Page 38 of Bleed Me

CHAPTER NINE

One month later…

“Mama, please don’t send us back there. It hurt.” I was eight years old, desperate for her to hear me, save me, fight for her children.

The same big man, in a suit, who had taken us away last time, was in our living room again. Ignoring my pleas, he took hold of my arm. He didn’t have to grab Jenny’s because she was crying, glued to my side. They knew she would follow me, as always.

I wanted her to run, but she never did. She wanted me to save her…

Being dragged out the front door of one of the many childhood homes we had throughout my life, I watched as my mama stuck a needle in her arm, cash laid next to the burnt spoon and lighter. When she released the band around her upper arm, her crying green eyes glossed over and became hooded. She slumped over onto the arm of the couch and watched as the man took us away—

Sitting in my bed, in the dark, gasping, full of sweat, I tried to recover from yet another memory. Saint had been correct; the memories started coming more and more. I ripped off my wet t-shirt, trying to cool down the body that still wanted to run from all the hands—

I jumped out of my bed. Alone in one was the last place I wanted to be.

The hallway was dark and quiet. Everyone was sleeping. Earlier in the evening, I had excused myself from the party with a visiting club and went to bed. Of course, I couldn’t get any sleep with my mind unraveling. Two doors down from mine, I grabbed her doorknob until I heard the heavy breathing.

Backing away as if the door were deadly, my back hit the wall opposite of a whole different kind of nightmare. Justice was fucking someone. My stomach turned, threatening to vomit right there and make a spectacle of myself. Rushing back into my room, I grabbed my boots, then ran up the Barn stairs and out the front door for the only other best friend I had.

A bolt of lightning crashed down onto a distant hill in Austin Hill Country.

Through the rain, I ran…

In the gym, I flicked on the lights. I didn’t bother to dry off or wrap my hands; I just started punching the bag Justice said could handle my rage. But every time I swung, it was like I felt the thud of a fist on my younger body. Every strike I threw was another reminder of all the hits I had taken, trying to save Jenny and myself.

Just as I had backed away from Justice’s bedroom door, I now backed away from the bag that no longer brought me peace. The air around me became stifling. Wet and heavy. Unbreathable. So, I ran…

Behind the warehouse and under a cover of trees, I ran as a memory demanded to be seen, heard, and felt.

I was running, leaving behind the stranger—who had a hand full of money and drugs—my mother’s boyfriend, his palms open for the cash, and my mother who sat staring at her empty needle. Jenny and I had raced out the back door as if the house was on fire. It was. It was a blaze of threats no one wanted to protect us from.

Powerful rain pelted my bare back. My shirt was inside the house. It was the last thing Jerrod had a hold of as I escaped his grip—him demanding I do what the stranger wanted.

The stranger’s car sped down the road to avoid what I had started by running; unwanted attention. Jenny and I were supposed to go with him, but we ran…

Now my mom was paying the price of my actions. Smacks and punches echoed through the night as—hand in hand—Jenny and I hunted for cover. I worried about my mom, but I worried about Jenny’s tiny and abused body more.

Once in the woods, I could hear Jenny crying, the rain hitting the earth, and my adrenaline pumping loudly in my ears, until his voice overpowered all. He was screaming for her—his daughter. “Jenny!”

Jenny huddled against my side, so I hid us behind a tree.

Then he screamed for me, “You little bastard! Where’d ya take her?”

I was stealing her away, just like she’d begged me.

Jerrod’s hatred for me was immeasurable and unfair to an eight-year-old boy who never could figure out what he had done wrong to deserve such hellish beatings. The summertime, when I had no school, no teachers to see my battered face, was the worst.

“I won’t take her back there,” he proclaimed from a distance. I knew he was lying. Jarrod always did. In my bedroom late at night, he always promised it would be the last time…

His next explosion confirmed my fear. “Bring her back! Now!” His empty palms not only wanted to sell Jenny for the night, but also wanted revenge for me screwing up the sale.

I hoped he would settle for revenge.

I told myself, never will I feed her to hell if I have a chance to stop it.

Once again, I stared into the green eyes my mother had passed on to both of us. My hand went over Jenny’s mouth, begging her not to scream when I sacrificed my body up so she could be spared. I whispered, “You stay here.”

Some may think a five-year-old would be too young to understand, but that’s a lie adults like to tell themselves to feel better. Violence is violence, and any kid who witnesses it—no matter the age—can feel the menace of it.