Monday
7:39 am
I walk to class feeling a little worse than usual. My legs hurt and I can’t feel parts of my face. I check and recheck to make sure no one can see the marks on my face and arms. I reach the classroom and hold my breath as I walk in and sit in my seat, thankfully at the back of the room. I hope no one notices that I’m walking funny or that I have extra makeup on today. I tell myself to stop worrying, that I did well enough to cover everything. It keeps getting harder and harder to hide the bruises.
9:02 am
I sit through class and no one talks to me or stares at me. This reassures me that I managed to hide them all. The bell rings and I thankfully hurry to get out the door and to my next class. Just before I make it into the hallway, my teacher asks if she can talk to me for a minute. She is a nice woman, plump and happy all the time. I hesitate, thinking about whether to use the excuse that I’ll be late to class. She waves me over and I reluctantly walk to her desk. She waits until everyone leaves before she says anything to me.
9:05 am
She asks me about the dark spot on my chin and I unconsciously rub at my chin. I play dumb and ask her what spot she’s talking about. She tells me that I can tell her if something bad has been happening, but I don’t want anyone to know. I try to think of a good excuse to use. I decide to tell her that my little brother hit me with one of his toys while I was playing with him. She nods as if she doesn’t believe me, but says that I can go to class then. She writes me a note and hands it to me so I can leave.
9:17 am
I walk out of her room, glad that I managed to think of an excuse. I feel panicked as I continue down the hallway to my next class. I hope no one knows that I don’t have a little brother. I take my mirror out of my purse as I walk to see just how much is showing, but I don’t see anything there. I calm down just as I reach the doorway. I walk in and no one even looks up from their work. I slowly make my way over to the teacher’s desk and hand him my note. This class is my favorite, but today I’m just not feeling up for it. As I sit down, I feel relaxed again and hope that the rest of the day will run much more smoothly.
11:58 am
I fall asleep in study hall and am startled awake by the bell. I frown, thinking about how I didn’t get any work done because I was so exhausted from the night before. I keep wishing that there was something I could do about it. I realize I have time to stop before my last class of the day to check my makeup again. I hurry to the bathroom and look in the mirror. I’m horrified to see that my nap in study hall rubbed off most of my makeup. I see my beautiful curly red hair, but instead of a face covered in vibrant freckles, I see a large black and purple bruise that covers most of my face. I grab my compact out of my purse and use the sponge to cake more makeup on top of the bruise to cover it up again and hope that no one saw it on my way to the bathroom. Now, I have to rush to class so that I’m not late. I get to the room just as the bell rings and quickly flop down in my seat and wait for class to be over.
1:21 pm
I decide to skip my last class and go home. I am completely relieved now. School is officially over and I don’t have to hide the bruises anymore. I walk home slowly, enjoying my time outside. It’s Winter, but I love being outside anyway. The fresh air is wonderful and I like it better than being stuck at home with my father all the time. I decide to just walk for a while so I can think about everything that’s on my mind.
5:48 pm
I make it home just as my father pulls into the driveway. I run into the house and up the stairs to my room. I can hear him downstairs moving around and then the TV turns on and soon I can hear him snoring. I lock the door even though it does no good since he has a key. I change clothes and walk into my bathroom to remove my makeup. One by one the bruises are revealed and I feel like crying, but I know if he hears it’ll be even worse.
9:23 pm
It’s getting late and he hasn’t come upstairs yet. I know better than to hope he won’t come at all. He only comes when he’s angry, but then, when isn’t he? Even I don’t understand why. I lay awake in my bed and wonder what it would be like if my life was normal like everyone else’s. Then, I hear his footsteps on the stairs and I stiffen. I lay there and wonder how many times he’ll hit me tonight. I hear the key in the lock and wish I was dead.
Tuesday
7:43 am
It wasn’t as bad this time, only minor blows. I walk to school glad I don’t have to hide any more than I did yesterday. I’m still worried that she’ll notice something again today, but I don’t panic. I walk into her classroom and see her at her desk. She doesn’t look up. I sit in my seat and wait for class to start. It already seems like today is going to last forever. Finally, she stands up and starts to teach, but I just tune her out. Instead I think about everything and how I could make it stop. I realize that there has been a way all along that I refused to acknowledge. I decide that today is going to be the day I tell someone what has been going on at home. I start to listen as she rambles on about something. I especially can’t wait for class to end now. I can’t sit still, I just squirm in my seat the rest of class.
9:05 am
The bell finally rings and I hang back in the classroom. I ask her if I can talk to her. She seems surprised and I understood why. I sit down and explain about the lie that I told her yesterday. I go on about how I was afraid to admit it. I tell her that I want her to help me. I begin to tell her my story, every gruesome little detail.
9:27 am
It takes a while for me to tell the whole story. By the time I am done, we both have tears in our eyes and I can barely utter another word. I begin to cry so hard that I don’t think I can ever stop. After I regain my composure, we talk about what to do. She explains everything to me and tells me that before this is over I will have to tell the story again. I cringe at the thought of reliving it all again and again.
9:42 am
The day went by quickly after that. I daydream my way through the rest of my classes, thinking about how it’s going to be after I am finally away from him. I want the “happily ever after” that everyone else seems to have. I realize that I was foolish to keep it to myself in the first place. I ask myself why I didn’t tell someone right away. I’m feeling really good about myself now. I pat myself on the back for finally finding the courage to tell someone. Tonight I am going to be free of him.
2:47 pm
I walk home like always, but happier than I think I’ve ever been before. I reach my driveway and stop in my tracks. His car is there which means he is already home. I am confused because he is never home this early. I tell myself it is going to be okay because he couldn’t possibly know yet. Besides he never comes to hurt me until really late. I walk cautiously to the door and go inside. I see him there, sitting on the sofa watching TV. He doesn’t turn around or say anything as I come in. I just climb the stairs and go to my room like normal.
6:39 pm
I sit in my room for a long time just thinking. I’d been thinking all day. I think to myself that today is the happiest day of my life. Then, I hear it, that telltale sound of his footsteps on the stairs. I look at the clock and start to panic. It’s too early. It’s supposed to be over. I didn’t even lock my door tonight. He opens the door and I see the look on his face. Right then, I know that he knows what I’d done. He walks toward me and, unlike any other night, I actually start to scream.
6:41 pm
But no one hears me. Just before the final blow makes contact, I realize that I’d been too late. I am never going to get the normal life that I wanted. And then, It’s all over. It’s too late.
Disclaimer: If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse in any form, it is always best to talk to a trusted, responsible adult about it. It may be a teacher, a minister, or just a friend's parent. Regardless, it is absolutely crucial to be open about these things--even if it causes some emotional pain.
Questions for Further Writing:
Erika was inspired to write this story by Jason Michael Carroll's song "Alyssa Lies." What songs, books, paintings, or other art forms have you ever experienced that prompted you to produce art of your own? What was the result?
In the story, the protagonist seeks help with a teacher. Which of your teachers would you feel most comfortable talking to about a difficult situation in your life? Why?
If you could rewrite the story with a "happy ending," what would you have changed?
Erika,that was a very good story,I wish she could've gotten the life she'd always wanted,but I liked it either way and I probably would've written something similar to it.Good job.
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