Behind Drawn Curtains

Chapter 9

The darkness enclosed around me as I hurried myself underneath my bed, trying my best to get away from him. There was no way he could find me under my bed, I knew that. He would never think to look there. As I heard him coming up the stairs I climbed out from under the bed and made my way to the window, dragging the curtains open; hoping above all else that it would create the diversion I needed.

“E.J.! I’m coming for you!”

His voices echoed on the walls, almost like he was standing in the room with me. I could feel his voice bouncing, creating a net, trapping me inside.

Again I scurried, trying to get a place to hide. Under the bed. Yes, that would be the perfect place to be. He would never think of looking for me there.

Just as my left leg disappeared underneath the bed I heard the door opening. I held my breath. He could not know that I was here.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Don’t hide from me!”

“I love you E.J.!”

“Come and please me! I promise you will like it!”

Each sentence. Each word. Each syllable cut down deep past my skin, connecting with my heart that was now thumping in my throat, waiting to jump out and reveal my hiding place at any second.

Then the footsteps moved away. The door closed.

He was gone.

Slowly I moved from my position, breathing again. Knowing that if he stayed for a few moments more I would have had to breathe and give myself away.

“Gotcha!”

His eyes locked mine. It was like Medusa was staring at me, turning my body to stone while he ripped my clothes from my body and pushed me down on the bed. I heard the red thing before I saw it coming closer to me.

“Come now E.J. Look me in the eye. I want to see in your eyes how much you love me,” James said with a wicked grin on his face as the vibrating embers of burning moved into me as I screamed at the top of my lungs.

I woke up with a start, only to see that my dream had come true, so I screamed again. As hard as I could. Maybe there was a neighbor that would hear me. Maybe even come and save me.

I could feel metal digging into my bed and machines making strange and urgent beeping sounds as I tried to get away from his hands and his eyes that was looking straight through me, ready to strike at any moment. I could feel myself climbing up the walls.

Then there was people everywhere. Gripping me and pulling me back toward the bed, keeping me down so that he could do his thing. I wanted to scream that they were hurting me, but I felt hoarse. Something wasn’t right.

A prick on my arm?

Darkness came once more. As I felt my body lifting up from the bed and floating into midair I hoped it was really the last time. I hoped that this time it would not be a dream. That the next time I woke up, it would not be to his eye. I hoped that this time I was really dead.

***

“…been stable… woke up last night with your husband by his side, but he had a bit of a reaction… quite normal in these circumstances… had to sedate him… sure he’s fine… mental health isn’t that of… might need help… institute…”

I only caught parts of the conversation that was held behind the door that led to where I was, but I knew it was about me. I could hear the strange voice of a man more clearly than that of my mother. It sounded like she was crying, but I could hear without a doubt that it was her. There was no mistaking her voice for anybody else. Could it be that she really cared enough to fly halfway around the country to see me?

I opened my eyes and took inventory about what was going on behind me. Now, the strange thing is that you always read about teenagers trying to commit suicide and when they wake up in the hospital and see all the white they immediately think they are dead, or in heaven, or wherever… That is not how it is at all. At first you realize where you are, and you feel a little bit of panic forming in your throat, especially when you can’t remember how you got here. Then there is this internal voice that goes; “s**t, I’m not dead yet,” which is the worst feeling in the world. Then you know that everybody will want to know why you did what you did. You know they will ask questions you didn’t want to answer in the first place. Questions that you want to take to the grave because telling your secrets are humiliating and it hurts and it’s not going to make anything better for you if you tell somebody. It never works…

The tears started streaming down my face. I wanted to dry them off, but my arms felt like lead against my sides, so I just turned my head from the one side to the other in order to try and dry my face against the pillow. It didn’t really work, but at least it gave me some sort of feeling that I was trying to do something.

What really made me cry was not the fact that I was still alive. It wasn’t the fact that I would have to go back home in time and face James again. I didn’t cry because of Chris making his own assumptions or for the fact that I was going to be raped worse than ever when I finally got home for costing James money and effort for the hospital. I didn’t even cry about my bottom still being sore and burning.

I cried because I would have to do all of this again. I cried because I would have to look at myself in the mirror once more. I would mentally have to say goodbye to my mom, and Keith, and Chris, and even my teddy. Everything that I hold dear and close in my heart. I would have to take the blade again and rip through skin and muscle to dig down beneath where the blood flows. I would feel the searing going through my wrist and the struggle that went with cutting the other one with an open wound on my arm which struggled to keep the blade straight. I had no idea if I was strong enough to be able to do that again. I didn’t know if I would have been able to kill myself again, and if I would rather just die on the inside and allow James to just use my body whenever he wanted.

They say everything happens for a reason, so why on earth did I survive? So that I could be raped again and again? So that I could hide underneath my bed, crying about my life? How long would it be before the limp I had became a permanent fixture?

“Honey?” I could hear the sweetness she tried to plaster over her voice to sound calm and collected, but I knew she had cried. No mask could hide that from me. I have heard her cry once too many times in my life.

I didn’t answer, and she didn’t say a word either. What was there to say? That she was glad I failed in what I was trying to do?

I could feel the bed sink in where she sat down at my feet, trying her best to catch my eyes, but I turned my head away. I didn’t want to look at her. I didn’t want her to see the humiliation that I was sure was on my face.

I felt her hand. Her fingers starting to run through my hair. Brushing it lightly in an attempt to be motherly. I guessed that if she could take a step so could I, so I turned my head and looked directly into her warm brown eyes. The ones that kept me safe at night when I was little. The ones that kept me going through all the years of abuse; because I wanted the very best for her, just as deep down I knew she wanted the best for me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, still not able to keep the tears from falling, because I knew it was all a lie. I wasn’t sorry for slitting my wrists. I was sorry for still being alive after it. I was sorry for laying in this hospital bed taking away money that she could have spent on a holiday. I was sorry that I didn’t go for the throat where I would have been sure to do a proper job off it all. I was sorry that I failed in the one thing everybody had to achieve once in their lifetime.

“It’s okay honey,” she said, smiling through the tears streaking down her face. “It’s all okay.”

“I’m tired,” I said, feeling my eyes getting heavy, and also wanting an excuse for her to just leave me alone.

“All good honey. James just wants to also come and say hi quickly. Then we will leave you to sleep some more,” she said, and before I could fight the fact that I would be face to face with the man who had been the reason for me being in this hospital bed she was out the door.

Within seconds James appeared in the doorway. I could see he had been crying. His eyes were red and his face was puffy.

“E.J.,” he said, his voice still heavy from crying. “My boy… You gave me such a fright…”

As he walked closer to the bed I pulled away. Those tears were for my mother. To fool her. He didn’t feel anything for me, unless it was lust.

“How could you do this?” he confronted me as he sat down on the bed next to me, ignoring the chair where my mom just sat. “How could you do this to me? To us? Have I not been giving you enough attention?”

Still I didn’t say a word. Was he crazy?

“Please E.J., talk to me. Tell me what I did wrong. I will make it up. I promise.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. He sounded like some love-sick puppy trying to make up with his boyfriend who just tried to end their relationship.

“You’re sick,” I whispered.

“What?”

The shock was so obvious on his face that it scared me. I could not believe what I was seeing. He really truly believed that I loved him. He believed what he was doing to me was love. Either that or he was an incredibly good actor to the extent where I could almost believe him as well.

“You’re the reason I’m here,” I whispered, wanting him to know that it was all his fault.

“And I get that. I’m so very sorry E.J.,” he said just as a sob ripped through him. “I know I wasn’t giving you enough attention, but I promise it’s all going to change as soon as you come home. I will make it right. I promise.”

I could not believe my ears. I could not believe the delusion that I was seeing. This was the type of thing you saw in movies. You hear about it in urban legends. You read about it in books about serial killers. You never got to see it up close and personal.

“I’m tired,” I muttered as I turned my head away from him, but that didn’t stop him from leaning in and placing a soft and tender kiss on my forehead that made shivers run down my spine with intense cold.

“I love you,” he whispered as I closed my eyes, hoping that it was all just a nightmare. That he was never in the hospital room with me. Holding my breath until I could hear his shoes announce that he was leaving the room. Only then did I start to really cry.