Chapter Two: There Is Hope
“Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence.” -Lin Yutang
Ten o'clock comes all too soon. As we leave the parking lot of "The Moon", dread begins to fill me. I'm certain my father will be dragging in soon and all hell will break loose. That final left turn onto the road I live on makes me shudder.
"Stop the truck," I say my voice barely above a whisper.
Jeff looks over at me and hits the breaks. "What?” he asks.
"Did you mean what you said? Remember that night, by the river a couple weeks ago?"
"I meant every word," he says, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Jasmine, I love you, you know that. The last eight months have been amazing and you know I can, and will take care of you."
I nod and draw in a deep breath. "Well, I guess I better get home and pack my things," I say, pausing to wait for him to react. He smiles, leans over, and kisses my forehead lightly.
"Jasmine, I think we should wait until after you graduate. I mean, you only have a couple of weeks left." I look at him through my tear-filled eyes, unable to speak. "I know that look, but seriously, think about it. There will be no worries about getting you to school every day and you'll be eighteen. The last thing I need is them accusing me of kidnapping you. Think of all the trouble we would have if you ran away tonight."
Staring down at my hands I nod lightly. "I understand what you are saying and I can wait, even though I never want to see that look in my father’s eyes again.”
Jeff pulls me to him again, softly running his hand down my cheek. "We better get you home." I sigh and dry my tears as he puts the truck into drive.
As he turns into my driveway, I see my father sitting on the steps, beer in hand. Pausing as I get out of the truck, I look over at Jeff and he nods lightly. The walk up to the house feels surreal. My father looks up at me; the outside lights illuminating his blood shot eyes and the anger in his scowl. "You little whore," he snarls as he stands up. Freezing where I stand, I look back at the tail lights fading into the darkness. I brace myself for what's coming as he undoes his belt. I know what's coming; it’s become a part of my life, a part I struggle to keep hidden.
Afterwards, I stand in the bathroom looking in the mirror at the red streaks crisscrossing my back. My tear stained cheeks are burning from the slaps at the hands of my mother. Turning on the shower, the tears continue to fall. I step in and the warm water makes me wince under the pressure. Deep down, I know I'm making the right decision. After I finish my shower, I stand there allowing the cool air to encompass me and soothe the pain. I dress quietly and creep down the hallway to my bedroom. Shutting the door softly, I close my eyes. My heart is hammering in my chest as I begin to fill my suitcase; grabbing everything I can and cramming my whole life into a suitcase and a backpack. I rummage through a shoebox in the bottom of my closet and find the pictures of Caleb, along with a family portrait of us, from when times were good. Staring down at the perfect little boy with a bright smile and bright blue eyes, I smile. He would be sixteen this year. Forcing myself to look away, I quickly tuck these precious memories into my book bag.
I pack everything I can without it looking obvious, and then find an empty space towards the back of my closet. I sit on my bed and cry until my tears run dry. I lie down on my bed and grab my phone. The screen lights up with another text from Brandon telling me how worried he is about me. I mark all of them as unread and power off my phone. The dim light filtering through the old, ratty curtains create a sense of peace as I finally drift off to sleep.
A little before dawn, I wake up to my dad stumbling down the hallway towards my room. I close my eyes tight and breathe deeply as my door flings open. After a few moments, he shuts the door and I pop my eyes open. The tender skin on my back rubs against the fabric of my nightgown as I sit up. I carefully change into a t-shirt and jeans and creep quietly down the hallway to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror startles me, my eyes are still red and puffy, and a faint handprint is outlined across my cheek. After going downstairs, I grab some orange juice from the fridge, guzzle it down and dash back to my bedroom, grabbing my phone. I power it on and place it in my back pocket as I reach the front door. My dad is gone and my mom is sitting outside smoking a cigarette. The creak from the old screen door makes her jump as I open it. "Damn, girl. A warning would have been nice," she hisses, taking another drag. She looks up at me with an indescribable pain in her eyes.
"Mom, I'm going for a walk," I say, slowly making my way down the steps.
"You're going to the cemetery, aren't you?” her voice dry and venomous.
"Yes," I reply, fighting the lump forming in my throat.