I fight the blush that threatens to bloom in my cheeks. Daisy wants to see me again. He’s kissed me too many times to mention today, and now he wants to know when he can see me again. I rarely wish for a cell phone—most of the time I don’t really care that I don’t have one because I don’t have anyone to call. But today I could have given Daisy my number and behaved like a normal teenager and God, I haven’t felt normal in so long. Most days I long for the insipid trivialities that people my age face—normal angst ridden teenage drama would be a welcome relief. I’m not a normal teenager and I haven’t been since Nicole died and the full force of my father’s wrath fell onto my shoulders.
“Angel.” Daisy’s voice prompts me.
I falter. If my father finds out I snuck out today it’ll be bad, very bad. My father’s rules are absolute; if he catches me, I won’t be given the opportunity to sneak out again.
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to sneak away again,” I say.
Daisy frowns. “I only just found you, Angel, I can’t give you up now. How are we gonna do this? You don’t have a cell, so how can I speak to you?”
I could give him the phone number for our house, but my father doesn’t allow me answer it. “I have a computer.”
He smiles brightly. “Are you on Facebook? I’ll send you a friend request.”
My shoulders slump and I shake my head. “No, my father doesn’t allow me to have a Facebook profile.” Daisy scowls and I feel myself tense. “Email,” I shout. Daisy turns to me “I have email. He doesn’t know about it.”
“I wanna see you though, Angel. I wanna touch you and hold you in my arms. But I suppose email will do until you can sneak out again.”
I smile shyly and type my email address into his phone when he hands it to me. “I need to go home,” I say.
He sighs but nods in agreement. “I’ll give you a ride,” he says as he entwines his fingers with mine.
I shake my head. “I can’t. My father or one of his friends might see.”
Daisy growls. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m gonna give you a ride home. Look, I’ll park around the corner if that makes you feel better, but honestly I’d rather walk you to the door and tell your dad that I’m your guy and that he can go fuck himself if he doesn’t like it.”
My guy.
I shouldn’t be doing this now. My number one priority should be on getting myself and my mama away from my father. But it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but anger, fear, and sadness. Daisy makes me feel hopeful, I don’t want to lose that.
“You can drop me around the corner,” I say.
Daisy smiles and pulls me along behind him to where his motorcycle is parked around the corner from the playground. He climbs on, then holds my hand while I timidly climb on behind him. I tell him where I live, and he drives away, the motorcycle’s engine roaring loudly.
I don’t admit that this is the first time I’ve ever been on a motorcycle. The wind blows through my hair and exhilaration tingles through every single one of my nerves. Is this how my sister felt when she left with her biker boyfriend? Was this why she chose him over me? I’ve never really understood or experienced actual freedom, until I climbed onto the back of this bike and we rode away. But this feeling, this overwhelming sense of opportunity is intoxicating; we could drive into the sunset and go anywhere we wanted. We could be free.
The ride is over far too quickly, and Daisy pulls to the side of the road around the corner from my house. I slide off the bike on shaky legs and run my fingers through my windswept hair. I don’t want my time with him to be over, but reality hits me and I turn to face Daisy. “Goodbye,” I say, reluctant to leave in case this is the last time I ever see him.
“Where do you think you’re going, Angel?” Daisy says smiling. His arms reach for me and he pulls me toward him and kisses me deeply. “I’ll email you tonight, okay?”
I nod, a slither of hope building in my chest. Daisy releases me, and I slowly walk away from him. I can’t resist glancing at him over my shoulder once more, before I drop my head and rush toward my home. My heart’s pounding in my chest as I scurry around the side of the house and into the yard. A trellis, covered in wisteria climbs up the wall and ends just beneath my bedroom window.
I watched my sister climb up and down this trellis a hundred times over the years, so I know it’ll hold my weight. Reaching up I hold onto the wooden slats and climb toward my window. It only takes a minute to reach the window ledge and I grip it tightly, thankful that I left my window open this morning.
I throw my leg through the space and try to silently lower myself to the carpet, holding my breath until my feet hit the floor. Quietly, I kick off my shoes and brush down my dress and then I turn around.
My father is seated on the edge of my bed staring at me. His face is twisted in rage when he stands up and silently stalks toward me. I know I should lower my head and try to make myself invisible, but the glimpse at freedom Daisy has given me, refuses to allow me to cower. Instead, I stand tall, my shoulders back and I stare back at him. I know the exact moment he sees the look of defiance on my face.
I watch in slow motion as he raises his hand and swings it toward me. His knuckles backhand me across the cheek and fire explodes across my skin. He hits me with so much force, my head snaps to the side and I crash to the floor. Cowered in a heap, I lift my hands to cradle my face. When his feet step into my line of sight, I pull in a terrified breath. His hand grips the neck of my dress and he lifts me up only to backhand me again.
I feel the skin split on my lip and taste the blood in my mouth. Tears run down my face, but I refuse to let him hear me sob. His hand tangles into my hair and he drags me from the floor and flings me over the bottom of my bed. I hear the clack of his belt unbuckling and feel the cold air cover my exposed skin as he rips my dress over my butt.
The belt makes a thwack noise when it crashes down against the backs of my legs. I shudder at the sound because I know in mere moments the pain will start to burn through my skin. Closing my eyes tightly, I block out the pain. The belt thrashes down again and again but I zone out and pretend this isn’t happening. Later the pain will overwhelm me, but for right now I hum a familiar comforting tune in my head and drift away into my subconscious.
I don’t know how long my father’s punishment lasts, but the next thing I’m aware of is my mama tiptoeing into my room and helping me to crawl up my comforter until my head is on the pillow. She leaves, only to return moments later with a bowl of warm water. In a practiced art she carefully bathes the welts I know must cover my legs and butt. I watch the cotton balls that start off white, turn bright red with blood. She discards them only to grab another white one and start all over again.
Once the blood is removed she covers the injured skin with an antiseptic ointment. I don’t have to watch to know what she’ll do next; this isn’t the first time she’d tended to the injuries my father’s belt can dish out. I had no idea that all the times my sister would stay in her room for days on end and I wasn’t allowed to visit her, were because she was recovering from one of my father’s punishments.
I never realized while I was growing up, that when I’d done something to anger my father, Nicole had always stepped in to divert his attention from me. She had protected me for years before it finally became too much, and she had to escape.
How ironic that she only got a few short months of freedom before death claimed her. She’d survived years of abuse at my father’s hands and then her chance of happiness had been ripped away from her far too soon.
My mama works silently, wiping the blood from my face and holding an icepack against my swollen cheek and lip. She quietly hums the tune to a song I’ve never known the words to; the tune that allows me to hide inside my mind when my father releases his rage against me. She places two painkillers on my tongue and holds the bottle of water to my lips as I swallow the tablets. Her hands gently stroke my hair and tears run down both of our cheeks. This might be our lot in life right now, but I’ll get us away from him. I’ll find us freedom.
I remain in my room for the next three days. I don’t see my father at all in those days and I’m grateful that he chooses to stay away. My mama bathes my wounds daily, helps me to the bathroom, and brings me food. We never talk about the fact that my father beat me so badly that even three days later I’m still struggling to move. It’s the eternal elephant in the room. My father—her husband—is an abusive asshole.
I’ve tried to talk to her about it many times since my sister’s death. I’ve begged her to pack up and run away, but she always refuses. I think he’s beaten her into submission. Over the years I’ve heard every excuse and listened as she’s defended him. She told me that it was his right as my father and her husband, to punish us as he saw fit. That we need to do better, to be better, so he wouldn’t need to punish us in the future.
I cry myself to sleep only to have nightmares of my mama. Once lively and animated, my dreams show her as beautiful and kind, and I watch as he slowly, relentlessly abuses her until she loses every facet of herself that made her alive. I cry for myself and the life that’s been thrust upon me and the only thing that makes nights like these bearable is knowing that we won’t live like this forever.
Four days after my father’s punishment, I wake up as the sun is rising. My skin is stiff and sore as I tentatively move to the edge of the bed and carefully roll into an upright position. Lowering my feet to the floor my legs feel weak, but I manage to stand up and make my way to the bathroom to relieve myself.
I wash my hands and walk slowly over to my wardrobe where a full-length mirror hangs from the back. I gasp when I glance at my reflection. My cheek is still slightly swollen, and a yellowing bruise circles my eye, another at the side of my mouth. He doesn’t often hit my face, preferring to keep his marks to places that are not easily visible. Lifting my nightdress, I turn around and look over my shoulder at the reflection of my legs and buttocks. The backs of my thighs are black with deep bruises. Thick lines crisscross back and forth across my skin from each hit of his belt, and angry scabs have formed over the patches where he hit me so hard he broke the skin.
Saliva fills my mouth and I silently rush to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet. Acid burns my throat as I expel everything held in my stomach. I finally stop retching and clinging onto the sink I flush the toilet and wash my face and hands. It doesn’t matter how many ‘punishments’ he inflicts, it still shocks me to see the aftermath in the mirror.
I turn on my shower and after stripping off, I step into the torrent of warm water, wincing when it hits my battered skin. Once I’m clean, I carefully dry off and pad back into my bedroom. Opening my wardrobe, I avoid my reflection, knowing if I see the damage he did I’ll be running back into the bathroom to vomit again. I choose a light maxi dress with capped sleeves from my closet and pull it over my head. My breasts are so small I don’t need to wear a bra and I can’t face the idea of pulling panties over my tender legs.
Grabbing my hairbrush from the dresser, I start to carefully remove the tangles from my long hair. My scalp is still sensitive from my father trying to pull my hair out at the roots, so I gently plait it and push it over my shoulder.
I spot my ancient laptop hidden on the shelf under my dressing table and my mind instantly turns to Daisy. I know he won’t have actually emailed me. Why would he bother when I’m sure he can have any women he wants. Why would he want me? I think of a hundred reasons why he won’t have contacted me, but I still grab my laptop and power it up.
My father for all his high and mighty superiority is barely computer literate. He believes and repeatedly tells me that I’m an idiot and he thinks I don’t know how to use a computer either. He’s wrong. I’m not a computer genius, but I know enough to get onto the internet and finish my GED without him having any idea. I know enough to have set up an email address, so I could try to speak to my sister even after she ran away. Also, I know enough to have been able to set up online banking for both myself and my father, and to have been secretly stealing money from him for the last six months.
For all my father’s appearance of the Richie Rich lifestyle, I’ve realized that he’s actually very cash poor. I don’t understand how he’s paying for the big house and new cars because his bank accounts show that he barely has two pennies to rub together. The small amount of money he does have I’m slowly and very carefully siphoning into my own bank account.
My father has no idea. He has so many bills coming out each month, the small amounts I take are barely noticeable. He owes us a hell of a lot more than the measly few thousand I will have taken from him, but at least when me and Mama finally run away from him we’ll have enough money to rent an apartment and tide us over until we can get jobs.
The internet server finally pops up on the screen and I quickly log into the banking website and move another ten dollars over to my account. Even though I’ve done this many times before, I still panic and check over my shoulder every few seconds just to make sure no one’s coming into my room. My father has no idea I even have a laptop, I stole it from my sister’s room after she left, and I’ve kept it hidden from him for two years. My fingers hover over the keyboard, my mouse clicked into the search bar to enter the website for my email. I know deep down that Daisy won’t have contacted me, but actually finding out that he hasn’t feels like it’ll be worse than just thinking he hasn’t. I sigh and my hand starts to close the lid on the laptop, but I can’t force myself to do it. Instead I type in the web server address and open my email inbox.
I steel myself for it to be empty, but it’s not. Four unread emails all from the same address sit waiting to be read with the first one dated four days ago. My hands shake as I move the cursor and click on read.
From: [email protected] Sent: 09/27/17 19:38
Subject: When can I see you again?
Hi Angel,
This is so fucking weird. I don’t remember the last time I sent an email.
We need to get you a cell phone soon ‘cause I wanna actually speak to you.
When can I see you again? I miss those perfect fucking lips of yours.
Daisy.
My heart’s beating so hard in my chest I actually have to remember to breathe. He emailed me! He wants to see me again. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face, even though I wince when the movement pulls at my split lip. I don’t stop. I let the smile come because I’m happy and I refuse to let my father invade this moment.
I quickly click on the next email.
From: [email protected] Sent: 09/28/17 20:15
Subject: Playing hard to get?
Hi Angel,
You don’t strike me as the type who plays hard to get. You don’t seem like you play games at all. But maybe I’m wrong.
Why didn’t you reply?
Come meet me. Name the time and place and I’ll be there.
Daisy.
I giggle inwardly. He thinks I’m playing games by not replying. He couldn’t be more wrong. I don’t know the games girls play and I sure as hell wouldn’t try to play them with a guy like Daisy. He’s older, and I’d be stupid to think that he’s an inexperienced virgin like me. Maybe I’m a game to him.
The thought makes me feel sick again. I barely know him, but he seemed to be genuinely interested in me. I want him to be interested.
I click onto the third email.
From: [email protected] Sent: 09/29/17 16:55
Subject: Don’t ignore me.
Angel,
I’m starting to feel like a bit of a pussy now. I’ve emailed you twice and you haven’t replied.
I don’t chase girls. But I’m fucking chasing you.
If you don’t want me to, then just tell me. I can’t promise I’ll take any notice but at least I’ll know you’re okay.
Did you get in trouble with your dad when you got home?
Let me know you’re okay.
Please.
Daisy.
I know nothing about Daisy—hell, I don’t even know his real name—but I saw the way he looked at me when he asked if my father hurt me. I saw the darkness in his eyes and the shadows that followed him. He’s seen the evil that lurks in life, maybe he’s even experienced it. He said I made him feel, and that’s exactly what he did for me too. Even the short time I spent with him and in his arms, made my father and even the punishment I received for sneaking out, easier to endure.
I click on the last email and hope to God that this isn’t the one where he tells me I’m not worth the effort.
From: [email protected] Sent: 09/30/17 11:00
Subject: Freaking out.
Angel,
I’m freaking the fuck out.
Maybe I’m overreacting, I really fucking hope I am.
But I’m worried about you.
You need a cell phone!
You can come to me any time day or night. I live at the Sinners clubhouse on Deer Lake Road. Just ask whoever’s on the gate for me. If they question it, just tell them you’re mine.
If I haven’t heard from you soon I’m coming over to your house to check on you. Fuck your dad.
Daisy.
I sit on my bed, my laptop on my knees and I stare at the screen. He can’t come here. My father would actually kill me. If Daisy came to my door and asked for me I’d have to run away. I’d never be able to come back here, because my father would make the beating I got for sneaking out, look like child’s play in comparison to what he would do to me if he found out I was involved with a Sinner.
I quickly hit reply and start to type.
From: [email protected] Sent: 10/01/17 05:57
Subject: I’m fine.
Daisy,
I’m fine, don’t come here!!!!!!!!!!
Sorry it’s taken me a few days to reply. I’ve been sick and haven’t been well enough to check my emails.
Also, I’m sorry if I’ve made you worry.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to sneak out to see you.
My father definitely won’t let me get a cell phone and if he did, he would want to know who I was calling.
I know I’m not worth all this sneaking around. I wish I could stand up to my father and I will eventually.
I’ll understand if you stop writing.
Angel.
I hit send just as a tear falls from my chin and drops onto the laptop’s keyboard. Lifting my hand to my cheek I wipe the skin—it’s wet. Tears are streaming from my eyes and I’m crying over the loss of a man I never really had. I’m pathetic.
The laptop dings and confused, I look down. A new email has popped up in my Inbox and I quickly click on it.
From: [email protected] Sent: 10/02/17 06:00
Subject: Thank Fuck!
Angel,
Thank fuck you’re okay! You had me worried, and I didn’t fucking like it.
Why the fuck would I stop writing??
Daisy.
Air catches in my throat. He makes it seem so simple. ‘Why the fuck would I stop writing’. I want to laugh, but I daren’t make a noise in case I wake up my father. Daisy shouldn’t be interested in me, and I shouldn’t be interested in him. My sole focus should be on getting me and my mama away from my father, but Daisy is the first thing I’ve ever wanted just for me.
Should I reply? Emailing Daisy is the most selfish thing I’ve done in years, but for once I push my responsibilities to the back of my mind and quickly type out a response.
From: [email protected] Sent: 10/02/17 06:05
Subject: I’m fine.
Daisy,
This isn’t normal. Normal people see each other and talk on the phone.
Plus, we literally met four days ago.
We don’t know anything about each other!
How old are you?
I can’t believe I don’t know this yet. You asked me the other day, but I never asked you.
Angel.
Hitting send, I place my laptop down on the floor and start to strip the sheets from my bed. The pale purple bedsheets are stained with streaks of browny-red blood and I quickly stuff them into my laundry hamper, along with my bloodstained nightdress, and the dress I was wearing when my father decided to punish me. Blood is such an awful stain to get out, but my mama and I have become accustomed to it over the last few years.
My laptop pings and I rush to pick it up, freezing in my tracks when pain surges through my legs. I smile through the discomfort realizing that my excitement over Daisy’s emails had made me forget how tight my skin was feeling. As I try to move again, a fresh surge of pain hits me and with trepidation I lift my dress up. Fresh blood has pooled on my skin where one of the newly formed scabs has split open and I have to physically press my hand to my chest to stem the pain that overwhelms me when I remember that my father did this. It doesn’t matter how many times he hits me or punishes me; it still hurts to know my own flesh and blood is capable of doing this.
Wiping away the blood from my legs, I drop my dress and carefully lower myself onto the edge of the bed. Picking up my laptop from the floor, I block out the pain and hurt I feel and eagerly click on the new email that’s waiting for me.
From: [email protected] Sent: 10/02/17 06:15
Subject: Who wants to be normal.
Angel,
Who gives a fuck about normal?
I want to speak to YOU. I don’t care how I have to do that as long as you don’t disappear on me. I only just found you Angel, and I have no intention of giving you up now.
I don’t wanna hear the ‘we don’t know each other’ bullshit, so I’m gonna give you the cliff notes on me.
My birthday is April 10th. I’m twenty-one.
I just got my full patch at the Doomsday Sinners.
I ride a Harley Davidson Heritage Softtail. She’s my baby and my pride and joy.
I live at the Sinner’s clubhouse, but I plan to get an apartment in town soon.
I’ve lived every minute of my twenty-one years. I’ve done a lot of shit and I won’t apologize for any of it.
I like you.
Your turn…
Daisy.
As I read the words, my heart pounds in my chest and a huge smile erupts from me. He likes me. It’s such a childish thing to say, but it’s perfect. I may be young, but I’m not foolish enough to believe in love at first sight. We’ve only spent a very short amount of time together, but I like him too.
I hit reply and start to type.
From: [email protected]: 10/02/17 06:23
Subject: Get to know me 101
Daisy,
My turn…
My birthday is July 25th. I’m eighteen.
I want to get to know you better too.
I just finished my GED.
Since we moved to Archer’s Creek, my life has stood still, and I wish I was truly living it instead of just existing.
My sister died two years ago, and I miss her every single day.
I want to leave home and go to college.
No-one has ever called me Angel before, but I love that you do.
I like you too.
Angel
The door to my parents’ bedroom creaks and I hit send on the email and quickly close the laptop, sliding it back into place underneath my dresser. I’m busy scooping up my laundry hamper when my father enters my room—as usual he doesn’t bother to knock. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in four days and I’m shocked when a wave of hatred pulses through me. I don’t remember a time when I haven’t hated him, but today my hands are clenched into tight fists and I imagine swinging the hamper at him and hitting him as hard as I can. I don’t know how much damage I can do, but maybe I could smother him with my bedsheets, suffocate him with the fabric that’s covered in my blood? The blood he made run when he decided I needed to be punished.
I give him a sidelong glance. There’s no point offering him full eye contact, he doesn’t want that. He enjoys my fear. I always thought parents felt love and affection for their offspring, but my father has never looked at me with anything but indifference and annoyance.
“Get yourself cleaned up, Angelique. I have a visitor coming to the house today and I expect you to be presentable,” he snaps.
I swallow down the sardonic laugh that threatens to escape. By presentable, he means I need to put on enough makeup to cover the bruises that are still evident on my face. The bruises that he caused but that can never be seen by anyone else. Because if the outside world saw what my father did, then they’d see the monster lurking behind the fake smiles and cordial personality, and that can never, ever happen.
I offer him a small nod and hate myself for being so weak. I wish I was brave enough to look him right in the eyes and tell him how much I hate him. Instead, I flinch in fear when his fingers pinch my chin viciously.
“When my guests get here, you will wait in your bedroom until I send for you. Then you will come downstairs and remain silent unless you are asked a question directly. You will not say a word, nor offer an opinion. No-one is interested in anything you have to say. You will dress appropriately and behave appropriately. Do. You. Understand?”
I nod, and he releases me, stalking out of my room.