take it! Please forgive me I will never-" I was cut off.

"But I will not cut your hands off, noo, I'm going to tie them up. I told you what would happen to you. You have forced this on yourself." He yanked me and I fell to the ground kicking, yelling, fighting but he just dragged me up the stairs to his and mom's bedroom before he threw me on the bed and locked the door.

"Please. I'll do anything you want daddy. Please don't do this." I begged him, standing as far away from the bed as I could.

Izzie was asleep in the cot beside the bed.

"I warned you now this is your punishment." He took two strides and grabbed my wrists again as I fought.

He used two belts to tie my hands away from each other on the bed and then pulled down my pants and underwear. I closed my legs and cried so much while he removed his pants and then he smacked me hard across my face.

"Shut up before you wake up Izziel." Then I felt a piece of wood slide into my mouth and i whimpered.

"It's going to hurt so don't scream. Just bite on the wood." Then he moved down and got on top the bed.

I kicked and kicked but he pinned my legs down and not long after a felt something big go deep inside me. And in the pit of my stomach I could feel an unbearable pain that disappeared after a few seconds. It was worse between my legs because the pain lasted longer. I felt something warm leaking out of me and I heard moans escaping his lips as he took pleasure in dehumanizing me.

Everything was blur and my limbs started going numb, except for the pain between my legs. He thrusted harder and faster, pushing me further into the bed. Digging his troll fingers into the soft skin by the sides of my stomach. I gritted my teeth against the wood crying, weeping and trembling in pain, fear and hurt. Then he started thrusting slower but harder, grinding until he gave his final push and then.. I blacked out.

When I woke up I had on clean clothes. My hair was damp and I smelt clean. I was in my bed and he sat at the edge. He probably bathed me and washed my hair before he clothed me and waited for me to wake up.

He watched me smiling as though nothing ever happened.

"How was your nap sleepy head?" He pinched my nose playfully but I didn't say anything.

"Ok. If you tell anyone. And I mean anyone, I will do it again. And not only to you. I will do it to Mom. I will do it to Izziel. Do not test me. But anyway. You had your first period on my bed and you must wash the sheets and blankets." Then he got up and left. And it happened like that every single day of my life.

I accepted it as long as Izzy and my mother was out of the picture.

Everytime it happened I'd be  physically hurt afterward. My neck had countless cigarette burns on and I always had a few cuts in my face. My wrists were always blue and my cheeks were always red from tears. I had half moon scars in the palms of my hands because I balled my fists more than I should. But he forced me to go to school closing every inch of my skin.

He even taught me how to apply concealer and base on to my marks. He never let me cut my hair and made me lie to teachers by telling them I joined a kickboxing club. I told my mother that i had been fighting on school to explain all my wounds.

There was a certain time of the day when I'd sit on the stairs of my rotten wooden porch. Balling my fists and closing my ears and eyes. Begging the universe to put an end to my suffering. Asking the Lord to take me to heaven or hell. Asking for a change. For me to stop suffocating.

For years I've been crying there until I just stopped. I couldn't cry for the same things over and over. Crying wasn't solving anything so I just let the cold air kiss my face or pretend the rain was fake tears so I could feel better about not crying. Counting stars until a stopped doing that too.

And that day I looked straight across the road into the eyes of a lost and panicked boy. His hair was pitch black against his light skin. His hair was eye length but the sides were shaven off. His grey eyes were strong and unreadable as they shone through his dark and gloomy aura. He didn't know it but he was pouting and squinting. His lips carved as a Greek gods.

He watched me as though he was trying to reach out to me. As though he was telling me that I wasn't alone. And I felt a bit better. It felt like I got something off my chest. Like a counseling session. For a split second it felt good to have someone look at me. Notice me but then a huge lump of anxiety drowned me.

What if he is analyzing my wounds? How many times has he seen me out here? What if he tells his parents ? What if he tries to come over? And starts asking questions? I would have to make up a million lies as always. But he smiled and I noticed I pulled the same face as he did. I watched his lips and for some reason my lips followed his footsteps once again. Then he let out a breath and shook his head laughing softly but I looked into his eyes.

Laughing with him wasn't going to change things. And his face went pale. I think we both saw something in each others eyes that we hadn't expected.

Acceptance.