I careened back for a split second. “I am sorry, Momma. Forgive me.” But she didn’t hear me, as the door slammed in my face.
Jolie
I was scared to open the door, but Nessie heard her mother’s voice, and she was eager to go see her. I’d kept her in here for as long as I could already.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, the horsetail—pink, like everything else in here, including my tear-stained eyeballs—going around again. The ticking hand approached a new minute. 12:05 p.m.
Nessie’s stomach rumbled again. She hadn’t been up long, but it had been making noises for the thirty minutes that she had, interrupting the defiling of an antique doll's house with bright-colored marker pens.
The house, pretty and pink, a hand-me-down, once belonging to her dear old grandmother—a woman whose face sat inside many picture frames, her smile, often the only thing lighting up the darkness of the hallways—had been dishonored many times before, judging by its ruin.
“Can I go see Momma?” She looked back at me, hope on her pretty face.
I stared at her for a moment, hating that she was sitting only feet away from the stains of my trauma. I’d told her I’d had a nosebleed—a lie she so easily believed in her innocence.
She was groggy today, climbing to her feet slowly. I half thought she was channeling my hangover.
“Of course.” I walked her to the door, removing pieces of furniture and toys, one by one, with very shaky hands.
Her little face looked up at me. “You don’t have to be scared now. Woodrow is back; I can hear him. The bad one is gone.” She still didn’t voice his name, too scared she’d conjure him from his namesake.
I nodded, not sure what to say, and I stepped out into the hallway. I glanced down the hall, seeing theconversation Woodrow was having with his parents. Even from here, I could see the remorse on his face, the stress, too. I saw none on Ville’s as he squinted over to me before stepping inside the room and slamming the door shut.
My stomach churned, and the motion dug up all the nightmares I’d suffered last night. I’d barely slept, because each time I tried to, it—my abuse—would happen again. . . only in my nightmares, Ville didn’t just watch, he’d participate.
Nessie found her energy, sprinting down the length of the corridor, chirping, “Momma, Momma!”
I didn’t see her disappear into her parents’ room. I didn’t see her and Woodrow ignoring each other, in typical sibling fashion, as if nothing at all had happened to strain their bond as his legs strummed in the opposite direction. Towards me.
I’d already turned away, trying to rush on wobbling legs to the last door on the right—the bathroom.
“Jolie. . . Jolie, wait!”
I kept moving, but Woodrow caught up quickly. Pulling me around to face him, he lost the ability to speak. I couldn’t speak, either, and now that the alcohol coddling my emotions had fully worn off, I felt terrified.
I stared up at him, my eyes wide, mouth open, body trembling. The hard wall behind assisted me to stand.
His hands came up to each side of my face, but he didn’t touch me. I thanked God for that.
Bruises covered his face, dry blood, too. Probably gifted by his father last night, but the darkness, fear, and wine had prevented me from noticing them all.
His hands sealed me in, fingers spreading on the wall, cold plaster against a colder touch. His knee bent, and his forehead came down, resting against mine.
“Please. . .” I didn’t say more, but he knew what I was asking for. Space. He drifted back for a second, but he couldn’t stay away.
His forehead came back to mine; the cold sweat on his brow jumped from his face to mine.
His hand moved, and my eyes moved with it as it aimed for my waist.
I lost control, my body betraying me for the second time. I felt a warm trail rush down my legs, and I burned as the water vacated my body.
I shook harder, fearful of what I might have just brought upon myself.
My mouth widened, ready to tell him that I’d clean it up, but I couldn’t voice the words. I couldn’t voice any words, my mouth continuously trying.
I stuttered as he looked down at the growing puddle, staining the runner covering the percentage of the floor.
He stepped a little closer, not caring about the mess spreading between his toes. His eyes dropped only for a second, and when he looked back at my face, even with my eyes downcast, I could see the pain in his expression.
