Jennifer
"Hey, didn't Steven used to have some kind of crush on me?" |
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Elizabeth
"Shh! Don't bring up the dropped plot threads!" |
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"He has to fucking leave!" "Steven's not going anywhere, Elizabeth." Mom sat on the couch with her "husband", trying to watch television while I stood in front of them, still wearing my towel. "He saw me in the shower!" I yelled. "He's a fucking little pervert!" "I'm sure there must have been some kind of mistake," Steven's father said. "Maybe you should go up and apologize to him." "Apologize?" I yelled, until I followed his gaze to the blood on my legs. Seeing it only made me angrier, and as a fresh wave of fury passed through me I raised a fist and started toward him. "Elizabeth!" my mother cried. "Stop that immediately! Now go upstairs this instant and put some clothes on! Honestly!" I glanced at her, then lowered my fist and went upstairs. This fucking house... if they didn't leave, I fucking would...
No one had seen Elizabeth in a few days. I missed her, and my face was healing quite well. Both my parents were fairly angry about it, and had made an appointment for me to get a replacement tooth. But I really didn't mind; whenever I looked in the mirror and saw the bruises, the swelling, the occasional touch of scar tissue, I thought of her. This was our connection. I wandered into her empty room. If she ever came back I'd definitely apologize; I had no right to see her naked. I had no right to be in her room. I had no right to know her, to talk to her, to touch her... she was a goddess. I opened her underwear drawer. I'd been coming back here every day since she left. I didn't know why, they were just underwear. Just some fabric made in a factory, washed by a machine to remove any connection between her and them before being put back in the drawer. But at some point she had worn them... they'd been next to her body... they'd been a part of her... I had one pair of panties pulled over my head and two more pressed against my face when Elizabeth decided to come home. I only saw her face for a second, time enough to emit a quick "God, no!" before her foot connected with my face, knocking me roughly to the ground.
"How long before he'll be able to walk again?" the boy's mother asked me, standing next to his hospital bed. The kid was pretty messed up: half a dozen broken bones and more stitches than I cared to count, as well as massive blood loss. His sister did it, supposedly, and the police were still looking for her. It was actually one of the worst beatings I'd seen in my time at the hospital. "It'll be awhile ma'am, and even then some rehabilitation will probably be needed. His legs are damaged quite badly. In some ways he's lucky to be alive." She nodded and said, "Thank you, doctor," then took a seat next to the boy as I left to finish my rounds. Poor kid. I didn't know what he looked like before, but he sure wasn't pretty no more. |
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