Take Me With You (8 page)

Chapter Eight

Amelia

There’s a word for what I am now, but it’s something that I don’t want to admit to being. It’s something I can’t admit to because if I do, it makes me weak and I promised myself years ago that was the last thing I would ever be.

Vulnerable.

I’ve never told another living soul what I just texted to Eric, but there’s no denying the huge sense of relief that takes over the minute I’ve typed the words out and sent them. Telling my
mom, it wouldn’t do any good. I know that if this was her I was talking to, the relief wouldn’t be there.  All that would be there is judgment. She would turn this around somehow and make it about her, all the while looking down on me for letting it happen at all.

That’s the problem with secrets. You can never be sure what the reaction will be once they come out. It’s why people hold onto them so tightly. They fear the judgment, looks and overall attitude change that comes with admitting the truth.

It feels good getting it out even though the words I’ve typed are as far from good as it gets. It’s the kind of information that nightmares are born of and now that I’ve dumped it in Eric’s lap, he’s going to experience them firsthand, there’s no way he won’t.

It’s been ten minutes since I sent the text and there’s been no response. Truth is, I expected that to happen. He probably doesn’t even believe me. I’ve given him no reason to trust me up until this point so if he thinks I’m just fucking with him, he wouldn’t entirely be wrong in it. I just don’t want him to think that way.

I want him to believe me.

Flicking the lighter, watching the flame rise and fall as I release the pressure every couple of seconds, I can feel the bile rising in my throat. Admitting this, as good as it felt finally getting it out also has the disadvantage of making me sick inside and out. It brings the reality of the situation to the surface until it’s all I can feel. A full body experience.

I’m right back in my bed, it’s the middle of the night and my father is grunting on top of me, calling out my name as he finishes, my screams muffled with the way I’m pushed into his chest.

Fuck. This was a mistake. I never should have opened my mouth. I’m not allowed to feel any sort of relief. I don’t deserve it. I lost the right a very long time ago. I’m nothing but a dirty whore, one that even now still bends to the man I call my father. No amount of strength can stop him and believe me I’ve tried. I’m always going to be at his mercy and it’s exactly what I deserve.

Please let me call you. I don’t want to text about this anymore.

Can I really speak about this out loud? I’ve never done it before. Even with the doctor, I admit things but in a sheltered way so that I never actually say the words out loud. He asks the questions, probing me and I give him just enough to paint the picture without acknowledging it.

Eric calling me, I would have to say the words out loud, the ones I’ve been avoiding for so long that it’s almost second nature. Can I really break away from the routine and lay myself completely at his mercy?

Amy please talk to me. Don’t tell me what you did and go silent. It’s freaking me out.

He’s not the only one freaked out. My stomach is tied in knots, I’m pretty sure if I wasn’t breathing through my nose every few seconds, I wouldn’t be able to breathe at all and more than that, I’m fighting the urge to pull the pack of smokes from the bedside table to make all of it go away.

He’s definitely not the only one freaked out.

Gotta go. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.

Before I can even think of putting the phone down, it vibrates in my hand and the words, even though they’re blurred with the tears that are now falling down my face, they get to me.

I’m seeing Dr. T because I tried to commit suicide last fall.

This should make me feel better, him opening up and telling me his secret but it doesn’t. It just twists the knife in that much deeper because I know what he’s talking about. I know what happened last fall and I also remember my part in it. We’re the reason Eric is going to the doctor right now, because of our stupid need to feed our egos and torture the hell out of people.

I told my mom that I wanted to die before we moved here.

Sometimes, like today with what happened at school…I still wanna die. I wanna take a blade to my wrists and end it all.

I ripped the screen off my window once. One night when my parents went to bed, I was gonna jump out. I wanted them to wake up to my insides being splattered on the ground outside.

The confessions keep coming and even though I’ve tried to type the words out to get him to stop, I’m shaking too much and the words are riddled with errors. I need to make him stop. He has no idea that he’s doing it, but he’s feeding into my triggers. The shame, the self-loathing, the urge to die. He’s making me wanna rip the cigarettes out and put them to my skin.

Please stop.

I’m sorry.

Don’t be. It’s just too much to hear. It helps but doesn’t at the same time.

What do you mean?

Admitting the truth about my dad is one thing, but this. I can’t tell him this. No matter how honest he is with me, he’ll look at me differently the minute I tell him how I cope. How can he not? What I do is sick. He already hates that I do the same thing to other people, doing it to myself will really push him over the edge.

I don’t want to tell him because I know what will happen if I do.

I’ll lose him. I’ll lose my lifeline.

Eric

I can’t tell you that.

The way she is right now, I have no clue what to do. Everything I told her, she’s reacting to it and I want her to open up and tell me why or how, but I don’t want to make anything worse. She texted because she needed something, making her feel worse can’t be a part of it or she won’t ever do it again.

I want her to do it again. I like the way I feel inside when she texts me back, even when it’s her telling me that she can’t admit things to me. I’m keeping her talking. I’m doing with what I can’t do with myself half the time.

Staring at the phone, I pull up her contact information, knowing it’s probably a mistake but needing to do something more than I have been. Pushing the call button, I watch as the phone connects and wait patiently as I hear the rings kick in, hoping that she picks up.

After about six rings have gone in and there’s no answer, I wait for the answering machine to click in. It’s only when I hear the faint hello that I realize she’s there.

“Don’t hang up, okay?”

“I can’t talk about this Eric.”

“Then just listen, okay? I’ll talk.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice louder now, the whispering tone completely gone.

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you hate me?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t.”

She coughs and for a split second, I think I hear what sounds like a strangled sob come through the line, but just as quickly as it happens, it’s gone and I’m left wondering exactly what’s going on with her.

“You need to hang up now. Walk away.”

“Is that really what you want me to do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fucked up! I hurt you, made other people hurt you and I’ll just keep doing it. It’s just better if you hang up.”

“And If I don’t want to?”

The line goes so silent I think the call’s disconnected, but as I’m about to say something, test it, I hear the same strangled sound again right before she speaks.

“You’ll get hurt.”

“I’m already hurt. I’ll take my chances.”

I’m not sure where the words are coming from, but I mean every single one of them. I am already hurting. I’ve been hurting ever since my mom took me to the doctor’s and dumped the diagnosis in my lap. It’s just gotten worse since. Nothing that she can say now, especially after admitting what her dad does to her can make the pain any worse.

“Why?”

“Because everyone needs someone. Even you.”

The sob I thought I heard before, it turns into a full-fledged cry and again I’m stunned into silence. Emotions and how to handle them, I don’t do so well with. When I get overloaded, I hit myself. I’m pretty sure that’s not the way to handle Amy right now. I want to have the words to make everything better, have her stop crying but this is just another obvious way I’m defective.

There’s nothing I can say that will make any of this better.

“Amy?”

“Y—yeah?” she stammers, making me even more aware of how similar we really are.

“Friday, will you get there early again?”

“Yeah sure.”

I have no idea if this is going to work, but if I don’t at least try, I know when the call ends, which I’m sure will happen any second now, I’m gonna regret it. I don’t want to have any regrets and I really need this call to end on a happier note even though there’s not exactly a lot to be happy about.

“Can you do something for me?”

“Depends. What do you want me to do?”

“Bring the yellow hat.”

After the words are out, I suck in my breath, hoping that she remembers our conversation earlier and picks up on the joke.  Scared at the same time that she won’t and I’ll come off looking like even more of a jackass.

“Never leave home without it right?” she asks and I hear the faintest trace of a laugh escape through the call, which for the first time all day, makes my head want to explode in excitement.

Maybe I don’t suck at this after all.

Amelia

Sticking my head out around the wall, I look for any sign of life.

I know she’s home because I heard her car pull up a little over an hour ago, but because I’ve been hidden away in my room with the door locked the entire time, I’ve avoided seeing her. I’ve gotta do this though and she can’t know.

Gripping the brown paper bag even tighter, waiting a few seconds for movement so I know how fast I have to move, I dive across the hall until I’m safely in the bathroom, the door securely locked behind me.

Putting the bag down on the counter, I slide the box out and stare at it.

This really can’t be happening right now. It’s not supposed to be this way. He’s not supposed to do these things to me at all, but this, it definitely shouldn’t be happening. If he’s gonna force himself on me, shouldn’t he mak
e sure he’s protected? He can’t want this to happen.

Fingers trembling, I rip the top off and stare at the pure white stick on the inside. I’m close now. All I have to do is reach inside, pull it out and do what the directions on the box say. Reality setting in, my stomach turning over at the thought of what this will mean, I lean my head against the wall, letting the coolness settle the upset that even thinking about this is causing.

I can’t be pregnant. It just can’t happen. If it does, the whole world is gonna know and I would rather die than have that happen.

I haven’t even gotten to first base with my boyfriend Kayden; so if it comes out, people are g
onna know it isn’t his. They’re gonna be nosy and assume that I’m sleeping around; that I’m a whore and I’m going to be nothing more than a statistic.

I’ll be no better than the people I make fun of at school.

Pulling the stick from the box, I position myself over the toilet, following each instruction to the letter, all the while trying to keep my heart calm and the headache that’s threatening to break through at bay. I can’t break down now. I’ve gotta keep it together. It’s the only way this is going to work. I can’t let anyone see me react.

Two minutes. That’s how long I have to wait now. The longest two minutes of my life.

Placing the stick on the counter and falling to my knees, I lift the toilet seat and let it all fall out. Emptying my stomach, the acid coating my throat, making it a struggle to even breathe from the burning now taking place.

I hate him for doing this to me. Putting me in this position. I can’t possibly have his baby. My father’s baby.

As even more falls from my lips, my stomach now heaving with the violation that expelling everything brings, I let the tears fall, pleading with the clock to speed up so that I can get answers once and for all.

As I hear the ticking of the clock on my phone counting down, everything finally released from inside of me, leaving only a burn and emptiness behind, there’s only one thought running through my head.

I wish I was dead.

~*~*~

How much more of this am I supposed to take? How many times am I going to have to relive this before I finally say enough is enough and move on from it?

Until you admit the truth.

The call with Eric, the way it ended; it was supposed to block all of this, but it’s not. If anything it just made everything even more real than it was before. When I wake up in a cold sweat, dreaming of him on top of me, smothering me as he grunts and groans his pleasure in my ear, after a few minutes I can see it for the memory it is.