Someone Willing to Stay

Buckle Up

     I can't move.
Adam is yelling so loud, I can hear the strain in his throat.
He's breathing so heavily I fear that his lungs will burst out of his chest.
He's mad.
He's mad because mom isn't home and he can be mad. He's mad because he failed his test. He's mad because I'm three hours late.
It's seven o'clock, and I barge into the house with a smile on my face. I walk in like everything is okay. But it's not. Nothing is okay.
Because Adam is mad.
"You're ungrateful! You're disrespectful!" In between every sentence, his foot sends another kick into my aching ribs. His fists have already slammed against my head. His fingers have already wrapped themselves around my throat.
And I can't move.
"This is your fault! If I hadn't been thinking about what a whore you are, I would've passed my test with flying colors. But I was thinking of ways to keep you from embarrassing this family even more."
"I'm sorry."
I knew that spilling my guts to Adam would backfire eventually. I didn't know it would turn around on me in the same day though.
"You're sorry? Sorry for making me fail? Sorry for breaking curfew? Or sorry for killing my dad?"
"I'm sorry."
"I'll show you sorry."
I remember screaming and crying. And begging, begging so loudly for him to stop. To put the belt back on.
I can hear the slicing sound the leather makes as it flies through the air and lands on my back. I can feel the throbbing scratches and blood trickling down my skin.
I don't know how I got to my bed. I don't know how I'm lying on my stomach with my face buried in my pillow and my mind blank. Because all I know is pain. I'm hurting.
I'm hurting bad.
My back is bleeding, it's soaking through my shirt and dripping onto my bed sheets.
I've been laying in the same position for almost two hours, it's nine thirty, and Adam is gone. He didn't blow enough steam off when he was hitting me, and he decided that he couldn't keep going or he'd kill me. So he went out.
I need to get up. I need to bandage my back and change my clothes and wash my sheets and clean the floor.
But I can't move.
So I'm laying in my bed. And I'm falling asleep to the rhythm of a throbbing back until there's a knock at the door.
You've got to be kidding me.
Just ignore it, you need a nap.
I'm tempted to just close my eyes again until the knock comes again, more insistent.
"I know you're here, your car's in the driveway." A muffled voice yells.
     For fuck's sake.
I let out a quiet groan as I roll off of my bed, my back screaming in pain, ribs almost cracking under the pressure of my shallow breaths, my head pounding in annoyance.
The knocking comes again.
"I'm coming, oh my God." I mutter.
My steps are slow and sluggish. I can't move and faster or more lively.
When I get to the door, I crack it open and frown.
"Mason? What do you want?"
He rolls his eyes, "Nice to see you too. Are you gonna let me in?"
"No."
He tries to peer around me to see what I'm hiding and I shift my weight so he can't see anything except my face.
"What's going on?" He asks.
"I'm just tired, it's late."
"Well too bad, we're going on a trip."
Now I roll my eyes, what is he talking about?
"What?" I don't have time for Mason's games right now. I just want a nap. I want to sleep more than anything
"We're going on a ride, like old times, except I have my license this time, so we don't have to listen to my mom's music."
He must be stupid. He must be an actual idiot. When he got here, he told me he didn't remember me. Now he wants to hang out like old times?
"I can't go anywhere right now, I'm busy."
"I thought you were tired."
I grit my teeth, "I'm both. Now please-"
I go to close the door but Mason stops me and pushes it open further, stepping inside.
I scurry to his side, facing him so he can't see my back.
"Come on, let's go just for a little while." He pleads.
I glance over at the living room floor, a spot of the carpet is covered in blood, my blood.
When he goes to follow my gaze, I panic, "Okay! Wait outside! Let me change."
"It's not a date, you don't gotta get all pretty for me, Mel." He winks.
"I just wanna get comfy, don't flatter yourself. Go wait in your car, I'll be out in ten."
He smirks, "Deal. See you in a minute."
When he leaves and I can finally shut the door, I sigh in relief.
Mason just asked you out.
No he didn't.
Totally did.
Shut up.
I can come home and clean up the floors later, but I have ten minutes to bandage my back and change my shirt before Mason comes barging in here and ruins my life with the whole why is there a puddle of blood on the carpet bit.
I struggle my way up the stairs, wincing with every step. This better be worth it.
I use my bathroom mirror to apply the bandages out of my first aid kid. There are only seven gashes, only two of them are still leaking red liquid. I use a wet washcloth to wipe off the dry blood covering the rest of my pale skin. After I've covered the wounds with more bandaids than I could count, I feel slightly better. Every step still causes me to wince, but no damp or sticky fluid pressing against me anymore.
I throw a black hoodie on and replace my jeans with sweatpants.
"Mel, come on, it's been like fifteen minutes. I'm not a very patient guy." Mason yells from outside.
I roll my eyes and smile, despite the aching all over my body.
Mason is leaning against his car by the time I trot out of the house.
"Alright, let's get this show on the road." He cheers, running around to the passenger side as I approach him.
He opens the car door and I scoff.
"After you."
"Don't act like a gentlemen."
"Don't act like you don't love me, Mel."
What am I doing? It's ten o'clock at night, and I'm getting into a stranger's car. Maybe he's not a stranger, but he is strange.
"One ride." I tell him as he gets in on the driver's side and turns on the car.
Mason looks over at me and smirks, "Buckle up."