Chapter 30 Faye
Despite claiming domestic abuse and going beyond lengths to protect us, the family justice system failed us inexplicably, the disappointment soul-crushing my belief in the only people I sought out help from.
It ruptured my belief in the justice system completely, hopeless of any change to come for not only us, but the thousands of victims who never got justice, still fighting for internal peace.
How many abusers walked away free as they lived their consequent-less lives in peace?
While the victims are left fractured beyond repair, wearing their trauma like a painted fucking canvas on their skin.
Sadly, I was one of many not seen or heard, my cries falling on deaf ears.
You see, when your abuser is white, male, and fortunate, consequences don’t come to them easily.
They shield themselves with suits, money, and cars.
But, beneath their fancy fabric and wealth, they are soulless demons wreaking havoc on any vulnerable soul willing to break for them.
Oh, how easy it is to break under helplessness, scars, tears, and blood.
Bruises that have healed, but never left, sketching their way into my skin forever.
Our internal battle wounds were not drastic enough for our voices to be heard.
We didn’t matter. My pain stained my soul.
It was the victims who still had to live with the pain and trauma.
Our brain chemistry changed forever by the embedded torture.
There was no justice, only anger and heartbreak.
It was a hard pill to swallow. How does one take pictures of battered wounds that live inside you and crawl inside you?
How does one show someone their aching flesh?
You can’t see this wound, you can only feel it.
While it keeps you awake at night, the voices and words terminate any happiness living inside of you.
Taking you from your peace and safety inside your own fucking head.
Your body is hijacked by the wounds, wrapping you in their ruthless chokehold.
How does one show the world their gutted insides? You can’t.
The justice system didn’t care about you unless you were a white, wealthy man, black and blue, or already dead.
At this very moment, I decided maybe living was too much.
Too difficult to carry this heavy toxic life-sucking load.
I no longer wanted to carry this burden as I screamed in my pillow for me, for her, for all of us.
My taupe pillowcase was soaked from my tears.
The rustic off-white frame on my old thrifted bed stand caught my attention—a picture of Birdie and I riding Stevie.
My only reason, the only reason—her. I lifted the picture and wiped my face with my black plaid long sleeve.
I would live to fight another day. It’s not about how many times you fell, but how many times you got back up.
I would crawl through hell itself before I ever gave up on Birdie.
For Birdie’s first weekend visit away, I spent it crying in bed watching my favorite scary movie, Evil Dead.
I sobbed while I stuffed my face with popcorn and chocolate, a concoction I would surely be paying for in breakouts, but I didn’t care.
Birdie had never been away from me. Did Vadon even know what she liked to eat?
Did he know her bedtime? Was he brushing her teeth?
All these questions looped through my head over and over.
It kept me up all hours of the night. The fact that I had to share my child with my abuser, it wasn’t fair.
A sick joke. I secluded myself for a whole week in my bedroom.
The courts didn’t care that he was an abuser.
There was no proof. Not a damn thing I could do about it.
This wasn’t Vadon’s first rodeo and he knew how to play the system as he hid behind his big-shot lawyers paid for by his daddy.
I’d never hated anyone else in my life. But I think I definitely hated Vadon—deep in my bones at times.
The stress made me look zombie-like. Worried every second of the day.
I was calling her every chance I got to make sure she was okay.
Her excited little tone over the phone eased some parts of my anxiety, knowing she was okay.
Ma knocked on my door. “Mija, you have company,” her muffled voice called from behind my door.
I scrounged to pick up the candy wrappers all over my bed, hoping she didn’t barge in and see me looking like Oscar the Grouch.
I already sensed who it was, and I was not in the mood.
I walked to the door in my robe with my rat’s nest on my head, not even surprised to see this cowboy.
I sighed, “Jax, what are you doing here?” with a tone that said, It’s really not the fucking time, I am bed-rotting. Go away. I didn’t even care that I looked like death and misery had a baby.
“I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, and you haven’t been at the saloon,” Jax replied, concerned. This was true. I’d taken two days off to sulk in my shit.
“Yeah, I’ve been going through some stuff.” I tied my robe tighter.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jax asked, as he stood on the steps, weary of getting closer, like I was a rabid caged lion.
“Honestly, no, not really,” I replied, deadpan.
“Are you busy? I can go.” Jax took another step closer to me.
“Nope. No kid, no life. Just here,” I replied.
He looked at me as if he understood without words.
“I see,” Jaxon said, rubbing his beard. “Tomorrow they’re doing a grand reopening of Ellm’s Arcade.
Or you can continue to watch scary movies, in your robe, eating a cow's herd's worth of chocolate. It’s completely up to you.” Jax smirked, putting his hands in his jean pockets.
How did he even know that? How did he even remember scary movies were my favorite?
“That place is still here?” I asked, breaking my chain of intrusive thoughts.
“I want to take you, for old times sake. You know, unless you’re too scared to lose,” Jax said, smiling at me devilishly as he leaned up on Ma’s porch.
This cowboy would really be the death of me.
I couldn’t act like last week in the barn didn’t happen, and I could use a distraction.
Especially one that looked like Jax Reed Grimwood.
I mean, why shouldn’t I have some damn fun after all.
I’ve been depressed, I’m pretty sure I have B.O, and Robles’ never back down from a challenge.
“Yeah, okay,” I replied, giving in. What else was I going to do besides cry the Atlantic Ocean and eat my body weight in chocolate and takis?
“Really?” Jax seemed bewildered by my acceptance.
“You had your tongue inside me a week ago and you’re surprised I’d go to an arcade with you?” I replied mockingly, both of us chuckling.
“I’ll be here at three p.m. sharp,” he answered, walking off the porch to his bike.
“Good, because I start my shift at six,” I called out to him, as I turned to walk back into the house.
“Yeah, I know,” he shouted from his bike, the engine roaring to life.
I turned, ready to make a smart-ass comment, but Jax was already riding away, giving me no room for my sassiness.
Asshole… He was always a pain in my ass, but he was an attentive one, I’d give him that much.
This man knew too much and I wanted to know how?
He was always appearing at the most convenient of times.
All my senses were going off, my gut screaming at me.
My nightmares were getting worse every week it seemed—becoming more vivid as they woke me from a chilling sleep.
Every night I’d find Ma in the kitchen making me herbal tea from her garden.
I wasn’t sure if it was because she could hear me screaming, or because she could sense it.
I was honestly too embarrassed most nights to ask.
My nightmares stopped for a couple years, only having them here and there.
Ever since I returned to Grimstone they have intensified, keeping me from a peaceful slumber, antagonizing me with the vivid depictions that stayed with me even as I woke.
Visions of crimson blood flooded my vision; howls and screams, a purgatory of lost souls drowning me in the pits of their personal darkness.
Hell seemed pale to the doom I saw and felt in these nightmares.
Taking my very breath and confiscating my sanity.
I sipped my warm tea, and let the honey soothe my throat.
I stared outside my window, hearing the horses become uneasy in their stalls.
I looked out into the distance for coyotes, but there was nothing but darkness.
I suddenly noticed movement behind a distant lemon bush tree, beyond the fence’s gate outlining the property.
What the fuck is that? I blew my candle-lit lantern out, and chills spread across my skin like a million tiny spiders laying their sacked eggs on top of my flesh.
There! Two yellow beady eyes, hiding behind a tree ranch bush.
I covered my mouth from the terror of screams wanting to escape my dry throat.
This was no bird—no animal for that matter.
We eyed one another in complete darkness.
It could see me, and it knew I could see it, whatever it was.
The creature paced back and forth beyond the fence.
The mysterious thing screeched, forcing me to cover my ears from the excruciating sound.
I stood there shaking, my voice betraying me as a squeal caught in my throat.
I was too terrified to move. Ma’s door suddenly blew open as she ran out with her rifle and fired at the creature, making it run off in a frenzy into the night, she nearly got the creature in its head.
“Pinches coyotes!” Ma shouted, before coming back inside, her boots shuffling on the wooden floor as they creaked with every movement.
That was no coyote. The fear hit me like a stone brick, still standing frozen.
“You ever see a demon looking into your eyes, you stare right back at it. Show it no fear! Entendies? You are only as weak as your fear, mija.” She huffed, taking off her slippers and putting the rifle back into its locked case.
Those eyes. Those yellow eyes. I’ve seen them before.
I gulped down my internal thoughts. This thing, it’s following me.