Chapter 47 Sierra
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
sierra
MAY, SENIOR YEAR
Graduation was only a couple days away.
All I had to do was survive the next couple days, walk across the stage to get my diploma, and then I was done. Free. I was one step closer to finally getting out of this shithole and leaving the past, and all the pain it caused, behind me.
I had a little bit more pep in my step as I came home from school, tossing my backpack on the couch without thinking too much of it. I had nothing to hide.
I ran upstairs and threw on some more comfortable clothes—leggings and a tank top. I planned to go over to Hayden’s house anyway for dinner under the guise that I was going to work. It had worked for me the past few years; I didn’t see why I would ever stop.
As I pulled my hair back into a braid, the front door slammed shut. I could hear my father’s heavy steps across the hardwood from upstairs, but I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my last week of high school. I was so fucking close to freedom, I could practically taste it.
A nervous ball of energy settled in my stomach, but I pushed it aside. I would go downstairs and grab my backpack to take up to my room, do my homework, and then I’d leave.
I crept down the stairs as quietly as I could, careful not to make my presence known.
It was no use, though. When I reached the base of the staircase, he was standing with his arms crossed and something in his hand.
My backpack and its contents were scattered across the floor like he’d been rummaging through it for something.
You’re a fucking, idiot, Sierra. You knew he was going to do something like this. Shame on you for thinking it was safe because you had nothing to hide, I thought as I kicked myself for leaving my bag on the couch.
“Hi?” I tried as hard as I could to keep a flat tone.
“What the fuck is this?” He waved the thing in his hand, and I realized it was a polaroid picture—one of me, Hayden, and Keenan during homecoming.
“Give it back!” I lunged for the photo, but he lifted it above his head.
“Answer the question. What the fuck is this?”
Frustration clawed at me, but I leveled out my voice. “It’s a photo.”
“No fucking shit, Sierra! Who are those boys? Is that who you’re whoring around with these days?” He brought the photo down so he could take a look at it.
“That’s none of your business,” I muttered.
He squinted, staring at the picture more intently. “That kid. He looks fucking familiar.” He flipped the photo around and pointed at Hayden. “Now that I think about it, they both do.”
Hold your tongue, Sierra. Don’t do anything stupid.
“Wait, no. I know what it fucking is,” he growled. “They’re the kids of those deputies who work for GCSO! What the hell are you doing hanging around them? I warned you, you little bitch. If you got me in trouble, there’d be hell to pay. Now answer the fucking question.”
My heart pounded in my chest.
“What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. Hanging. Around. Those. Boys.” He bared his teeth like a feral animal with every word, enunciating each syllable.
“Please give me the photo back.” My teeth ground as I extended my hand palm up.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he huffed, and then he ripped the photo right down the middle.
A cry tore itself from my throat, and I lunged at him against my better judgment, clawing at his arm to get the torn-up pieces.
He smacked me away, and I backed up a few feet, putting space between us.
“You’ve been hanging out with those sons of pigs, and you just expect me to be okay with it? Who the fuck do you think you are? Other than a good for nothing slut just like your mother.” He spat out the words as he stalked toward me with a murderous expression on his face.
My mom raced into the living room before he could get to me.
“Stop it! Don’t you dare fucking touch her!” Mom screamed at him, putting herself between us. “If you lay one hand on her, I’ll leave. I swear it this time, Spencer. I will fucking leave, and I will take her with me.”
“What the hell did you just say to me?” He spat in her face then reared back his fist. A sickening crunch pierced through the air as his knuckles made contact with Mom’s face.
The momentum sent her flying backward into the wall, and her hands flew up to her nose, the blood already flowing through her fingers.
“Mom!” I cried out, reaching for her.
“Sierra, don’t!” she pleaded as my father stepped toward her.
“Stop!” My throat was already raw from screaming, from begging him to stop. “Please don’t! Don’t hurt her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mom whispered.
All I could do was watch as he grabbed her throat, pinning her to the wall. His muscles rippled as he squeezed her neck, cutting off her air supply.
My feet were a thousand pounds, heavy chains wrapped around them to keep me in place.
Do something!
You can’t let him do this!
Lunging forward, I wrapped my arms around his middle in an attempt to pull him off of her. When that didn’t work, I kicked the back of his legs. I’d dislocated that boy’s knees, I could do the same to him if I had to.
“Please! Get off of her!”
“You little brat! She deserves this! You both do!” Flinging me off his back, he released Mom from his grip for just a second. It was enough for her to slump to the ground, motionless.
Instead of going back to her, he walked into the kitchen. I didn’t know what he was doing, so I took the opportunity to help Mom.
“Mom.” I got down on my knees in front of her limp body. “Wake up. Come on, Mom. Please wake up. Mom!”
Before I could even react, his heavy footsteps returned. The moment I spun around to face him, it was too late. The bottle was already flying through the air before it shattered against the wall, glass shards raining down on us.
I tried to cover my head and protect Mom, but a sting of pain shot across my face.
Another bottle smashed against the wall, and then another, until the living room was a war zone, a battlefield covered in tiny little shards.
Rhythmic thuds against the floorboards filled my ears. Footsteps. Were they coming closer or were they retreating?
I braced myself to be hit, but the impact never came. The house was suspiciously quiet, but I didn’t dare move a muscle.
I lay on the floor for minutes…hours?
I wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but eventually, I hauled myself to my feet even though I felt weak, so weak.
Taking in my surroundings, I surveyed the damage.
Mom was still unconscious, and blood dripped down her face.
Glass, some pieces speckled with red splotches, covered the hardwood, and sticky liquid pooled on the ground. Beer or blood, I couldn’t tell.
The tang of copper filled my nostrils, and I pressed my fingers to the skin under my eye, wincing with the sting of pain that came with it before my hand retreated back down under my gaze.
Blood clung to my fingertips, and I squeezed my eyes shut, a lightheadedness threatening to overtake me. I’d deal with my injury later. I needed to help her.
Keeping my footsteps as light as possible, I stepped into the kitchen. My father had fallen to a drunken heap on the floor, but he was still breathing. I could tell by the rising and falling of his chest.
On my way over, I had debated grabbing one of the jagged pieces that covered the floor.
It would be so easy, too easy, to plunge one of those pieces into his back, stab him like he’d stabbed us.
Even if it wasn’t literally, but psychologically.
My scars may not have been visible, but I’d bore them for years, had taken blow after blow, cut after cut.
Yes. He deserves this. I won’t be his punching bag any longer.
Leaning down, I picked up a piece of glass.
I can end everything right now. All the suffering. All the pain.
No one—not me, nor my mother—would ever have to live in fear again.
The sharp tip cut into my fingertip, but I let it fall back down to the floor. I didn’t do it—couldn’t do it—because if I went to prison because I got rid of him, it would affect the people I loved. So, instead, I reached for the phone on the counter and dialed three numbers.
“911, what’s the address of your emergency?” The dispatcher’s voice on the other end of the phone line crackled in my ear. “Hello? Are you there?”
Despite the shake in my voice, I spoke as clearly as I could. “Hi, yes, I’m here.”
“What’s the address of your emergency, hon?”
“2210 Sparrow Lane in Goldfinch.” The address rattled off my tongue as I looked around, making sure my father wasn’t getting up and couldn’t hurt us more than he already had.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“My…my father. He hurt us—me and my mom. Um…” My voice cracked as I walked back over to my mom. She was still unconscious, though she appeared to be breathing, just much slower than normal. “She’s not moving. My father choked her then threw glass bottles at us. T-there’s so much blood.”
“Is he still there?”
“Yes. But he’s not awake, either. He was drunk.”
I heard typing in the background as the dispatcher listened.
“Okay, hon. Can you stay on the line? We’ve got officers on the way. They’re five minutes out, okay?”
“Okay.” I let out a deep breath, whether it was from relief or sadness, I wasn’t entirely sure.
As promised, red and blue lights flashed outside the window a few minutes later.
My gaze caught on my mother, still lying motionless on the floor.
She stepped in to defend me. To protect me. She’s not moving because of me.
I need to leave. I need to leave before anyone else gets hurt trying to defend me. The only way I can protect the people I love…is if I disappear.