Spoiled Secrets (3 page)

Chapter 3

              Beep----Beep---Beep---Beep----Beep

              “Where am I?”

              “Amber, Amber babe, open your eyes.”

              I slowly open my eyes to reveal a stark white room.  I tried to move, but the sharp pain in my arm advised me against that.  After a few moments to adjust to my surroundings I lifted my arm to find a tube attached to it.  I followed that tube until my eyes caught sight of my mother.  Relief, doesn’t begin to describe the look on her face. 

              Beep, Beep---Beep, Beep----Beep, Beep---Beep, Beep

              My heart is threatening to jump out of my chest.  What the hell is going on?

              “Amber, calm down love.”  Mom said.

              “What’s going on mom?”  Tears started trailing down my face.  I was scarred, disoriented and the last thing that I remember is……

              “
NOOOO…MOM WHAT DID I DO?  WHAT DID I DO?  WHAT-DID-I-DO
?” 

              I was yelling at the top of my lungs by this point.  Hysterical, doesn’t explain my frame of mind at this juncture in time. Whatever machine they had me hooked to confirm it.  The damn thing beeped non-stop and the sounds coming from the machine were loud, which drove me over the edge.

              “Sandra, get the doctor
, now
!” 

              I could barely make out my dad’s face through the tears.  I could barely make out his voice through my screams.  I knew my mother would leave me in the room on his command.  I hear her feet shuffling across the floor and the door clicking shut as my dad approach my bed. 

              “Please stop crying babe, it’s alright.  Calm down.”  He said in a soothing voice.  He leans over the bed and with the gentlest of touch started to wipe the tears from my face. 

              “What happened dad?  Why am I in the hospital?”  I managed to ask through the sobs and my uncontrollable hiccups.  His voice was so soothing when he responded. 

              “I went to the school after you were admitted to the hospital.  You have been unconscious for three days, Amber.  The principal stated that Alicia approached you with accusations of sleeping with her boyfriend.”  His voice was deceptively calm, but I knew better.

              The monitors went wild as he finished his last sentence.  I started to respond, I was masterfully silenced as he placed his manicured finger across my lips.

              “Amber, from what your principal has gathered from the other students, Alicia threatened to kill you.  One minute Alicia had you pinned to the locker the next, your both unconscious.”  He took this moment to bend down and kiss my forehead.  He started to run his fingers through my hair.

              “Alicia has a broken jaw, broken nose and she received stitches to close the gash on her lip.  Her parents wanted to file charges against you. 
I’M THE BEST FUCKING LAWYER IN TIMBER FALLS!
 
If, they thought I would stand for that, they were wrong!
  That
bitch
threatened you… my baby…she was the instigator.  I have plenty of witnesses to prove that point.  They would never win their case.  I informed them that it is
my right to file charges on their goddamned daughter!
  Food for fucking thought - because they called yesterday to tell me that their daughter was in the wrong. They will not be filing charges.” 

              He said the last sentence calmly, as he look down at me and smile. The ferocity and gently sway of this declaration clearly shows his mental capability at this moment.  The man can go from zero to sixty and vice versa, sixty to zero in a matter of seconds. I must tread lightly.  This man leaning over my bed right now is UNSTABLE!

              “You have been suspended from school for three weeks, Amber, but that’s not important.  I’m sure you can find something to do for three weeks around the house.” He winks at me.

              One minute he was smiling, the next minute the smile was gone.  The fingers that mere minutes ago were gently combing through my hair, has now turned to weapons that are inflicting extreme pain.  He clinched his fist around the roots of my hair.  He bends down so close to my face that I can no longer keep his face in focus.  This is the point where my body should have gone into fight or flight mode.  But, I cannot fight and I can only dream of flight.  I go from just being merely scared to being fossilized in terror of what’s to come. The monitors were going crazy.  My breathing was erratic, little whimpers escape my lips. 

              “
What did I do dad
?  Please stop, you’re hurting me!”  I said in a strained voice.

              “Who the fuck is Jason, Amber?”  He yanks my head to the side by the roots of my hair.

              “Did you give this Jason,
MY PUSSY AMBER
?”  His grip tightens in my hair.  I’m positive that I will have a bald spot where he is tugging and ripping my hair from my scalp. 

              “Never!” I cried silent tears.  “I would never give away what is yours.  He’s just my friend
dad
.”  Maybe if I keep reminding him that he is my father, he would briefly dissociate from this delusion of his, that I was his woman.

              “I told you before Amber, you may date,
but
you can never give away what is mine.  Do you hear me?”  He yanks my hair with such might, I felt some of my hairs pull from their roots. 

              “I will never…I have never given myself to another man, only you no one else, I swear!”

              “We’ll see!” 

              He holds my neck at an odd angle which brings my face within centimeters of his.  While his right hand held my hair in a death grip by the roots, his left hand finds its way under my hospital gown.  He thrust two fingers inside me.  This was not for pleasure, this was not for pain;
this
crude method is his way of measuring my womanly innards.  He is no one’s doctor, this is not a tried and deemed true method;
this
is another of his sick and twisted demeaning acts I am expected to bear.

  His fingers flex inside my vagina as he spreads them wide inside me, to use as a guide to see if there was the tiniest bit of change to my inner walls.  After he is done with his inspection, he slides his fingers out of my opening, he releases his grip on my hair, but he keeps his face close to mine.

              “Every time you leave my home for anything other than school, I will be checking you.  I refuse to let you go to anyone’s bed.  YOU-ARE-MINE!”

              His lips crushed down on mine with such force my teeth cut the inside of my lip.  I tasted my blood in my mouth as he lifted his face, stood straight and started running his fingers through my hair.  Just then, the door opened to reveal the ideal picture of father and daughter.  To everyone entering the room he looked like a concerned parent he has always portrayed himself to be, but I knew better.  This business man, this doting dad, this concerned dad, is really a sexual predator…a sociopath, and I must tread lightly.  I must bide my time because when I graduate this nightmare will be left far behind me.

              I look up to see my father slowly inserting the two fingers that were moments ago inside of my most tender spot, into his mouth.  His eyes are closed as he savors the essence of me from his fingers. The satisfied look upon his face has sealed the deal for me.  As soon as school is over,
I will run… far away…
from this sick man because if I don’t, he will never let me go. 

              I don’t know what made me turn my head, maybe, it was the revulsion at seeing this blatant act of possession from my father that I have never seen before. Maybe, it was as simple as me reaching the end of my rope with this irrational man standing in front of me.  My eyes landed on my mother.  She wore a look of confusion upon her face at my dads’ behavior. 

              One thing is for sure, I cannot worry if she will finally reveal the secret that lies beneath her feet.  All I can do is prepare myself for the weeks to come.  Please GOD, give me the strength to hang on. 

              PLEASE!  I BEG YOU GOD, PLEASE, GIVE ME THE STRENGTH TO ENDURE WHAT’S TO COME!

If Weeping Willows Could Really Weep

If Weeping Willows really could weep the picture of this majestic tree would be me.

Oh, if Weeping Willows could really weep, it would weep for me for the past three…..weeks.

Within these weeks I have become… weak.  My beautiful branches that once stood erect and strong have drooped in misery from unwanted attention pressed upon me All – Day - Long.

Unwanted hands, examines my limbs. Unwanted eyes, visualize my braches naked in the upcoming seasons that falls from the skies.  Unwanted touches penetrate my many orifices, to pull away with nectar that is slow to leak from the many wounds that the unwanted hands, unwanted eyes, unwanted touches have afflicted on me.  But, I appear to be, but a lonely tree so; I will continue to stand majestically. 

My tears, my pain, my struggles…I’m no longer sane.  But, you will never see this part of me because my roots run so deep.  They support the weaker parts of me.

Oh, if Weeping Willows could really weep it would be me.  If only you took the time to really see.

My crown of ground sweeping branches is covered in shimmering foliage that upon closer sight, you cringe in fright, of the discovery of why my limbs shimmer so bright.

The millions of tears that I’ve shed have crystallized.  Oh, the secrets that my soul is required to bear, makes me shed tears of shimmering despair.  Does anyone even care?

If Weeping Willows could really weep, it would weep from the knowledge that no one person seems to help …me!

Everyone sees this graceful refined tree and think how beautiful it appears to be.  They never pull back the limbs and examine the person within…sorry… they never pull back the limbs to examine the inner tree, that stands within the confines of the devils lands, unbeknownst to the unknowing man. 

Our roots run deep, if only you took the time to visualize, soon the real picture will crystallize, and you will see that everything isn’t as it appears to be.

If Weeping Willows could really weep it would……

If Weeping Willows could really……

If Weeping Willows……

If Weeping……

If……

No!  Weeping Willows will never truly weep.  That’s just me, for the past three…weeks …or…maybe I’m just…WEAK!

Chapter 4

              I look in the mirror one last time before leaving for school.  I’m not conceded, I would like to think that GOD has given me my looks to compensate for this shitty life I was born into.  I believe if he would have hit me with the ugly stick on top of having a psycho for a father, I would have taken a razor to my wrist a long time ago to end my suffering.  Believe me; I have contemplated suicide numerous times, lately more than usual. If I’m being honest, contemplating is not the correct word I would actually use.  Tried…tried, that’s the word I’m looking for.  I tried to take my own life before, but something deep within me spoke, demanding that I release the razor which shook in my hands on several occasions.

              Maybe, it had something to do with the three week suspension or maybe it has to do with my dad’s lunch time visits to, “check in on me”.  Well, that is the excuse he gives to my mom. 

              It’s disturbingly funny how people look at me as if I have it all. 

They take in my looks, my material goods, and
envy me
.  If they only knew…I’ll trade all of this shit for a little bit of normalcy.  I’ll trade my looks, my clothes and my car for a dad who really loves me, loves me the way a dad is supposed to love his daughter.  I’ll trade it all for a mom who isn’t blinded and consumed by her own problems and work, to know that her child is screaming for help.  I will trade all of this bullshit for those two things.

              But, I can’t trade, I can only be me.  So, I hide behind my looks, my Gucci, my Jag and all my expensive rags.  I pull it on everyday as if it were my body armor.  I hide hoping that someday someone will see the real me, the true me, the scared me and I pray that once they find me, they will disarm me of this heavy suit that I have no other choice, but to carry around.  

              Until that day comes, I will continue to write my pathetic letters to a GOD who appears to not care what happens to me.  I will spill my hurts and my anguished pain in scribbled literal coded poetry of my miserable life. I will vent, I will cry, and I will demand an answer from GOD on why he has forsaken me.  No matter how many letters I write to him in secret they are always unanswered.

              So, I will continue to look in my mirror and boost my own eagle, I will dress in designer labels and ride in luxury.  I will be perfect Amber Wallace until someone finds out that I am Broken Amber Wallace.

*****

              I pull into my usual parking spot at Timber Falls High School, that’s when I spot my girls Keisha & Emily.  Keisha Dixon is shorter than me; I would say 5 feet 2 inches.  She has a round face, pug nose, almond shape eyes and she’s a little plump.  I can’t call her fat, the boys’ call it stacked.  She is always rocking the latest urban gear.  I would describe her as designer hood.  She comes from a good home with both parents, who both have good jobs.  They don’t mind spending the money for Keisha’s hood gear. 

              Keisha is the oldest out of five children.  My nickname for her is Little Momma.  The girl is always cooking, cleaning and making sure her sisters and brothers never go without.  If you asked me to describe her using one word I would say, RESPONSIBLE. 

              There have been plenty of times when Emily and I have asked Keisha to go out with us and she has graciously declines.  Not because she was blowing us off, but because her sisters or one of her brothers needed help with a puzzle or they simply wanted to spend time with her.  I have never once heard Keisha complain about the things that are asked of her.  She is in the most simplest of words, SELFLESS.  I have loved her since the third grade as if she were my sister.

              Emily Stewart, now there’s a looker.  We have been friends since the seventh grade.  Emily has hair that hangs down her back in natural curls.  Emily’s mixed, her mom is white and her dad’s black.  You have a lot of people out there that loves to put labels on a person’s nationality, but I’m not one of those people.  Emily, on the other hand loves labels, labels are her specialty. She wears the most expensive designer labels that other kids our age probably haven’t heard of.  Nothing is more over the top than the label she puts on her nationality. She doesn’t go with the more obvious and call herself black or mixed.  Noooo…hold on to your seats, she calls herself MULATTO.  She reached far back in our history for that little designer label of her nationality.

              Let’s just say, the first time Keisha and I introduced ourselves to Emily it could have went south real quick if it wasn’t for Keisha’s perfect timing and ability to turn uncomfortable situations into jokes.

*****

              “Hey, you’re new here?”  I stated the obvious, to the new girl.

              “Yeah.” That simple answer was not good enough for me.  So, I pushed forward.

              “Well…my name is Amber and this is Keisha.”  I pointed at myself and Keisha with a smile on my face.  I was trying my best to give off the friend vibe.

              “Good to know.”

              Now, this rude chick is really getting on my nerves.  I should kick Keisha in her fucking shins for talking me into introducing myself to this stuck up girl.  I plastered my winning smile on my face, which happens to look a little more strained at this moment.

              “Hey, are you mixed?”  Maybe she is more inclined to answer direct questions.

              “Are you?”

              She actually countered my question with a question of her own. 
Who does that?
  I’ll tell you right now, she won’t be making any friends here if she doesn’t can the attitude. 

              “
Matter of fact
, I personally am not mixed, but my mother is. Hey Keisha, doesn’t it seem as if this conversation is going a little one sided to you?”  Who in the hell does she think she is?  I stare at her and in my mind, I encourage her to BRING- IT- ON!!

              “To answer your question,
NO… I am not mixed
,” She said this with a disgusted expression on her face. “I’m mulatto.” 

              This was said with her chin held high. I actually knew the definition of mulatto, but Keisha on the other hand had no clue what mulatto was.  The expression on her bewildered face confirmed that.  At this point, I knew exactly what kind of snob we were messing with.  For one, she can’t even own up to her nationality.

              ”Listen here you uppity b…,” Keisha interrupted me mid word.

              “What is a mulatto?”

              Before, I let this uppity bitch spew off some bullshit to my best friend on what her definition of a mulatto is; I decided to steal her thunder. I turn to Keisha to explain exactly what this chick is.

              “A MULATTO is
exactly
what I said she was in the first place! Drum rolls…queue the drum rolls friend! She issssss MIXED!  One of her parents is black and the other is white.  Way back in the day, offspring of such unions were called mulatto.”  How about that history lesson?

              I turned toward with the biggest smile plastered on my face. 
Now what, how was that explanation, you mixed bitch
!  The smile sporting on my face spoke the words my mouth currently wasn’t.  The tension was broken by Keisha’s cackling laugh. 

              “Damn Amber, study much!!”  The new girl and I turn to look at Keisha and joined in with the laughter.

              “My name is Emily.”  She stuck out her hand and introduced herself for the first time.  “Girl, you must study because a lot of people don’t know what the hell I’m talking about when I tell them my nationality. It’s good to know I’m not going to be the only smart one in this school.”  She said while laughing.

              “Hey!!!” Keisha gave a pointed look at both Emily and me.  “Emily, with you being new and all, would you like to come over to my house after school to hang out with me and Amber?” 

              From that day forward we have been inseparable.

*****

              As I stated before, she’s a looker, she has a body that would put Beyoncé to shame.  Where Keisha loves to rock the latest sneakers, you wouldn’t catch Emily dead in pair of running shoes.  It’s just not her style.   If you asked me to describe Emily in one word I wouldn’t be able to.  I would need at least three words to describe her, OUTSPOKEN OBNOXIOUS BITCH, and I love her to pieces.  She doesn’t take shit from anyone.  Keisha and I are so laid back compared to her.  People can talk about us all day, we’ll let all the insults roll off like oil on water.  If someone even looks at Emily the wrong way, they should prepare themselves for the on-slot of Emily’s verbal assault, they’re well known around these parts. 

              Emily loves the boys and the boys love Emily.  What’s that saying,
Guilty by association
?  Keisha and I should be the poster kids for that little slogan.  We are bitches and sometimes sluts because…let’s just say, Emily has been pretty loose with her cookies.  And, since Emily is so loose with her cookies everyone thinks Keisha and I do the same.  If I’m seen talking to the opposite sex the rumor-mill starts.  We have Emily to thank for the entire name calling.  But, those are words, empty words.  I raise my head, straighten my shoulders and keep it moving.  No matter how much bad press we receive by being Emily’s friend I cannot turn my back on her.  She’s my girl, my sister in way, and I love her and Keisha more than anyone that’s currently in my life.

              These two, I can tell them anything…almost anything.  I tell them as much as I can and I stuff the rest deep inside me.  I’ve know them so long that we can pick up on each other’s ups and downs.  My point is that they can tell when my home life is getting to me.  I tell only bits and pieces of my personal story.  I leave enough blanks so that they can come up with their own perception of what’s going on in the Wallace household.

              What are their views on things?  Well, let’s just say they’re close, but no cigar.  They think my dad is the root of my erratic mood swings. Correct! They believe that my dad is very strict. Correct!

They believe that he is controlling.
That controlling motherfucker
or
that strict son-of-a-bitch
!  Those are their two most famous sayings when describing my dad.  I must say that they are correct on that front as well.

              Here come my two amigos now, Keisha, with a hop to her step and Emily, this bitch should pay a lawyer to patent her walk.  I can’t begin to describe it to you, it’s not a switch, not even a sway.  The best description would be its sex on two legs.  I’m straight, never in my life have I been interested in twats instead of cocks, but that walk, that walk right there, will make the straightest person take a double take and say
DAMMMM!

              “Are you glad to be back?”  Keisha asked a little too loud since she hadn’t exactly made it to my car.

              “Hell yes!”  I was a little too excited on the prospect of my first day back to school. “What have I missed?  What’s the latest gossip? Who’s dating who?  You tramps are moving a little slow on telling me the scoop.”  Emily let out a shaky laugh and shook her head at me.

              “Girl calm down, you’re like one of those little annoying yappy dogs…on crack I might add.  What the hell did you think we were meeting you at your car for?”  Keisha starts to laugh at me as well.

              “Whatever, you two can laugh all you want.  Why don’t you try being out of school for three weeks, living in total hell.  You’ll act like a cracked out Chihuahua too.”  I took a moment to take a breath and smooth out my psycho smile as I exhaled.

              “Okay, okay, I’m calm, I’m fly, and I’m worthy.  Now tell me the fucking scoop!”

              “Girrrlllll, I don’t know about all that shit you just listed off.  Calm, fly, worthy…what the hell is wrong with you.  Amber, sometimes I swear you scare me.  Have your parents taken you to a shrink lately because you totally need some one on one time with a doctor.  Preferably, a hot doctor in his twenties with a banging body.”  I couldn’t help it, I had to laugh.  Emily has always been a smart ass.