Page 4 of Fractured Souls

“As I was saying, rules you will be following. You will be mute. I have already informed the school. If I find out you are talking at school or to anyone at all, that,”—she points to the cup—“will happen again. And again. Maybe every day until you really can't speak, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut. You will come and go by bus, and I expect you to be on time every day, not staying late ever. If you are ever late, you will get locked in the doghouse that night.”

My mind threatens to drag me under to memories of that doghouse, but I immediately shut them down, blocking it all out.

“You are to brush off bruises as being clumsy. You were in a mental hospital from age ten to sixteen because you struggled with self-harm and anger issues and are ill. If we are not home when you get here, you will walk around back and wait on the back porch until we get home. Harley, you will not like the repercussions if you disobey. I hope the last three years have taught that stupid brain of yours something useful. You are starting as a junior like everyone else your age. I do not care that you are behind. Succeed. We will get you some more clothes later today. You are dismissed. That is all.”

With my head spinning with everything she just said and my throat on fire, I nod and turn around to head back towards the basement but before I can get far Father is behind me grabbing my hair and yanking me back, “When your mother is being so generous you could show some gratitude, you stupid, ungrateful bitch!”

Stupid mistake. Always thank Mother. I knew that.You’re a fuckup, Harley. You never learn.

Father drags me into the kitchen and shoves me down onto my knees as he fills the sink with water. Oh no. This has happened before; it's his favorite thing to do. He always tries to make it last longer and longer. Last time was two minutes.

I can do this. I can do—

He grabs my hair and yanks me up, then immediately shoves my head into the sink full of water. I try to take a deep breath first but don't have time. I try to stay calm and breathe, but it's always terrifying when you can feel your head being held down. I try to find some sense of peace in the water so I don't panic, but I can’t when I have no positive experiences with water.

I know passing out isn't an option. Last time I did, I got beat until I couldn't walk. I had to be carried downstairs, and healing took months. I just need to remain calm; panic will not help me… I can… what the fuck! My mouth pops open on a silent water filled scream as I feel the whip hitting my back, my thighs, my ass. I feel the burn as I realize they are hitting hard enough to break skin. Tears leak down my face without my permission.

Don't panic.

Hold your breath.

You can do this.

You've survived worse.

You are strong.

Hold on just a little longer…

It feels like my mind is turning blank. Words don't come. I can't keep myself calm. The pain, the water—it's all too much. Maybe this time, just maybe, this is it. It'll be the end. They'll let me go. Free me from my chains, I'll be free, free to finally die.

Mom… Mommy, I'm coming to you…

* * *

Pain. Searing, all-consuming pain. I feel like my chest is caving in on me. That's when it hits again, and I cough and gag as I choke and spit out water all over. My throat hurts and burns, but I can't stop coughing. Each cough sends a stab of pain through my throat. It takes time to get it under control and breathe properly, but when I do, I realize I am not dead.

I sag back onto my back on the floor of the kitchen where I realize that they must have been doing CPR on me. My chest hurts, and it feels like a ton of bricks are sitting on me. I know I'll have a bruise tomorrow from that.

As I regain all my senses, I realize Mother is yelling at me, and I open my eyes to see her standing over me with her arms crossed and a look of disgust on her face.

“AGAIN? Are you insane? Maybe you really should be put in a mental hospital. You did that on purpose, you stupid girl! Get your ass downstairs. I don't want to see or hear you anymore today! GET OUT!”

I scramble up as fast as my aching body can and head to the stairs. Father follows me down and locks my ankle cuff back in place. “She wouldn't be so hard on you if you'd just be good for once. This is your fault, Harley. Try harder, sweet girl.” He runs his hand up my leg and squeezes high up on my thigh.

I freeze, unsure how to react.What is happening?

Then he leans closer and whispers, “I've been waiting three years. Please stop making me wait. Be good and I'll get to spend some time with you, sweet girl.” He releases me and turns to walk back upstairs.

I stare at the spot that he was touching on my thigh. My stomach revolts with the thoughts of his hands on me.Please don’t let more happen.I think if I had anything in my stomach, I would be hurling right now.

I sag onto my bed, and tears threaten to leak out of my eyes, but I refuse to let them. That… That has never happened before. I don't even know how to process that.

I mean, my mom had the birds and bees talk with me when I was twelve, but that couldn't be what he means, right? He's my uncle! I mean, he's always watching me. If I'm upstairs for any reason, he's just always there watching, but he hasn't touched me before. His words repeat through my head as I try to rest, but soon it's just too much and I jump up to do something, anything, because I can't be left alone with my thoughts right now.

When I thought this might be it, I was happy, and I just feel like I'm not supposed to be happy about that. It's the same as when it happened a year ago. I tried to kill myself, and I was happy when I came up with my plan.

That's not normal, is it? I start pacing the small space, counting my steps as I go, from my bed to the far wall by the stairs, and then I turn around and go back and do it again. My body aches and screams at me with each step, but I let the pain in. Let the pain distract me from my mind. The chain hooked to my ankle cuff drags along the concrete floor as I pace, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

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