What awaited Nia when she got home? And how did practise go for Panic?
“Hiding in estrogen and wearing aubergine dreams”
I wonder why she left early. Knowing her, she probably hasn’t told Spencer about the beatings. If she doesn’t tell him soon, I’m going to have to do it for her. I can’t let her live like this, a life of lies, although I’m contradicting myself; I still haven’t told them about me. I’ll just tell them when she tells them.
“Hey Ry, where’d Nia go?” Spencer asked, realising his girlfriend had left.
“I think she wasn’t feeling well and she headed home. I’ll call her later on her cell, but we really need to practice some more. I know we’ve only got two fully written songs, but we have to get down and practise them because, well, we still suck!” I replied
“Hey, after practise, could you maybe, I dunno, write more songs?” Brent asked after taking a drink.
“Well, I’ve been working on a song with Nia for a while, but I don’t know if she’ll want me to show it to you, because it’s kind of personal for us.” Brent nodded his head.
“Well, shall we continue?” Brendon asked.
“Yeah, okay. But I think we should do Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks now, as I reckon we’ve done Cause Boys Will Be Boys to death.” Spencer mentioned from the back. A chorus of ‘yeah’s’ were emitted, and we launched into the song.
Watch your mouth, oh, oh, oh, because you’re speech is slurred enough, that you just might swallow your tongue
I hope he doesn’t tell Spencer about dad. I would just die if he told him before I had chance to. Thankfully Ryan doesn’t know the full story, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep it from him. He’s going to find out eventually, either by looking at my arm, or over time, just by realising that I’m slowly shying away from Spencer. Slowly over the past month or so, I’ve been less ‘couply’ with Spencer, and I think he’s caught on that something’s up. But as I walked through the front door, all thought of Spencer and Ryan were thrown out of my head, as my dad’s fist made contact with my stomach. I don’t actually have a stomach because I’m so thin – border lining on anorexic thin -and he worked that out, and redirected his next blow for my ribs. After around 10 or 11 punches, when I was on the floor crying in pain, he lifted me up and backed me against the wall, and proceeded to get his hands under my clothes, and eventually sexually assaulted me. He’s been doing it for about four years now, and no one knows. Not my mother, as she died shortly after she gave birth to me and Ryan; nor Ryan or Spencer, as I fear what they would do in retaliation, and not even Brendon, who I can trust with all my secrets. Just before he let me go, he whispered into my ear.
“That will teach you not to be such a whore with that Smith boy.” I could smell the alcohol coming off his breath. Once he let me go, I ran upstairs to my bed and cried, the door to my room locked so he wouldn’t follow me in. I then dragged myself into the bathroom that joined my room to Ryan’s. I searched the cabinets and drawers, and eventually found what I was hunting for – Ryan’s razor blades. I rolled up the sleeve on my left arm to my elbow, revealing around 20 or so healing cuts, and about 10 that had already scarred. I put the razor to my skin, enjoying the coolness of the blade. I sliced long and hard, deeper than I ever had before. I made three separate cuts before washing the blade and returning it, dampening a washcloth and placing it on my raw arm. I then went into Ryan’s room and lay down on his queen sized bed, hugging his pillow and softly crying to myself.
For five hours now we’ve been practising “Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks”. Wait, how long?
“Shit guys, I have to go. Dad will be mad because I’m so late, and I never checked up on Nia!” The guys said their goodbyes to me, and I hurried home. It only took me half an hour, but that still made it 11:30 by the time I walked through the door, and as soon as I did, my Dad was in my face. He threw a few punches at me, in between grunts, presumably asking why I was so god-damned late. He let me go after a few minutes, and I hurried upstairs to my room, knowing that Nia would be hiding out in there after he run in with our so-called father. He’s been abusing both of us now since we were ten. As I opened the door to my room, I heard Nia whimper, presumably thinking it was Dad. I rushed in, closing and locking the door behind me, and lay myself down on the bed next to her, gathering her frail body in my arms.
“Did he hurt you again?” I asked, rubbing her back gently.
“Yeah, but only my stomach, so I’ll be able to cover it up tomorrow.” She let out a sigh, and I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me.
“Are you going to tell Spencer?”
“Yeah. I’ve decided that I want to tell him, and the rest of the guys, at practise tomorrow. It’s best if the all know.”
“good idea. By the way, I thought we could play them ‘Relax, Relapse’ tomorrow, after we tell them. If you want to that is.”
“Okay, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” I could tell she was getting sleepy; her voice was quieting down.
“Could you sing it tomorrow?”
“Yeah, okay. Did he hurt you?” sometimes she spent more time worrying about me than herself.
“Just a few hits; nothing clothes can’t cover up.”
“Okay,” Nia whispered quietly, before dropping off to sleep in my arms. My hand found a moistened wash cloth on her arm, so I gently removed it, and saw loads of cuts up her arms. Knowing she was doing things like this to herself brought tears to my eyes. I’ll make sure to ask her about that properly tomorrow. I pulled the quilt cover up over the both of us, and soon fell asleep beside my sister.