Miracles In December

{Chapter 2}

    It was past seven in the morning when Carla slowly opened her front door, cringing at the loud creak the squeaky hinges made in the deafening silence that enveloped her home. She listened for signs of her mother but heard none. The house was deserted. Letting out a sigh of relief, for once happy to be alone Carla hurried upstairs to her bathroom to get ready school. As the warm water washed away the sweat and dirt of the night she let her mind drift to the memories of the past seven hours. They were a blur.

When Ridian had asked if she wanted to do something crazy she had no idea just how serious he was. Without warning she somehow found herself on the beach drinking tomato juice from a cooler he'd hidden in an abandoned shack right behind the tree line where sand met forest. She drank tomato juice but Ridian sipped something a little harder. When she'd attempted to poke fun at him for drinking like a middle aged man with sorrows he'd simply chuckled and replied, "There's no right age to begin having worries,". His words had stolen the laughter from her throat and she'd quietly sipped her juice staring out at the waves crashing onto the shore.

The deep rhythm of the ocean lulled her into a sense of peace and she found herself leaning into Ridian's arm. He hadn't moved so she stayed there. They spoke quietly to each other even though they were the only two on the beach. Whispering each other's dreams for the future in the space between their breaths. Carla had never allowed herself to dream of the future. But found an unstoppable torrent of just that spilling out of her. Ridian listened quietly as she described escaping her little town and going anywhere really. Anywhere she could be free.

"Free from what?" He'd asked. To which she gave a small sad smile before steering the conversation back to him and his hopes to play lacrosse professionally one day. The night felt surreal. Doing something she'd never done with a boy she had just met made it even crazier. Never one to do wild things Carla felt exhilarated, thirsty for more adventure and excited for life. Emotions ran through her she hadn't experienced since she was a child. She couldn't stop smiling.

Carla laughed at herself while she got dressed. Sliding into a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeved black checkered shirt she couldn't help but think about how much she wanted more of whatever this was. Whatever was between her and, she really liked it and didn't want it stop. She liked what it was doing to her. Her body light with hope for the future she muddled over these thoughts as she slipped on her boots and jacket. Right when she grabbed her messenger bag she heard the click of a key unlocking the door and froze in her steps.

Her mother was home.

Carla's hands shook as she clutched her bag closer to her now quaking body. All thoughts of Ridian pushed to the back of her mind all that remained was a familiar terror. Slowly she tried to sneak silently down the stairs to the ground floor with the hope for going out the back door. Her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears and her breath came in quick and short pants. Sweat beaded at her temple as she approached the back door.

Almost there, she thought with her hand on the handle. Without warning a sharp blow was delivered to back of her head. Immediately she crumpled and fell to the floor the sting of tears appearing in her eyes as a dull throb began to set in at the base of her skull. Carla remained motionless. Experience had taught her well what to do in these situations.

"Where have you been?" A low and menacing voice sounded behind her. Gulping quickly Carla remained silent. "I asked you a question!" it boomed. Another sharp blow to her side knocked the wind out of her lungs making her gasp and prompted her to answer.

"Out," Carla wheezed as tears streamed down her face. "With a friend." She clutched her side in pain and winced at the tender flesh.

"And you don't think you should call people? Huh?! What. Is. Wrong. With. You?!" Each word was punctuated by a different blow to her body. At the screech of 'you' Carla was dry heaving in agony, curling around her battered body in the corner of the kitchen. Blood dripped from her lips which she wearily wiped from the corners of her mouth.

"I'm sorry mom," she whispered. The whole time her eyes had been focused on the ground, tears steadily streaming down hot cheeks. She didn't dare to look up and meet the glazed over drunken irises of her mother.

A hand grasped her hair from the back of her head and yanked dragging her up on her knees and pulling her head back so her eyes looked at the ceiling. She cried out at the pain and automatically lifted her hands to where her hair was being pulled. They were instantly slapped away and she received a knee to her side right under her arm pit at the top of her ribs.

"You dare lift you hands to me?!" her mother shrieked.

"No mom I'm sorry I didn't mean it!" she cried out as fresh tears ran into her mouth coating her tongue in salt. Her shoulders shook with the effort as she spoke again.

"I didn't mean it," she whimpered pathetically. Her mother glared at her in disgust and not so much released her hair as she did throw her head at the door, but Carla twisted just in time so it hit the side of her head, underneath her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said again this time to the floor, her eyes wide in fear as her lower lip quivered. The tears had finally stopped. Her body tensed in preparation for the next blow.

"Get to school. I can't deal with this so early in the morning. I need to sleep," was the reply she got. Carla nodded her head weakly and the sound of feet shuffling away and eventually marching up the stairs filled her ears. When the slam of a door closing rang throughout the house she let out a shaky breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and slowly rose to her feet using the wall for support. She limped to the hallway bathroom to check her appearance.

From the outside she looked fine. Not a scratch could be seen and not a hair was out of place accept for a little mussing in the back. Since she never wore makeup there was no running mascara streaks down her cheeks and her eyes were only slightly puffy and a little red. She could pass that off as the effect of an all-nighter.

It was only after lifting up her hair and her shirt did you see the patchwork of old and new, yellowing and blue black bruises that had formed and were starting to form on her skin. She had long scars from the times her mother had burned her with the fire poker and gashes from being thrown into the sharp edges of table.

Carla gave her reflection a sad smile as she thought, One of the bonuses of having an abusive nurse for a mother is that she know's where to beat you.

Opening the medicine cabinet she took out some healing patches for sore muscles and started placing them on the more new bruises. She placed some band aids on some of the cuts and scrapes she'd gained and checked the stitches on her side.

Last week her mother had gotten a little too rough and had accidentally sliced her side open with a knife and she'd had to go to the hospital. They passed it off by saying Carla had been too careless when cooking but she still had to see a therapist for a whole week since the doctors suspected self harm. They stitches had thankfully not opened up again and only looked a little red.

Once she was finished treating her wounds she pulled her tank top back down and fixed her shirt before arranging her hair so that it covered the small bruise near the nape of her neck. Glancing one last time in the mirror and fiddling with her outfit until she was satisfied with her appearance she turned off the light and exited the bathroom.

This time she walked towards the front door, no loner having a reason to sneak out. Re-shouldering her bag she opened the door casting a final look over her shoulder with empty eyes before heading out the door to school.