Stay With Me

Stay With Me (On a Super Long Hold)

Be sure to check out my newest story Wanton!

Stay With Me: Chapter One: Stay With Me

"Isabelle, get your ass back here!" My father spat with his dingy disarrayed hair falling into his slanted eyes.

His searing breath fused with the sultry scent of cigarettes and the bitter smell of beer crept towards my nose from across the room. I silently edged over to the corner and bundled my trembling knees to my bruised chest hoping that he didn't see me. His wicked eyes suddenly locked on me and a burning fire brewed in his scowl.

"You're twelve years rotting and you ain't going no where!" He lashed out and grabbed a bundle of my overgrown fawn colored locks.

Blinded by alcohol, he drug me over to the center of the living room while stumbling and swaying. The old carpet fought back against my knees and tore the skin as I slid. Once balanced, he ripped the shirt off of my back exposing the unhealed wounds.

I knew what was coming next. It was routine.

I heard the brass belt buckle clink against the beer bottle in his hands and I braced myself for the worst. He drew back screaming and swearing before beginning to whip me with the belt. Each strike stinging and slicing deeper than the first.

With eyes full of tears and blood streaming over my body, he finally restrained, tugged me down the hall, and shoved me into the numbing cold bathroom. I heard the door to my dad's room crack and it gave me the okay to go see Elliot. I felt the wounds throbbing and my back was engulfed in pain.

Gasping for my breath, I slid open the heavy window and jumped down into the patch of worn down weeds. The light in my neighbor Elliot's room was on and welcoming. I knocked twice and it reeled up instantly. His black hair was combed and his green eyes were alive and helpful.

"Again?" He asked.

"Yeah." I sniffled and he reached out his hand.

He pulled me into the warmth of his arms in a tight hug before observing my wounds. Elliot's room was plain and simple. Everything had it's place and matched every item. A poster of a half-naked girl hung on the wall above his neatly aligned collection of vintage model cars. Eli was older than me by a year.

"Come here." He yawned and flipped the light on in his connected bathroom.

I ambled over and balanced myself on the counter. He poured the cool peroxide in deep, sensitive wounds which brought tears to my eyes. He finished up quickly since he memorized the technique and I jumped off of the counter. Elliot was my hero.

"Goodnight Izzy." He spoke while handing me one of his old shirts that I pulled over my head.

"Thanks Eli." I mumbled, climbed onto his dresser, and through the window before disappearing into the old run down hell hole next door.

Four Years Later:

My father slammed the door to his room and I demolished to my knees on the freezing bathroom tiles. I choked on tears and my long hair clung to my face. Reeling up the metal window, I crashed onto the beat up patch of grass and scrambled over to the innovative ladder attached to Elliot's bedroom window. I clambered my way up the log panels and tapped twice.

The glass slid up and Elliot stood before me with tousled black hair, sad green eyes, and new and improved muscles. They showed up after he joined the high school football team and he towered to at least six feet tall.

His strong hands reached out and lifted me by my waist into his room. The same ancient limp poster hung on his wall above the sharp car collection that collected dust in the corner. New things like weights, trophies, and a computer took its place.