Chapter 6
"Carl?" Rory called into the dark house timidly. In her fist she subconsciously clenched the card from Miss Patty-hard enough that it had begun to crumple. As if it might fly away at just the slightest change in the wind. And with it her hopes of Carl ever loving her.
A grunt came from the couch in front of the glowing television. The lights were off in the family room and the television was the only source of light. Rory moved softly around the couch to face Carl. He clutched an empty bottle in his hand.
"Mommy said you wanted to talk to me," the fear returned into Rory's voice. She knew what that bottle meant. Carl wasn't being himself. What if he didn't like the idea of her dancing? What if he hated it? What if it only made him hate her even more?
What if it made him hit her even more?
She couldn't tell she was shaking, but he could. And as he began to talk his words blended together, slurring and stumbling through a haze from his drinking.
"Why are you shaking girl? You scared?"
"N-n-no," Rory stuttered, shaking more. "I'm not scared."
"You look scared."
"I'm not."
"Then why are you shaking?" Carl asked again, his voice growing more forceful by the second.
Sudden realization seemed to hit Rory harder than Carl ever had. It was her fault Carl hit her mom. Her fault Carl hit her. She was lying to him and it made him angry. It made him hurt them.
"Why aren't you talking you little bitch?" Carl asked, standing up. He dropped the bottle with a crash and it broke into a thousand pieces as it fell to the ground. Something else was in his other hand. Something black.
Rory instinctively backing up against the wall, wrapping her arms protectively around her stomach as Carl began to advance towards her.
She didn't recognize what it was that Carl was pointing at her, but she knew it would only cause her more damage. More hurt.
"You're scared aren't you?" Rory nodded her head timidly as Carl continued to slur. "That's right. You're scared. And you're always going to be scared. I'm going to be here the rest of your life, you are never going to get away from me."
Tears filled Rory's eyes as she screamed.
"No!"
She began to run away from Carl but he grabbed her arm harshly and shook her, making her dizzy.
"You're trying to get away from me? Do you know what I can do to you?" He threatened her while continuing to shake her harder.
Hot tears spilled out of her eyes and down her face, the salt stinging her chapped lips.
"Let go of me!" She screeched loudly.
"Shut up you bitch!" Carl screamed back at her, his putrid breath filling her nostrils and making the room swing violently in front of her eyes.
"Let me go!" Rory persisted as she picked up her foot and kicked Carl in the shins, the reverse effect of what she had intended happening as the force of her kick almost sending her herself over, but leaving him standing tall.
"You're not going to get away from me. I told you that already." He shook her again, pointing the black object he held in his hand at her head.
And the reality of the object hit Rory. It was a gun, and it would kill her.
Rory turned her head and clamped her jaws down on Carl's arm.
Carl screamed in pain and aimed the gun at Rory in his other, unbitten, arm.
Rory sprinted across the living room and towards the door.
A crack came from across the room and Rory stopped in shock, at the loud sound.
The picture frame on the table in front of her fell over, shattered glass fell everywhere. Rory turned in fear towards the picture. She picked it up off the floor and looked at it.
Her three-year-old self stared back at her, clutched in her mother's arms. She pulled the picture towards herself, hugging it to her chest. She just wanted to give up. She just wanted the hurt to stop.
As Carl fumbled with the gun she regained her courage and sprinted back towards the door, still clutching the picture in her arms.
"Dammit girl!" Carl's voice filled the room, filling Rory with a fresh wave of fear.
He crossed the room in three great strides to where Rory stood with her hand on the doorknob, trying to turn it without dropping the picture with her sweaty palms.
He raised the gun up, above his head, and brought it smashing down.
Smashing down on Rory's head.
Her vision blurred, everything swimming around her as her small frame collapsed under the force and she fell to the ground.
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