Today,
I want to share a story that's more serious than some of my others.
This story is about a young woman named Emma who has been sexually
abused by her father since she was ten years old. As a result, she
has some serious emotional and drug related problems. If such issues
bother you, please wait until tomorrow. I promise to keep it light.
This is the first scene from the book.
The
Rob Zombie song slammed into his brain as his eyes tried to discern
shapes through the drug induced haze. His head felt like it was full
of molten lava threatening to erupt through his mouth any second. He
was looking for something—no someone. That's why he came, stayed,
overdid it—again.
Sammy
stopped the slow, shuffling walk, leaning against the wall. Stumbling
forward, he fell over downed bodies. He pawed at them before
painfully levering himself upward. With a flash of recognition, he
realized he had inadvertently found the person he sought.
"Emma."
He nudged her, but she didn't respond. "Em?"
Fear
gripped him as he searched for her pulse. It was slow but steady. She
was only half dressed, the clothing on her lower body gone. The smell
of sex lingered around her and he groaned.
"Not
again, Emma. We can't go through this again, babe. When are you gonna
admit, you've got a problem?" I've got a problem too,
he thought. Maybe he said it out loud. He didn't know anymore.
Sam
stood, his legs shaking, then bent over to pick her up. How many
times had he done this? How many more times would he have to before
she learned her lesson? Would one of them have to die for the other
to get the idea that what they did was self-destructive and stupid?
"Come
on, baby."
He
lifted again, his feet slipping in something. He didn't have to look
to know that it was vomit. Emma's breath smelled vile and he knew it
was hers.
"Come
on," he said again as he more or less got her to her feet.
Her
top was long enough to cover the fact that her lower half was bare.
Making her as presentable as he could, not that anyone would notice
or care, he half carried her to the door. When they hit the outside,
it was raining. It was the cold, bone chilling rain of mid-winter. He
used to love the rain, but too many mornings waking in the front yard
in a thunderstorm had cured him. Or maybe it was the many nights
leaving parties in weather like this, he reminded himself.
"Why
do we do this, Emma? We swore we'd give it up." I did, you
didn't. Like all her promises—broken.
Had
she ever kept a single promise to him? That thought kept him going as
he struggled down the steep incline of the driveway. His car was
parked hurriedly, nose first in the ditch. He hadn't realized what a
sharp angle he was at. The door wouldn't stay open. Getting her in
the car was going to be difficult.
Sammy
set Emma down on the wet ground. She was soaked already, a couple
more minutes wouldn't make any difference. She giggled as the cold,
wet ground embraced her. He backed his car into the road, leaving it
running as he put her in the back seat. Driving carefully, he headed
to the hospital. How often had he made this trip with her? So often
that he didn't have to explain to the ER personnel anymore. They knew
the drill.
He
sat in the uncomfortable waiting room chair as the orderly wheeled
Emma to the back on a gurney. Head on hands, propped on knees, he
hunched over. Tears warmed his cheeks as he waited for the news. It
was never quite as bad as he anticipated—he could hope the same
held this time. Prayer didn't come easily to a boy like Sammy, but he
tried for Emma's sake.
©
Dellani Oakes 2015
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