Chapter 2
Shutting the door behind her, Litt turned around to come face to face with her father. He
was about five feet away, standing menacingly with his favorite bat clenched in his fists.
His name was Tom, and although he was her father, she didn't think he deserved to be
called 'Dad', so she called him by his first name. He worked out daily, which was a
setback for Litt, but she worked out also, and tried not to let him intimidate her. Tom was
only thirty-three; him and his wife had been teenage parents. Litt was their first child, and
they blamed all their misfortunes on her. He was wearing a wifebeater, that showed off
his muscular, tan arms.
The two stood there, staring into each other's eyes until
Mike's car pulled away. Then all hell broke loose.
"You little fuck," he
growled, advancing a step. "Why do you INSIST on making us look like shitty
parents?"
Litt couldn't speak for a moment. His calmness had taken her off
guard. "What the hell are you talking about? You ARE shitty parents!"
"Oh,
that's it," he snarled. He pretended he was hitting a baseball, and smacked her hard in the
ribs with the bat. She let out a gasp and collapsed to her knees. He had knocked the wind
out of her, but she had learned from past experience to ignore the pain, and always strike
back. Always. But not being able to breathe forced her to hug her stomach, waiting for
the shock to pass.
When he went for another blow, she rolled out of the way
and got to her feet. Their eyes met, ad hatred seethed from both. The battle went on for
another thirty minutes, until Tom had calmed down and went back to watching the game.
Litt just lay there where she had been left, staring at the ceiling. This is a bunch of
bullshit, she thought darkly. I'm never gonna win. I'd probably be better off in Juvy. But
then again...I've always wanted to go to L.A...
The arm that she had used to
block many of the hits hurt so bad she thought it was going to fall off. Not only was her
side throbbing, but she had suffered a severe blow straight to the knee, and she hoped it
wasn't as bad as it felt. How was she supposed to run if she couldn't even walk
correctly?
Sitting up ever so slowly, Litt cringed with pain. She couldn't bend
her left leg, her knee hurt too much. She put all her weight on her right foot, and pulled
herself up by a chair. Ten minutes later she collapsed on the floor of the room she had to
share with two of her four siblings. It was empty for the moment, and she sat there
awhile, contemplating was she should do. It seemed that's all she ever did, and it never
got her anywhere. She always ended up exactly where she was right then.
Litt
pulled herself up again and looked in the mirror. She looked like hell. A black eye was
forming, her lip was bleeding, and by the time she woke up the next morning, her cheek
would be black and blue. Next she examined her left arm, which was beginning to numb
from the pain. Her wrist was blown up like a balloon, and nasty bruises were making
themselves known from her shoulder down to the back of her hand.
Standing
there, she stared at her reflection sadly. She didn't lift up her pant leg to get a good look
at her knee, and she didn't pull up her shirt to see the damage done to her ribs. She was
too scared. It hurt to breathe, but she figured that would pass with time.
Right
at that moment, Litt almost felt like picking up the phone and calling Mike. And yet she
refrained from doing so. Sure, it'd get rid of the problems she'd been facing her whole
life. Seventeen years of hell. But with solutions came new problems. Where would they
put her? What would happen to her little brothers and sisters? So she continued to look at
herself in the mirror and try to figure out what to do.
She would have left,
screwed knee or no, but her escape route had been out the window and down a tree.
Wrought iron bars had been put up about a year ago.
Sitting on the bed, she
sighed. "I guess I'll go to Mr. Thomson's house tonight. He'll fix me up."
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