My brain starts to pound against my skull and my entire body aches as things slowly stir to life around me. I expect to see my bedroom, or some part of my apartment, but all I smell is the scent of blood and beer. But that's how my house usually smells like...
I know this isn't my apartment because we do not have a really large dumpster in it. Where am I? Why am I here...? What time is it? I was supposed to be buying my dad a bottle of beer! Why the hell am I bleeding?
I start to turn my head, slowly scanning my surroundings. mostly because my neck hurts if I try to do it fast. Why is there a broken beer bottle right next to me?
"Open wide. Or lose your life. We're in a place where crime happens everyday. No one's going to care. Not that they would either way." She presses the knife against my neck.
Did I drink that whole thing? Fuck!
"Bailey! You drank my bottle of beer!"
Did my dad do this to me?
I wince in pain as his foot makes contact with my ribs. I think I heard something crack. Probably my bones.
I feel my entire body start to tremble as snips of memories start to return to my mind. Memories that were probably best left forgotten. I drank alcohol! I fucking drank it! I promised myself I wouldn't.
I was supposed to fight. I wasn't supposed to drink it. I drank the whole bottle! Even my alcoholic dad dilutes his drink!
I need to get home. I push my body upwards, in an attempt to stand up but collapse back on the hard concrete, coughing. I think it might be blood, but then again, I can't really tell because my mouth had blood in it either way.
"Bailey...! Girl, what the hell happened?!" I tilt my neck slightly to see a dark figure hovering over me. "I close my store and then I see you bloodied up on the ground. The fuck happened?"
"Mr. Rodriguez?" I widen my eyes in an attempt to get a clearer vision of him. "I... got jumped," I lie, hoping he'll believe me. I've never gotten jumped, mostly because I carried my pocket knife around since I was twelve. And no one really jumps people younger than twelve or thirteen. Whenever someone tried, I'd land a cut on their hands or something.
"Did you drink that entire bottle of beer?"
"I didn't mean to... I..." Before I know it, tears start pouring out of my eyes, forcing me to take deep breaths, which in turn hurt my body. "I'm sorry Mr. Rodriguez. I tried to fight..."
"Shh. No more talking until we get you all bandaged up. Lucky for you that my wife is a nurse."
"I know that."
"Holy hell girl, you smell like shit."
"Don't rub it in," I deadpan, as he hooks my hand around his shoulder, slowly lifting me up. I flinch at the immense pain it causes, but after a while, I get used to it.
After a gruelling and painful ten minutes, or ten years... we reach Mr. Rodriguez's little house right across his store. "Ella! Get this girl fixed up, she got jumped. And be careful, she's a good one."
Mrs. Rodriguez immediately rushes to my side, clearly worried. "Goodness heavens, child. What the hell happened to you? Oh right, you got jumped. Did you not carry a pocket knife?"
"Save the questions for later, Ella. She's bleeding hell over there."
"Right. Right." The lady takes her husband's place in supporting me. I wince at the fact that I have to slouch to reach her height, and it's hurting my ribs. "Sorry, I'm vertically challenged."
I laugh at her joke but it sounds more like a coughing snake. My vision starts to blur once again, and once my back hits a mattress, it's all black again.
I wake up to an annoying beeping of some cruel machine that won't let me sleep. Goddamn, what does a girl gotta do to get some sleep around here?
"Can you hear me?" A green blob snaps it's fingers in front of my face. "Sweetheart, are you awake?" I grumble in response. "We're just gonna run some tests okay?" I grumble in response again.
I notice all the wires connected to my hand and wrist. How long was I here? Why are my ribs not hurting? Why are my wounds almost healed...? Did I somehow travel forward in time?
That's lovely, man. Yet again, I feel my surroundings fade away into nothing but black.
When I wake up again, there are more people hovering over me. "How are you feeling, girl?"
"Hm. What day is it?" I mutter weakly, straining my eyes to focus on the objects in front of me. Or people. Most likely people since one of those blobs talked. Or maybe I'm just hearing things.
"It's June 21st."
So it's been two days since my eighteenth birthday passed? I've been unconscious for a month already? Damn, what medicine did they put me on? On the bright side, it's only been a day since school ended so I can spend my summer working.
What if I get fired because I haven't showed up for a month? What if...? "What are you thinking, girl?"
"Nothing."
"You've been through a lot. Just relax, okay?" Once my eyes have focused enough, I see Mr and Mrs. Rodriguez in front of me, a concerned look plastered on their faces. "You should tell her," Mr. Rodriguez nudges his wife, who glares at him.
"Tell me what?"
"You're eighteen now... which means you are a legal adult. We're not saying that you should worry about it right now but where are you going to stay? Your father doesn't want you around and... do you have any plans?" They look so nervous it's almost cute.
"I have thirty thousand dollars in savings from the past four years I've been working. You don't need to worry about me. I got this. I just need to get out of this place..." Then something dawns over me. "What about the hospital bill?"
"You don't gotta worry about that."
"Why not?"
"When I say you don't worry, you don't worry."
"I want to know."
"If you don't shut up right now."
"Then what?"
"I'll start singing."
"Who said I wasn't shutting up."
"Now let me speak. You'll stay at our home for a couple of days, our daughter is with her boyfriend for the week anyway. And then when you're strong again, you can go look for your own apartment."
"Wait."
"What part of 'let me speak' did you not fucking understand?" He grumbles, dragging his hand down his face in frustration.
"You have a daughter?"
"We adopted her when she was seven. She's around your age, but she's never around this town. She usually stays with my sister in the city."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Now do you understand what we're telling you?" His expression shifts from slightly humorous to serious. This changes the entire way he looks. From fun and nice to... almost like a strict parent.
Not that I would know, but I'm just assuming that's what strict parents look like. "I'm leaving today right?"
"That's what the professional says."
"Can the professional do this?" I start to attempt touching my tongue to my nose, but holy fuck, this shit's hard. "I give up."
"You know Bailey, sometimes I want to tell you that you're sense of humor slightly concerning, but I'm not one to judge."
I pout. "My sense of humor is not off. A bunch of stitches in the head and brain trauma does that to people."
"How are you so casual about it? You know your father abused you and not a single part of the pain shows on your face."
"I don't care. I never wanted to become a model. So I don't care if he left scars, my life is still better than many other kids out there and I'm grateful for that."
"But I should have done something about it..."
"But you didn't because my dad had helped you put up that store when my mom was still around. I understand, Mr. Rodriguez. My dad helped you in your time of need. You've known him longer than me. I understand."
"Will you stop talking so much for just one second? Let me finish, girl!"
"Okay, okay."
"You know what, you switched off the sappy mood." Like a child, I stick my tongue out at me. Goodness me, the brain injuries must have seriously messed with my head. At least it's better than moping around being all depressed for no reason.
I might have a reason to be sad, but that's no reason to bring other people around me down.
And besides, I got one good thing from today. And it's that I don't have to live with my dad anymore.
I'm finally free.
