|Six| I’m so tired of being alone…So hurry up and get here…Get here…

Yes. She could trust him…and she would trust him. She turned towards him and he took her hand again, warming it in his own. His smile was sincere and sweet, and despite all the heartache she was about to tell him, she felt herself smiling back.

Especially since it happened, Emma hadn’t trusted easily. Or, at all, actually. But with Elijah something was different; he was different from everyone else she’d ever known in her entire life: he was like her.

She took a deep breath, feeling very scared. Not as scared as that night, but pretty close for some reason. It was because she didn‘t want to loose him. Didn‘t want to loose anyone else she cared about.

“It was three months ago…a Saturday night around midnight. I had been out with some friends at a party and I still lived at home at the time because I couldn’t afford an apartment when I was paying everything else already. I hardly even lived there, you know? I bought my own food and everything. Did my own laundry. I hated my step-father, everything about him. I’m surprised I stayed there when he moved in. But, now I think I know why I did.”

Elijah was quiet, allowing her to gather her thoughts before continuing.

“My friend pulled into my driveway and immediately I felt really sick. I didn’t know why, but I told her I’d be fine and I got out of the car…”

A scene flashed into Emma’s brain. One of a house on a darkened street. The front door of the house stood ajar and there was one little wane light in the living room, that was it.

Her stomach twisted in a knot. “…The house was really dark. Which isn’t surprising for midnight. I mean, my mom always went to bed pretty early. My step-dad, I don’t know but it didn’t matter. The front door was open, which was really weird. My mom was a bit of a freak in that she always had to have the door locked. So this made me feel even more ill because I figured someone had broken in.”

Another scene flew by in her mind. That of a car backing out of a gravel driveway, it’s music blaring. Emma called out for the car to stop, but the driver didn’t hear her.

“My friend didn’t realize and left me all alone. So I slowly walked to the front door, thinking I should have some sort of weapon…” Emma’s gaze shifted and she was now looking off into the distance at nothing. Just space.

As she retold the story, she saw it in her head…reliving it again. But this time she wasn’t having a nightmare. It was more real since she was awake.

Emma pushed the door open cautiously. It creaked as it allowed a bigger opening than before. She looked around the darkened house, shuddering. All Emma had was her purse, which wouldn’t give her much leverage. Emma was known for her hefty kicks, but against a possibly armed robber? The odds were not on her side. So the sensible part of her brain kicked in and she slowly and quietly entered the house.

She had been expecting to see a robber which is probably why she breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw her stepfather standing in the living room.

He looked towards her, his eyes flashing angrily. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Emma was taken aback, he’d never spoken to her so harshly before. Granted, he’d never been nice to her either. But, never had he yelled at her. She began to get very afraid and her eyes frantically searched the room. Her stepfather was wearing a stained wife beater shirt and black work pants. In his hand was a blunt object of what origin, Emma could not tell.

He was swaying where he stood, which suggested that he was quite inebriated. Emma had seen her stepfather drunk before and it was not a pretty sight. He was a belligerent drunk, a fat lazy slob and a disgusting disgrace of a human being. Emma loathed him more with every breath she took that was filled with his foul stench. Stale cigarettes and alcohol mixed with cheap cologne.

His eyes went in and out of focus like he was struggling with consciousness. Emma was thoroughly disgusted with him and was about to leave the room because she knew it was best not to be around when he was in this state. But something stopped her. She heard a faint whimper from near the window and her eyes quickly scanned the area again.

Her mother was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Emma put a hand to her mouth and resisted the urge to run to her mother‘s side. “You bitch,” slurred her stepfather. His comment made Emma look at him, but his eyes were on her mother’s crumpled body. “You stupid whore.”

Emma gaped open mouthed at him. “How dare you call her that! You ass!”

He turned to face her and she immediately regretted opening her mouth. He smiled eerily at her and she felt chills go down her spine. She took a step forward and he stepped back unsteadily. She could see the blunt object in his hand now. It shimmered in the wane light of the living room. It was a butcher’s knife. A long, gleaming, sharp knife. With blood dripping from the end of it.

Emma took another step forward, but this time he didn’t move. She could get a clear view of her mother now. She was tossing and turning slowly on the ground, clutching at her wounds, trying to stop the blood. Tears soaked her eyes, her cheeks, her auburn hair which fell around her. Emma whimpered, feeling sick and furious at the same time.

Her mother was sliced on the forehead, arms and exposed legs. Her t-shirt was ripped on her stomach, blood seeping through. Emma fought to regain her self control so she wouldn’t loose sight of what was important here. She needed to stay focused. She needed to think.

There were big welts on her legs, black and blue marks on her arms. Emma knew what had happened. Her stepfather had stumbled home from the local bar, woken up her mother. Her mother had offered some coffee and her stepfather (who hated to be ‘looked down on’) began beating her senseless. This had happened once before. Just once. He had hit her mother and had caused her a bloody nose and a black and blue eye, but nothing else. He came home drunk a lot, but didn’t normally resort to hitting Emma’s mother. Found it fun to hit the walls on occasion though, which resulted in the holes in his bedroom.

Emma didn’t know what to do. Many scenarios raced through her mind. The best one was to go to her room and call the police. But what about her mother? He could easily kill her before she got back. She stepped forward once more. He didn’t notice, he was staring at the knife with an evil glint in his eyes.

“Mom,” Emma breathed.

“Emma?” Her mother’s voice was choked and soft. She was dying for air and Emma knew it. Well, she knew it after she saw the gash in her mother’s throat. Emma instantly knelt down, pulled a blanket from the couch nearby and pressed it to her mother’s throat. Her mother groaned in pain. There was so much blood.

“Get the hell outta my way!” Her stepfather hollered, lumbering towards them.

“Stay the hell away,” demanded Emma. “Get the fuck out.”

He laughed. “Right. This is my house, bitch.”

Emma swallowed, “GET OUT. Or I’m calling the cops!”

Her stepfather reached down, yanked her to her feet and she fell against him. She could feel the coldness of the knife’s blade against her bare leg. His breath was rancid and she nearly threw up on him. “You call the cops and I’ll kill you.”

“Why are you doing this?” She cried, both outraged and terrified.

“Because I can,” he rasped. He let go of her, pushed her away and then looked to her mother again. Emma ran behind the couch and crouched, out of his view.

Her stepfather raised the knife and when it started plunging, Emma hid her eyes.

“Please. No.” Emma pleaded, tears falling from her eyes. She didn’t hear anything after that. She risked a glance, but there was no change. So, there was only one option. She was no competition for him, he was far too strong for her. So she crawled out of the room at top speed and dialed 9-1-1.