Categories > Original > Drama > My Pain
Someone knocks on the door. “Lacey?”
I close my eyes. I can’t answer Ronnie.
“Answer me, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
I bite my lip.
“Please don’t make me pick the lock to the girls’ room.”
He’s being stupid. I didn’t lock the door because I couldn’t figure out how.
“Don’t think I won’t come in there,” he warns.
When I still don’t answer him, a soft click lets me know he’s opened the door. I hear his heavy footsteps as he steps in, locking the door behind him. His arms are around me then, pulling me against his chest, the top of my head tucked under his chin. I don’t even know if I’m crying or screaming or sitting there silently. All I’m aware of is his heartbeat under his skin, his calm, even breathing, the sweet smell of his pale skin. It calms the babble in my mind. It allows me to breathe in and out peacefully. He softly kisses my forehead. I know I have to explain why I ran out.
When I slowly raise my head and meet his eyes, I can see the question burning in them.
“I couldn’t stay,” I say in a quiet, shaky voice. “I didn’t belong with such good people. I’m not worth it. I’m not loved by anyone. Not my family, and sure as hell not God. I couldn’t stand it. My head was screaming at me.”
He sighs softly. “That’s the beauty of it. God doesn’t discriminate. He loves us all. Even the worst people are loved, they just don’t understand that love and thus don’t believe in it. God loves us, and He loves us more than we could ever comprehend. He died for us, and rose again to show us His incredible power. He loves you, Lacey.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t shake my head. I just climb to my feet when he does and allow him to lead me out of the bathroom just as the service ends.
He stops me at my front door before I can go inside. He stares at me meaningfully, sending a shiver through me. He unzips the hoodie wrapped around me, slipping his hands under its fabric, sliding it down my shoulders, off my arms. I suck in a breath as he runs his hands gently over my arms, the jacket hitting the ground. He’s looking at my cuts, my bruises, my life. I close my eyes, feeling goosebumps raise on my skin. I wish he’d let me go. He shouldn’t see this. This is my world. No one else has ever set foot here. He’s forcing me to face what I’ve done to myself—and what’s been done to me. I open my eyes. He hears my gasp as he touches a particularly sore black bruise—from when my dad got a hold of a baseball bat—and meets my eyes. “You didn’t get these bruises after getting jumped by a gang, did you?” He remembers the lame excuse I told the doctor when he noticed my bruises in the hospital. I shake my head. “He beats you, doesn’t he?” he murmurs. Our faces are hardly an inch apart. I’m afraid to nod—I wonder if it’s too much to tell him. But I do it anyway.
His hands braid themselves into my hair, resting on the sides of my face, tilting my eyes up to look at him. “Beautiful,” he whispers.
I hear footsteps inside the house and quickly push Ronnie off. “You have to leave. Now.”
“Why?”
“Bye, Ronnie.”
“Lacey, stop!” he says as I put a hand on the door knob. He stares at me, clearly trying to formulate something to say that would ease my pain. I guess he can’t, because he takes my face in his hands again and kisses me sweetly. We break apart, I whisper goodbye, and slip through the front door.
“Where’ve you been?” my father slurs, drunk. He bangs on the bathroom door.
“In the hospital, not that you’d care.”
“Hospital?” he burps. “I’ll make you feel better than any hospital.”
I shiver in disgust. “Fuck off.”
“Shut up, bitch. Open the door.”
“Hell no.” I dig through a nearby drawer. I can’t stand it. I have to find a razor.
“Cunt!” he slams a fist against the door. No, I think miserably. Stop.
I find one lone, shining blade. I curl up in the bathtub and watch as it slices through my skin, quickly turning red with blood.
He laughs drunkenly suddenly. “You bitch. I bet you fuck like a whore.”
I hug my knees to my chest. I wish Ronnie were here to hold me and calm the screaming of my thoughts. I shudder with weak sobs. If God loves me so much, why would He permit so much suffering in my life? Where is He?
“God,” I say in a shaky voice, “If you’re real, and if you care, show me that you’re near. Show me some kind of sign that you love me. Show me something that can drive all thoughts of suicide from my mind.” I feel the warm tears on my face as I freeze and wait for the sign. Minutes pass. Nothing happens. I laugh at myself for being so stupid. I lean against the back of the bathtub, relaxing a little at the warm flow of blood down my arm.
Suddenly the door swings open. My father stands there, smiling, holding the crowbar he used to break through the door. I climb to my feet, looking for some kind of escape. He drops the crowbar and shoves me against the wall, kissing me full on the mouth. I nearly throw up on him. He’s so disgusting. He licks my cheek, and I spit in his face. “Get off me, you disgusting mother fucker.”
He throws me to the floor, and I hit my head on the wall, instantly beginning a flow of blood. He grins. “I like it dirty.” I scream, but he just clamps a hand over my mouth, wrenching my shirt off. He rolls onto his side, kissing my face, and I take the chance to get up. I grab the crowbar and hit him. I hit him with everything in me. He writhes in pain. I laugh out loud. It feels incredible. I hit him in the head, and he’s out like a light. I drop the bar and try to decide what to do.
I know I could free myself from this pain. I could call the cops and they’d take me away and I’d get a whole new life. But where would that take me? Away from Ronnie and Sophie? Away from the two people I love in this world? They’d take my razors. I might get sent to some psychiatric ward.
I’m terrified. If my father wakes, I’m beyond fucked. If I get help, I have no idea what’ll happen. I move to my room and curl up in bed, switching on the radio. “How He loves us so,
“Oh how He Loves us…”
I gasp. Is this sign I asked for? Could it be? No way. I sit up, listening, as an odd sense of peace overtakes me.
“He is jealous for me,
“Loves like a hurricane,
“I am a tree…”
The phone rings downstairs. I run and grab it. “Hello?”
“Lacey! Are you okay?”
“Sophie? How did you get my number?”
“Oh, honestly, does no one consider the phone book anymore?”
I’d laugh if it weren’t for the night I’ve had.
“Are you okay, honey?”
“No…I just…I just knocked out my father.”
“What happened!?”
I close my eyes. I can’t answer Ronnie.
“Answer me, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
I bite my lip.
“Please don’t make me pick the lock to the girls’ room.”
He’s being stupid. I didn’t lock the door because I couldn’t figure out how.
“Don’t think I won’t come in there,” he warns.
When I still don’t answer him, a soft click lets me know he’s opened the door. I hear his heavy footsteps as he steps in, locking the door behind him. His arms are around me then, pulling me against his chest, the top of my head tucked under his chin. I don’t even know if I’m crying or screaming or sitting there silently. All I’m aware of is his heartbeat under his skin, his calm, even breathing, the sweet smell of his pale skin. It calms the babble in my mind. It allows me to breathe in and out peacefully. He softly kisses my forehead. I know I have to explain why I ran out.
When I slowly raise my head and meet his eyes, I can see the question burning in them.
“I couldn’t stay,” I say in a quiet, shaky voice. “I didn’t belong with such good people. I’m not worth it. I’m not loved by anyone. Not my family, and sure as hell not God. I couldn’t stand it. My head was screaming at me.”
He sighs softly. “That’s the beauty of it. God doesn’t discriminate. He loves us all. Even the worst people are loved, they just don’t understand that love and thus don’t believe in it. God loves us, and He loves us more than we could ever comprehend. He died for us, and rose again to show us His incredible power. He loves you, Lacey.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t shake my head. I just climb to my feet when he does and allow him to lead me out of the bathroom just as the service ends.
He stops me at my front door before I can go inside. He stares at me meaningfully, sending a shiver through me. He unzips the hoodie wrapped around me, slipping his hands under its fabric, sliding it down my shoulders, off my arms. I suck in a breath as he runs his hands gently over my arms, the jacket hitting the ground. He’s looking at my cuts, my bruises, my life. I close my eyes, feeling goosebumps raise on my skin. I wish he’d let me go. He shouldn’t see this. This is my world. No one else has ever set foot here. He’s forcing me to face what I’ve done to myself—and what’s been done to me. I open my eyes. He hears my gasp as he touches a particularly sore black bruise—from when my dad got a hold of a baseball bat—and meets my eyes. “You didn’t get these bruises after getting jumped by a gang, did you?” He remembers the lame excuse I told the doctor when he noticed my bruises in the hospital. I shake my head. “He beats you, doesn’t he?” he murmurs. Our faces are hardly an inch apart. I’m afraid to nod—I wonder if it’s too much to tell him. But I do it anyway.
His hands braid themselves into my hair, resting on the sides of my face, tilting my eyes up to look at him. “Beautiful,” he whispers.
I hear footsteps inside the house and quickly push Ronnie off. “You have to leave. Now.”
“Why?”
“Bye, Ronnie.”
“Lacey, stop!” he says as I put a hand on the door knob. He stares at me, clearly trying to formulate something to say that would ease my pain. I guess he can’t, because he takes my face in his hands again and kisses me sweetly. We break apart, I whisper goodbye, and slip through the front door.
“Where’ve you been?” my father slurs, drunk. He bangs on the bathroom door.
“In the hospital, not that you’d care.”
“Hospital?” he burps. “I’ll make you feel better than any hospital.”
I shiver in disgust. “Fuck off.”
“Shut up, bitch. Open the door.”
“Hell no.” I dig through a nearby drawer. I can’t stand it. I have to find a razor.
“Cunt!” he slams a fist against the door. No, I think miserably. Stop.
I find one lone, shining blade. I curl up in the bathtub and watch as it slices through my skin, quickly turning red with blood.
He laughs drunkenly suddenly. “You bitch. I bet you fuck like a whore.”
I hug my knees to my chest. I wish Ronnie were here to hold me and calm the screaming of my thoughts. I shudder with weak sobs. If God loves me so much, why would He permit so much suffering in my life? Where is He?
“God,” I say in a shaky voice, “If you’re real, and if you care, show me that you’re near. Show me some kind of sign that you love me. Show me something that can drive all thoughts of suicide from my mind.” I feel the warm tears on my face as I freeze and wait for the sign. Minutes pass. Nothing happens. I laugh at myself for being so stupid. I lean against the back of the bathtub, relaxing a little at the warm flow of blood down my arm.
Suddenly the door swings open. My father stands there, smiling, holding the crowbar he used to break through the door. I climb to my feet, looking for some kind of escape. He drops the crowbar and shoves me against the wall, kissing me full on the mouth. I nearly throw up on him. He’s so disgusting. He licks my cheek, and I spit in his face. “Get off me, you disgusting mother fucker.”
He throws me to the floor, and I hit my head on the wall, instantly beginning a flow of blood. He grins. “I like it dirty.” I scream, but he just clamps a hand over my mouth, wrenching my shirt off. He rolls onto his side, kissing my face, and I take the chance to get up. I grab the crowbar and hit him. I hit him with everything in me. He writhes in pain. I laugh out loud. It feels incredible. I hit him in the head, and he’s out like a light. I drop the bar and try to decide what to do.
I know I could free myself from this pain. I could call the cops and they’d take me away and I’d get a whole new life. But where would that take me? Away from Ronnie and Sophie? Away from the two people I love in this world? They’d take my razors. I might get sent to some psychiatric ward.
I’m terrified. If my father wakes, I’m beyond fucked. If I get help, I have no idea what’ll happen. I move to my room and curl up in bed, switching on the radio. “How He loves us so,
“Oh how He Loves us…”
I gasp. Is this sign I asked for? Could it be? No way. I sit up, listening, as an odd sense of peace overtakes me.
“He is jealous for me,
“Loves like a hurricane,
“I am a tree…”
The phone rings downstairs. I run and grab it. “Hello?”
“Lacey! Are you okay?”
“Sophie? How did you get my number?”
“Oh, honestly, does no one consider the phone book anymore?”
I’d laugh if it weren’t for the night I’ve had.
“Are you okay, honey?”
“No…I just…I just knocked out my father.”
“What happened!?”
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