Categories > Original > Drama > More Than Enough

Ch. 2

by brokenhearted411 0 Reviews

inspired by but not based on a true story

Category: Drama - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters:  - Published: 2008/11/15 - Updated: 2008/11/16 - 1639 words - Complete

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I spend the rest of the day in my room all alone. Nick offers to take off work and stay with me, but I really don’t feel like being around anyone, so I just tell him that I’ll be okay by myself. I curl up on my bed and hold Rose- a doll that my dad got me when I was four- close to my heart. I cry silent tears and let pain take over my body. All I think about is that day in sixth grade; the day I knew my life was a living hell.
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I walk out of the school bathroom. But instead of going out the front, I head out the back. I am surrounded by three eighth grade guys. I turn to walk away but one of them garbs me and slams me against one of the other guys. This guy warps one arm around my neck, then covers my mouth with his hand. The third guy starts punching me in my stomach. “Hit her harder, Cory.” The first guy says. Cory, starts to beat me harder. While he hits me, the guy that’s holding me whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry, whore, you’re in for a treat. We are going to give your lard ass a good time.” The whole time I am crying and trying to scream, but nothing comes out. The first guy tells the guy that’s holding me, “Mat, take your hand off her mouth and restrain her body.” Mat tells the first guy, “Larry, if I let go of her mouth, the fat ass will scream.” Larry replies, “No she won’t, ‘cuz if she does, I’ll just have Cory teach her a lesson.” Larry reaches under my skirt and pulls down my underwear. He roughly inserts his finger, but slowly pulls out and in again. I beg them to stop, to let me go. But they just laugh. “Cory, hand me that stick.” Larry points to a stick on the ground a few feet away. “No, please! Don’t!” I whimper as Larry inserts the stick. He doesn’t push it in all the way, out the pain is still excruciating. Five minutes later, they’re done. “Tell anyone, and we’ll do far more worse things to you.” Mat releases me and I fall to the floor. I start sobbing uncontrollably. They just laugh and walk away. I know that the bell will ring soon, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself, so I go back in the bathroom and wash my face and hands. I flush out my eyes, so the redness goes down. The bell rings and I head to class. I see the guys and they just laugh.
In my sleep, I am screaming, “No, Don’t! Please stop!”
Nick comes in and tries to wake me but fails. “Melanie, com on wake up! You’re scaring me. Melanie wake up.”
I finally hear Nick freaking out. I open my eyes to see him crying on my bed. “Nick?”
“Oh thank God!” He says as he wipes his eyes. “I thought it was going to be like the other times.”
This catches my attention. “What do you mean ‘other times’.”
He looks hesitant, but continues, “It started sixteen months ago, when Mom and Dad when on their anniversary vacation, you were sleeping but kept screaming, ‘No, don’t. Please stop.’ I couldn’t wake you up. I tried for two hours with no luck. So, I called Dr. Warren. She said that you were having an extensive nightmare. That it was more mental than physical, so no medication would help you. She said that the nightmare would have to play itself off. Six hours later, you were finally awake. But you didn’t remember the nightmare, or how long you were out. I decided not to tell Mom or Dad, because since you couldn’t remember, they’d think I was crazy.”
“How often do I do this?” Now I am starting to get scared.
“So far it’s been once a month.”
“Then how can our parents never know?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, they’re never here.”
“Oh.” This is all I could say as I try to let all this sink in. “What time is it?”
“It’s ten-thirty.” I try to stifle a yawn, but fail miserably. “You should go back to sleep. You have school tomorrow.
This is the only time that I will ever admit that I need someone. “But I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be. I’ll be right here.” Nick takes notice of how ashamed I am to have to say I need someone. I know he is family and I shouldn’t be ashamed, but because I didn’t have someone when I needed them, I made myself believe that I really don’t need anyone. I know this doesn’t really make sense, but think about it like this; you’re a five year old kid who is afraid of the dark, but your parents won’t buy you a nightlight. So you tell yourself that you’re not afraid, and eventually you aren’t afraid anymore. Does this make a little more sense? Well anyway, I soon fall back into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next morning I wake up at four, an hour earlier than I usually wake up. I see Nick sleeping in a chair by my vanity. He’s positioned to where he’s facing me, like he was watching over me as I sleep. This would be a good time to tell you that the only person I trust is my brother. I don’t open up to him, but he’s always been here for me, waiting for when I need him. I walk over to my vanity and quietly take out my uniform, so I don’t wake him. I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower. I shed my PJs and got into the hot comforting shower. I take a ten minute shower and then do my morning routine.
By the time I am finished, Nick is up in the kitchen and eating breakfast. I walk over to the kitchen table and sit across from him. “Thank you for watching over me.”
“Sis, you don’t need to thank me. I would have stayed whether you wanted me to or not.”
“I’m sorry that I can’t open up to you.” I say genuinely remorseful and somewhat random.
“I know you are, but one day you will. And when that day comes, I’ll listen to whatever it you say.” He smiles and pats me knee. “So, are you ready for school?”
No. I’m not ready. “Yeah, let’s go.” On the ride there, we ride in silence just listening to the 103.9 on the radio.
He pulls up to the curb at UP and says, “Don’t walk home today.”
“Are you picking me up?”
“Just don’t walk home, okay?” He asks pleadingly.
“Yeah, okay.” I get out of the car and head toward my English class. After that I go to my World History class, then Pre-Cal class. Yes, I’m a sophomore taking a senior math class.
Twenty minutes after the bell rang a new student walks in. Mr. Zimmerman asks they guy, “Your name?”
“Larry Bellhorn.” The guy replies.
Larry Bellhorn. Where have I heard that name before? Larry Bellhorn.
“Why don’t you take a seat behind Melanie?” Mr. Zimmerman instructs.
“Okay.” Larry replies. It’s like he knows me. He takes the seat behind me. The teacher begins his lesson on synthetic divisions. On the overhead he writes: Use synthetic division:
a) f(x) = x^3 - 6x^2 + 11x - 6 ; Show x -1 is a factor
b) f(x) = x^3 - 7x^2 - x + 87 ; Show 5 + 2i is a zero.
Larry taps me on the shoulder; I turn around and look him straight in the eyes, he looks back. “Looks like we meet again.” He whispers.
It all comes back to me. Tears start to form in my eyes just as an evil smirk plays on his lips. I turn around, pick up my books and my bag, and dart out the door. I can hear people talking and wondering aloud about why I just left like that. I run down to the entrance door and burst through them. Once I’m outside I collapse on the steps and tears start pouring out of my eyes. I need to get out of here. So I start running again. I don’t know where I’m going; all I know is that I got to just keep running. After I run for about twenty minutes, I find myself back at Lomitas Middle School staring behind the bathrooms; where everything started. I can’t stop the tears. It keeps coming out and the pain feels so physical. I run to a nearby tree and fall apart as I kneel by the trunk. Why me? I was only eleven. There were so many other girls who would have been willing! Why’d they choose me?!?!? I cry uncontrollably for what seems like hours, but is only ten minutes. I pick myself up off the floor and wipe my eyes. I know that I can’t go back to school, but the pain I get from being her is too much. So I call Nick to come pick me up. He’s here in five minutes.
“Melanie! Why aren’t you at school? What happened to you? Why were you crying?” He asks worriedly.
“I…I…” I struggle for something to say. I mean, I can’t just tell him that the guy that molested me has found me. Again.
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