was out there, if he knew where I lived, or had followed us home. What if he was waiting for a moment to come in to get me, to hurt me again? Fear drove me to my phone as I reconsidered my decision not to let Ivy or Jesse stay with me. But no, alone, secluded was better—for them and for me.
“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” hummed through my lips. For some strange reason, the simple lullaby bestowed a superficial comfort. I hummed myself to sleep but the grace of the song wilted into the hell of the nightmares. Once again, the crunch of fists, the pounding of the violence overwhelmed me. My sleep swam with images of torture, terror and blood. The filth of his touch, the vileness of his words, the threats made to silence me.
“If you so much as breathe too loud I will snap your neck. And your little amiga will be next. Understand?” In the dream, Ivy entered the room and his fists went to work, breaking her like a porcelain doll. He forced me to watch while he took her.
I awoke thrashing, my body entombed in blankets. Tears soaked my pillow. Silent tears that evolved into a mournful whine, ricocheted into a scream that wrenched from my throat as the rage and anguish ravaged me. It severed from the deepest chasm within me; the audible sounds of my heart disintegrating.
“No. No. No. She’s okay. She’s okay.” I rocked, manic and desperate as I struggled to convince myself. Scrabbling through mounds of used tissue, I hunted up my phone, and stifled the wail that warred in my chest.
Baby, u there? I texted feverishly, and waited insufferable moments, the cell pressed to my heaving breast. “Answer. Answer. Answer.”
Right here, Sweets. I can come if u need me.
NO! I just…needed 2 know U R OK.
I’m fine. R U OK???
Yes. Bad dream.
I can come.
No. Just needed 2 know. ILY!!!
I can call.
It’s OK. No voice.
R U sure??
Yes. I love you, Baby.
Love u 2, Sweets.
Such simple words appeased my stricken heart.
* * *
Time eked by in hazy patches of waking pain and dreaming torment. Awake or sleeping was of little consequence, the pain thrived in some form in either state.
The images of my parent’s fiery crash scorched my heart, left me singed and blistered; my nerves raw and tender.
The death of my parents blew a gaping hole in my chest. And now, this—this monster placed its cruel claws on the ragged remnants and rent me in two.
My torture chamber of night terrors tore me from sleep. I huddled in a blanket in my window seat, stared blankly at the swirling eddies of snow. It all looked so innocent and unassuming. Right now. But I remembered that day, eight months ago, that changed my life forever.
I’d been out in front of the house, washing my urban-orange CX9, and waiting for my parents to return from a house hunting trip in Cali—their snowbird home after I graduated. I worshipped the sun, absorbed the warmth after its long hibernation. Winter’s chill melted off my bones like thawing glaciers. The sweet scent of pine filled me. Birds filled the trees with preening and the air with song.
Pop! Pop! The staccato pop of tires on the gravel driveway drew me out of my tropical reverie to the police cruiser edging toward me. The cold stone in my stomach forewarned me, but I chased it away with denial.
“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” hummed through my lips. For some strange reason, the simple lullaby bestowed a superficial comfort. I hummed myself to sleep but the grace of the song wilted into the hell of the nightmares. Once again, the crunch of fists, the pounding of the violence overwhelmed me. My sleep swam with images of torture, terror and blood. The filth of his touch, the vileness of his words, the threats made to silence me.
“If you so much as breathe too loud I will snap your neck. And your little amiga will be next. Understand?” In the dream, Ivy entered the room and his fists went to work, breaking her like a porcelain doll. He forced me to watch while he took her.
I awoke thrashing, my body entombed in blankets. Tears soaked my pillow. Silent tears that evolved into a mournful whine, ricocheted into a scream that wrenched from my throat as the rage and anguish ravaged me. It severed from the deepest chasm within me; the audible sounds of my heart disintegrating.
“No. No. No. She’s okay. She’s okay.” I rocked, manic and desperate as I struggled to convince myself. Scrabbling through mounds of used tissue, I hunted up my phone, and stifled the wail that warred in my chest.
Baby, u there? I texted feverishly, and waited insufferable moments, the cell pressed to my heaving breast. “Answer. Answer. Answer.”
Right here, Sweets. I can come if u need me.
NO! I just…needed 2 know U R OK.
I’m fine. R U OK???
Yes. Bad dream.
I can come.
No. Just needed 2 know. ILY!!!
I can call.
It’s OK. No voice.
R U sure??
Yes. I love you, Baby.
Love u 2, Sweets.
Such simple words appeased my stricken heart.
* * *
Time eked by in hazy patches of waking pain and dreaming torment. Awake or sleeping was of little consequence, the pain thrived in some form in either state.
The images of my parent’s fiery crash scorched my heart, left me singed and blistered; my nerves raw and tender.
The death of my parents blew a gaping hole in my chest. And now, this—this monster placed its cruel claws on the ragged remnants and rent me in two.
My torture chamber of night terrors tore me from sleep. I huddled in a blanket in my window seat, stared blankly at the swirling eddies of snow. It all looked so innocent and unassuming. Right now. But I remembered that day, eight months ago, that changed my life forever.
I’d been out in front of the house, washing my urban-orange CX9, and waiting for my parents to return from a house hunting trip in Cali—their snowbird home after I graduated. I worshipped the sun, absorbed the warmth after its long hibernation. Winter’s chill melted off my bones like thawing glaciers. The sweet scent of pine filled me. Birds filled the trees with preening and the air with song.
Pop! Pop! The staccato pop of tires on the gravel driveway drew me out of my tropical reverie to the police cruiser edging toward me. The cold stone in my stomach forewarned me, but I chased it away with denial.
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