I like the dark
places.
Sometimes I sit with the lights out, covers over my head. If I
put my fingers over my eyelids and press in just hard enough, everything is red
for a second, then black. It�s the deepest, darkest nothing; void of every
annoying asshole that wants to hassle me.
If I�m really stressed, I�ll
do it during the day. I�ll cover my face with my hands and try to block
everything out. I�ve never told anyone why I do it. They just assume that I have
a headache and offer me some Tylenol or even better, ignore me.
It�s� I
don�t know� comforting�peaceful. I pretend that I don�t even exist anymore, that
I�m a part of something bigger, something *not* fucked up.
I�ve thought
about telling Angel. Somehow I think he�d understand, but it�s hard for me to
share and crap like that.
*****
11 pm.
In other houses,
kids were in bed by now. Loving Moms and Dads have read stories, helped with
homework, fed hot, nourishing food and have tucked in their children for a good
nights sleep.
That is not the case here.
Faith was sprawled on
the floor, legs bent and resting on the cushion of the couch as she watched TV.
She was trying to drink the last inch or two of sugar milk in the bottom of her
bowl with a spoon (the remains of one of those super sugar powered hyper time
bomb cereals that left kids jittery and subject to spurts of uncontrolled energy
that ended in a wipe-out of exhaustion.) She was unaware of the slurping noises
she made as she tried to direct the liquid into her mouth and not down the front
of her shirt.
�God damned it Faith, stop doing that. It�s disgusting.
What the hell are you doing up, shouldn�t you be in bed by now?� Her mom hustled
into the room, trying to put her coat and other shoe on at the same time.
Faith�s mom worked nights at a bar. She left late and got back sometime
in the morning when Faith was still asleep. She was always tired. Faith got
herself up and ready for school. Sometimes she would have to wake up her mother
to get money for lunch or to sign something for school and her mom would just
groan and wave at her purse on the floor across the room. She always smelled
like cigarettes and sweat and alcohol, a really wholesome mother figure. Faith
had learned long ago how to forge her signature, not with evil intentions-out of
self-preservation.
�Are you going to bed?� It was a mixture of
uncertainty and apathy. No hint of parental guidance, more like a disinterested
�have a nice day� or �you want fries with that?�
Faith had learned to
take care of herself. After all, she was 11.
Faith�s, mom stared at her
for a moment like she was some alien creature beyond the woman�s understanding,
but mixed with something else. She started to say something, but thought better
of it and stopped herself, shook her head and picked up her purse. �Denny�s
gonna be here tonight to look after ya.�
�What!� Faith swung her legs
off the furniture, pivoting around on her behind and depositing her bowl next to
the couch as she confronted her mom. �I-I thought he was working tonight?�
Her mom�s features immediately settled into a pinched tightness, the
same look she got when Faith asked the same question over and over. Well, when
Faith used to ask questions. �He got fired.�
Fired.
�He�ll be
home tonight to watch you.�
�NO!! Mom�please�no.� She was going to be
here alone with him-all night.
Faith�s mother shook her head in fatigue.
�I don�t have time for this Faith, I�m late as it is.�
Her mother�s
image started to swim before her eyes as the panic set in and her voice
quavered, �Mom, you can�t leave�� a small sob choked off the rest of the
sentence.
�What are you crying about now?� Her mother confronted her,
looked up briefly from the task of fastening the buttons of her coat.
((She�ll never believe you))
What if she *did* and it came down
to a choice between him and her own daughter. Faith wasn�t sure she would come
up on the winning side of that coin toss.
~~~
She pushed open
the bathroom door with an impending sense of doom, turned on the water faucet
and reached for her toothbrush in the holder at the side of the sink. She�d
picked it out herself when her grandmother had suggested a shopping trip once.
It was a bright and beautiful indigo color, a color that promised life and
buoyancy that she was finding harder and harder to feel these days.
Faith passed the bristles through the water and spread the paste on
their surface, ending with a flip that splayed a fine mist of droplets over the
bowl of the sink. She�d get in trouble if *he* saw that.
If she
concentrated on this bedtime task, one that thousands of other kids were
performing at the same exact moment, she could pretend that she was one of them
and that nothing bad was ever going to happen to her ever.
Absently, she
reached down with her left hand t tug at the hem of the long t-shirt she always
wore to bed, tugging it past her knees even further as her skittish feet
nervously tapped on the floor.
After a half an hour, there was no more
stalling. She reached out and turned off the faucet. It�d been running the whole
time, gallons of water splashing in the basin and going down the drain-never to
be recovered, escaping as she stood numbly watching. It was wasteful to let the
water run like that ((did she want to pay the god damned water bill?))
Faith got into her bed and picked up her stuffed Tigger nesting among
the rumpled covers that she never made.
((Will you clean up this fucking
mess))
She hugged the stuffed toy to her chest.
((You�re too old
for baby toys Faith. Grow up and quit acting like a god damned baby))
Faith closed her eyes and buried her face in the orange and black
striped fur, inhaling�
�happy childhood memories?�
�warm ginger
bread?�
�no, just a time �*before*.
Maybe she was getting too
old for baby toys. She squeezed the animal closer, imprinting it�s feel forever
on her mind, then reached over and tucked him under the skirt of her bedside
table. He�d be safe there.
She straightened up and knew she wasn�t
alone.
This was when the trembling always started. Tears began to form
in the corners of her eyes, but she�d learned to stop them, because that�s what
he *wanted*, he wanted to see her cry-to know that he�d broken her�that he�d
reached her, and she wasn�t going to allow that.
~~~~~
�What in
the hell are you talking about?�
Faith�s stomach fell and she swallowed.
Did she have to say it again out loud?
�He, umm�comes into my room at
night when you�re at work.� Faith closed her eyes and lowered her head. Now that
the words were out, she couldn�t take them back. The secret was out-flat and
plain and ugly in the December air that should have only been filled with joy
and faith; faith in *something* that had nothing to do with her life.
Obvious shock prevented her mother from speaking for a moment, then, �I
never thought��
Here�s the part where she kisses her daughter,
apologizes and they hug, showing their love for one another-a deeper bond of
compassion forms�
�That you were such a lying little bitch. Why are you
trying to ruin this for me? Denny ain�t perfect, but he�s stuck around for 18
months now. You�re just jealous because you�re such a little baby �you can�t
stand not having all of my attention. Well, I need *grown up* attention Faith.�
�Aren�t you listening to me? He comes into my room and RAPES ME!� Had
she thought this was going to be a Hallmark moment? He�d said that her mother
wouldn�t believe it and he was right. He knew her mother better than she did; so
much for the mythical mother/daughter bond.
�You heard me�� she grabbed
Faith�s arm and stormed over to the front door, yanking the handle, jerking it
until the door crashed against the wall.
�It�s December-it�s freezing
out there.�
�Get out!� Her mother shoved her and Faith stumbled over the
threshold, hearing the door slam shut behind her and the click of the lock.
She stared at the snow on the street and the ice shards that hung from
the roof for a minute before feeling the temperature and starting to shiver.
Just fucking perfect.
***
�Faith, you in there?�
�Huh?� I refocus my gaze on Angel sitting on the other side of the
glass. He�s dressed all in black-typical. He always looks like GQ and Goth
Monthly had an illegitimate child. Man, I�d love to see that boy sweat sometime.
�You�re drifting on me-is anything wrong?�
He�s sitting so
calmly, nothing ever freaks him out. He�s had a really twisted, fucked up
life-so I guess it would take a lot to shock him.
I�ve never really
known anyone like him. He just listens to whatever shit I have to tell him and
it�s like no big deal, he just accepts it and doesn�t judge me. Sometimes he
tells me he�s proud of me-check that shit out. No one�s ever been proud of me.
My court ordered therapist would say that he�s my �support system�
whatever the hell that�s supposed to mean. All I know is that I �I *trust* him.
�Angel, did I ever tell you that I like the dark?�