The Fifth Circle (22 page)

I pulled a flashlight out of my nightstand drawer so I could finish reading my novel. I was afraid to turn on my light in case he decided to come after me again. Tears pooled up and overflowed. I hadn’t even had a chance to use the bathroom before going to bed. My bladder ached with heaviness, but I couldn’t afford to take a chance by opening the door and creeping down the hallway. Not until I was sure he was asleep.

Maybe he wouldn’t mess with me. It had been three years since he’d tried anything, but with my mom out of the picture….well, who knew? I read by the dim light of the flashlight until I couldn’t ignore the persistent pain in my bladder. After two hours, I eased open my door and peered down the hallway. All was quiet. I eased out of my room and took quick, but silent steps to the bathroom. I almost wept with relief when I closed the door behind me and sat down on the toilet.

Now the tricky part: I had to make it back to my room without my dad hearing me. What if he already woke up when I crept down the hall? My hand hovered at the doorknob for several minutes before I worked up the courage to open it. Easing the door open, I tried to peek through the tiny sliver of visibility.

Suddenly the door flew open and my dad grabbed me, his putrid breath in my face, making me gag. One hand groped my breast and the contents of my stomach gurgled up and overflowed.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled, stepping back away from me. Thick, greenish vomit covered his hand and forearm. I pushed past him and dashed down the hallway, slamming my door behind me. I locked it just as he pounded down the hall after me.

“Get out here and clean this shit up!” he screamed.

I ran to my dresser and pushed everything that was on it into the top drawer. Intent on putting an additional barrier between us, I began pushing it toward the door. My carpet rippled under the weight of the heavy piece of furniture. Crying and breathing heavily, I finally managed to block the doorway.

My dad beat on the door and laughed. “
What are you doing in there? It sounds like you’re moving furniture.” He laughed again. “You think you can keep me out? I’ll hack the fucking door apart with my ax.”

“If you do, I’ll call 911,” I shouted.

“And tell them what? That I’m just trying to get into a room in
my
own house? Open the fucking door!”

I was crying too hard to respond. He half-heartedly wiggled the doorknob a few times, then with a few muffled curses, went back down the hallway to his room. I sat on the edge of my bed, afraid to go to sleep. My knees trembled and my hands shook.
After what seemed like an eternity, my eyes began to feel heavy. I had to blink several times to keep them open. Fear kept me from sleeping.

When the sun came up, I heard my dad moving around in his bedroom.
The sound of running water gushed through the pipes in the walls, so I grabbed my backpack and stuffed all my books inside. Then, I snatched my suitcase from the top shelf of my closet and filled it with clothing. Next, I put on my shoes and waited.

I waited
until I heard his bedroom door open, until I heard feet descend the stairs, until I heard cabinets rattled in the kitchen. At last, I heard the front door open and shut. Peeking out from behind my mini blinds, I watched while he climbed inside his van and fired it up.

With a painful heave, I shoved my dresser away from my bedroom door. Back at the window, I watched while my dad drove away. My hands shook as I unlocked my bedroom door. If my dad came back for any reason, he’d catch me trying to escape. That’s what I was doing—escaping my house. I wouldn’t stay there another night. No matter what.

I didn’t even stop to pee—I just lugged my stuff down the steps and out the door. Sean was waiting for me when I knocked on his door. “Hey. I’m glad you came. How…”

“My dad just left. I…” Sobbing, I fell into his arms. His mom came down the hallway and stood helplessly while Sean tried to console me.

“What happened?” he asked after my sobs faded to shuddering gulps. His mom handed me a glass of water and I took a sip before answering.

“I…I just can’t stay there without my mom. I can’t be alone with him. He…” I glanced at Sean’s mom. Did it matter if she knew the whole story? I didn’t care anymore. I was too tired to be ashamed. “He came for me. I sat up almost all night, afraid to go to the bathroom. He caught me…”

“That son of a bitch!” Sean gasped.

“I got away.”

“Oh, Alex,” Mrs. Droste said, patting me on the shoulder.

“She can’t go back there,” Sean said, looking at his mother. “He’ll end up killing her.”

“No, you’re right. Alex, I guess you can stay here with us.”

She sounded unsure and I knew why—everyone knew my dad would flip
out when I didn’t come home. By dinner time, he’d be pounding on her door, cursing and hurling threats. Every day thereafter, it would be more of the same. Mrs. Droste would have to risk facing him each time she left her house to get the mail, go to work, or run errands. She’d feel like a prisoner in her own home.

I knew what it was like to feel like a prisoner
. I hated the fact that I was sentencing her to the same fate that had befallen me. In a way, it was different, though. Mrs. Droste might have to endure discomfort, maybe even a few taunts each time she walked from the front door to the car, but at the end of the day, when the door locked behind her, she was safe. I hadn’t felt safe in nine years. Nine years of fear and anxiety and pain. Nine years of being afraid to go to sleep at night. Nine years of hating my life and my very existence.

Sean carried my stuff to his room. I sat on the bed while he cleared out a few dresser drawers for me to use. Judging from hi
s red-rimmed eyes, it was obvious he hadn’t slept the night before, but his energy was boundless. Several times, he walked up and down the hallway to obtain trash bags and cleaning supplies. He hauled out baskets of dirty laundry, bags of soda cans, empty fast food wrappers, and other debris. By noon, his room—our room—was spotless and there was a space for my meager belongings.

My dad hadn’t returned home yet, so Sean escorted me to my house so I could grab a few things I’d forgotten. I rushed around, nervous and fearful he would return, but he didn’t. I escaped with a trash bag full of clothes and a laundry basket full of toiletries and personal items.

Once everything was unpacked and put away in Sean’s bedroom, I let out a shaky breath. It was over. I’d moved out. I’d cast my childhood behind me. Soon, I’d have a baby of my own—a husband as well. I’d grown up in one quick morning. Or, perhaps I’d been forced to grow up at the age of nine when my dad stole my innocence.

I bit my lip and tried to stifle the sob coming up from my chest. I was an adult now, and grownups weren’t supposed to cry.

Chapter 22- Sean

He turned his talons upon his companion

And grappled with him right above the moat

(Canto XXII, lines 137 & 138)

At five, Mr. Elmwood came crashing over to my house and beat on the door. I wouldn’t let my mom answer it. Alex was my responsibility, so it was my job to deal with her father.

“Come out here, you little son of a bitch.” His shriek was accompanied by a loud thump, presumably where he grew tired of pounding on the door with his fists and switched to kicking it instead.

“Where the fuck’s my daughter?”

I flung open the door and glared at him, daring him to step across the threshold. In one hand, I held
my cell phone, ready to call 911, in the other I held a baseball bat. It was pint sized; I hadn’t played sports since I was in elementary school.

“She’s staying here,” I said, struggling to keep the fear out of my voice.

“The hell she is. Alex,” he screamed.

I cursed under my breath when she came scurrying down the hallway. I’d specifically told her to stay in our room and to let me handle this myself.

“Come on,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“No. I’m not coming home. Ever.” Her voice shook, but she crossed her arms in front of her and remained behind me, afraid, but determined.

“Why the hell not?”

“Why do you think, you sick fuck?” I asked. My mom hissed at me from the kitchen, begging me not to make the situation worse.

“I’ll kick your ass!” he screamed at me. “Are you fucking my daughter? Are you? You faggot-ass piece of shit!”

“If I’m a faggot, why are you concerned about me fucking your daughter? Is it because you want her for yourself?”

He pushed his way into the house, screaming obscenities and reaching for Alex, who cowered behind me.

Mo
m came out of the kitchen just as Mr. Elmwood shoved me against the wall. “I’ve already called 911. The police are on their way. If you go home now, I won’t press charges.”

He spun around and glared at her. With a scream of fury, he lurched toward the door, staggering and almost falling down the front porch steps. A few neighbors stood outside watching the dramatic scene. Sirens sounded in the distance.

The police talked to my mom and then to me. A tall, middle-aged cop with a slight beer belly seemed almost bored when he asked if we wanted to press charges for trespass.

“Hell, yeah,” I said.

“What’ll happen if we do?” Mom asked.

“You’ll have to file a report. We’ll arrest him and he’ll be
placed on a twenty-four hour hold, then released. He’ll go to court, probably get a fine or probation.”

“It isn’t worth it,” she decided.

It probably
wasn’t
worth it, but I complained nonetheless.

“It’ll just make things worse,” she said. “We’ll still be neighbors, and he’s still Alex’s father.”

Everyone turned to Alex. The police officer looked down at his notebook and said, “You mentioned that you and your father got into an argument last night. Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight—just until everyone settles down?”

I interrupted before she could even form a sentence. “She’s staying her
e. Permanently.”

A second cop—the
younger one who’d been interviewing Mr. Elmwood—came up the porch steps. “Well, it seems like everyone has settled down. Do you folks need anything else?”

“He abuses her,” I blurted. Alex shot me a look of terror and shook her head.

“Do you want to press charges?” the tall cop asked.

“What do I have to do?” she asked.

“File a report, talk to the DA…”

“No. I…I don’t want to press charges. I’ve moved out, so everything is fine now.” Alex looked like she was ready to shove the cops down the
steps. She was panicked. She wasn’t ready to tell. She might never be.

“If you folks need anything, give us a call,” the younger cop said before they both turned away.

“Don’t you want him to pay for what he did?” I asked after the door shut behind them.

“It’s over now. I just want to forget it ever happened.”

“She’s right,” my mom said. “Nothing ever happens in these cases. He’ll get off with a slap on the wrist, and it’ll rip the family apart.”

Alex walked down the hall to our bedroom, signaling the end of her participation in the conversation. With a final glance at my mother, I followed
Alex down the hall. Her eyes were glassy when she sat down on the bed.

“You should have pressed charges,” I said. Silence. “He deserves to go to jail for what he did.” No response. “How can you just let him get away with what he did?”

When she started to cry, I said, “It’s okay, Alex. It’s your choice, not mine. The important thing is that it’s over.” I sat down next to her and pulled her close and waited for her sobs to subside.

Alex
went to sleep early, so I got on the computer. My whole quad was online and it was time for a Raid. An opposing quad sacked our empire and stole our winter supplies, so we launched an attack, slashing, burning, and killing. TOA was a good parallel for real life—if you let someone get away with trying to take what was yours, they’d do it again. It was essential to slaughter the enemy before they got you. Survival of the fittest.

My mind kept drifting back to Alex. She didn’t want to press charges. Was it because she planned to return home? She wouldn’t return there, or if she did, it wouldn’t be her idea. Her father had a sinister hold on her mind. He used a combination of fear and manipulation to keep her in line.

I hated her father, not just because of what he did to her, but because she would never be free of him. I would never completely hold Alex’s soul while he was still inside it, rotting it from the inside out. If Alex didn’t want to have sex, it was because she was having flashbacks. If she woke up with nightmares, it was because of him. She never dreamed of me. He claimed her insecurities, her fears, her earliest memories and she would never truly be mine.

With a vicious thrust, I plunged a dagger into my opponent, spinning and slashing until the entire battlefield was empty. Only
Stryder2 remained, my teammates having long since retired. It was three in the morning, and my eyes burned from being open for so long.