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writing_shadows2011-11-14 12:00 pm
annwfyn.livejournal.com) wrote in writing_shadows2011-11-14 12:00 pm
Entry tags:
Forsaken background
Oh god.
No one told me there would be this much blood.
It's everywhere. It's over the bedding, it's over the walls, it's over me.
It's over me.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
Why am I saying that? Am I saying that aloud? I don't think I can tell anymore. It's been a long time since there has been anyone to hear, apart from him and he never liste...
...oh god.
I'm going to be sick now.
Shit. That's bloody foot prints, all across the bedroom floor, all the way into the clean white bathroom. And the blood seems brighter, somehow, smeared across the pristine glazed tiles.
I think I've even got blood in my mouth. At least, I can taste it when I puke and Jesus Christ, I won't be able to hide this now. Can't say he went away, can't pretend it is all OK, or fade back into a normal life.
Did I ever think that?
Damnit. I'm going to throw up again, and my head feels funny and light headed. My ears are still ringing as well. Why won't they stop? He didn't hit that hard, this evening. I'm sure he's hit me harder before. OK. Puking again.
I am going to die.
The thought comes to me as clear as day and oh god, how can I die with the house such a mess? No, that doesn't make sense. But it does. I have to keep the house clean. That's important. That's what he says.
Stop it.
No.
Stop it, Solace.
No one told me there would be this much blood.
But then, no one told me anything, did they? No one told me that it doesn't matter if you fall in love with a man the first time you see him, because he won't feel the same. No one told me that men come and men go and the man that rides into town on a motorbike will ride out, three weeks later, and never look back. No one told me that three weeks is long enough to get pregnant, but not long enough to know.
Enough. Wash your face, Solace, then wash your hands and your hair. Just get the blood out of your hair. That is all that matters.
No one told me to run back then. No one told me that the man who said he would rescue me and said he would help me wasn't actually a hero.
Shut up, Solace. This won't help you now. Just focus on cleaning your hair, on twisting your head so you can get it under the tap in the sink, on finding a clean towel, on taking off your clothes.
No one told me that the pain would get worse over the years. I don't miss the man who left anymore. I know he never gave a damn about me. I doubt he's thought of me once since the day he left town. I do miss my baby. I only got to her hold her for a moment before he took her. She couldn't pass as one of our kind, you see. We are too careful with our breeding. So he took her away.
I never stopped missing her. For some reason I couldn't give him babies. I don't know why. He said it was my fault, that I was tainted, worthless, that he should have left me to die when he found me.
Some days, I used to believe that he was right.
My clothes are a pile on the floor now. I don't know what to do with them. OK. I'll leave them. They can stay, just lying there. I've got more clothes, some clothes, maybe enough to put in a bag.
I'm going to die.
No. Stop it, Solace. You're not.
I'm calm now, calmer than I thought I would be. I don't even look at the blood as I make my way to the spare suitcase by the wardrobe.
I don't want to die.
I remember him talking.
"We got the whore and her husband, but her fucking brats got away. All three of them. Fuck knows where they are now. We'll get them another time."
He never did.
I remember Joseph Winter talking in my kitchen, late one night, when I wasn't meant to be listening.
"My bitch sister is still out there. We've never been able to get to her. She got clean away when she was fifteen. She is still running with the Forsaken now."
People do get away.
I know names as well. Korsten Winterfell, Verity Winter. That's two names.
My bag is packed. Next, I need money. I don't have any. I have never been allowed a bank account, never been allowed a job. I can take what is in his wallet.
The car is parked outside.
Click.
The front door closes behind me.
That's my life over, one way or another.
I do stop now, and close my eyes for a second, casting out a promise and a prayer to the spirits who watch over me.
"Forgive me, protect me, don't leave me. Even as I go where I know I should not, please forgive me. Please."
They are there. I can feel them, the blessed ones, as close as the gauntlet will allow.
"I am sorry," I say, for the first and the last time. I won't say it again.
I don't have a driving license. I never have been allowed one, but I do know how to drive. I'll need to drive slowly and carefully to dodge the cops. Being pulled over could end me now.
Oh god.
Breathe, Solace, breathe.
You can do this.
You can be strong.
I don't look back as I drive away.
No one told me there would be this much blood.
It's everywhere. It's over the bedding, it's over the walls, it's over me.
It's over me.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
Why am I saying that? Am I saying that aloud? I don't think I can tell anymore. It's been a long time since there has been anyone to hear, apart from him and he never liste...
...oh god.
I'm going to be sick now.
Shit. That's bloody foot prints, all across the bedroom floor, all the way into the clean white bathroom. And the blood seems brighter, somehow, smeared across the pristine glazed tiles.
I think I've even got blood in my mouth. At least, I can taste it when I puke and Jesus Christ, I won't be able to hide this now. Can't say he went away, can't pretend it is all OK, or fade back into a normal life.
Did I ever think that?
Damnit. I'm going to throw up again, and my head feels funny and light headed. My ears are still ringing as well. Why won't they stop? He didn't hit that hard, this evening. I'm sure he's hit me harder before. OK. Puking again.
I am going to die.
The thought comes to me as clear as day and oh god, how can I die with the house such a mess? No, that doesn't make sense. But it does. I have to keep the house clean. That's important. That's what he says.
Stop it.
No.
Stop it, Solace.
No one told me there would be this much blood.
But then, no one told me anything, did they? No one told me that it doesn't matter if you fall in love with a man the first time you see him, because he won't feel the same. No one told me that men come and men go and the man that rides into town on a motorbike will ride out, three weeks later, and never look back. No one told me that three weeks is long enough to get pregnant, but not long enough to know.
Enough. Wash your face, Solace, then wash your hands and your hair. Just get the blood out of your hair. That is all that matters.
No one told me to run back then. No one told me that the man who said he would rescue me and said he would help me wasn't actually a hero.
Shut up, Solace. This won't help you now. Just focus on cleaning your hair, on twisting your head so you can get it under the tap in the sink, on finding a clean towel, on taking off your clothes.
No one told me that the pain would get worse over the years. I don't miss the man who left anymore. I know he never gave a damn about me. I doubt he's thought of me once since the day he left town. I do miss my baby. I only got to her hold her for a moment before he took her. She couldn't pass as one of our kind, you see. We are too careful with our breeding. So he took her away.
I never stopped missing her. For some reason I couldn't give him babies. I don't know why. He said it was my fault, that I was tainted, worthless, that he should have left me to die when he found me.
Some days, I used to believe that he was right.
My clothes are a pile on the floor now. I don't know what to do with them. OK. I'll leave them. They can stay, just lying there. I've got more clothes, some clothes, maybe enough to put in a bag.
I'm going to die.
No. Stop it, Solace. You're not.
I'm calm now, calmer than I thought I would be. I don't even look at the blood as I make my way to the spare suitcase by the wardrobe.
I don't want to die.
I remember him talking.
"We got the whore and her husband, but her fucking brats got away. All three of them. Fuck knows where they are now. We'll get them another time."
He never did.
I remember Joseph Winter talking in my kitchen, late one night, when I wasn't meant to be listening.
"My bitch sister is still out there. We've never been able to get to her. She got clean away when she was fifteen. She is still running with the Forsaken now."
People do get away.
I know names as well. Korsten Winterfell, Verity Winter. That's two names.
My bag is packed. Next, I need money. I don't have any. I have never been allowed a bank account, never been allowed a job. I can take what is in his wallet.
The car is parked outside.
Click.
The front door closes behind me.
That's my life over, one way or another.
I do stop now, and close my eyes for a second, casting out a promise and a prayer to the spirits who watch over me.
"Forgive me, protect me, don't leave me. Even as I go where I know I should not, please forgive me. Please."
They are there. I can feel them, the blessed ones, as close as the gauntlet will allow.
"I am sorry," I say, for the first and the last time. I won't say it again.
I don't have a driving license. I never have been allowed one, but I do know how to drive. I'll need to drive slowly and carefully to dodge the cops. Being pulled over could end me now.
Oh god.
Breathe, Solace, breathe.
You can do this.
You can be strong.
I don't look back as I drive away.
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