Thursday, December 18, 2014

The Black House

My submission to 

Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 2.29

-          The Black House

Cecilia paused in the doorway, taking a deep breath before stepping further into the kitchen.  It had been three years since she’d seen the house.  Three years of self-discovery, eight tattoos, a Mohawk and countless hair colors along the way to discover who she was.  She had done everything to escape this house.  She didn’t want to come back, not when everything seemed so right.  For the first time in her life…she was happy.  Cecilia didn’t think there was anything for her here.  The phone call made her realize how wrong she was.  There was something she had never been able to leave behind.  Her mom’s news would have been something to cheer about if she was someone else.  If it had been someone else’s family but not her own.

Dark cobwebs clung to every surface, everything looked so unclean and old.  Had she really been gone so long?  It left a bitterness on her tongue, Cecilia glanced to the large bottle in her hand before taking a large drink of the moonshine washing away the disgust.  She coughed immediately as the bottle retreated from her lips.  Her chest burned from the strong liquor.  A few more steps through the kitchen to the living room, the floorboards screeched with each step.  It was a mixture of preaching and scalding, telling her she was nothing more than trash.  She’d heard it all before in one tone or the other.

Every corner had a story, twenty years’ worth of her own living nightmares.  She was less than human to him, only because she was born wrong in his eyes.  He was supposed to be her biggest fan, biggest protector but he was the monster she feared in the dark.  Taking another drink she started the trek up the stairway, most of the steps were loose now.  Rails were missing from the banister as she reached the top, she remembered being pushed through them not too many years before she left.  The fall hurt but less than the beating she had taken afterwards, all because of the piercing in her nose.  How impure and evil he said it made her.  Each inch of the old house reminded her of a scar on her body.

Her hands trembled approaching her bedroom again.  It was at times her only sanctuary.  She’d push the chair against the door, he couldn’t budge it from there.  It would give her hours to escape into her world of knights and brave warriors of both sexes.  But sooner or later she would have to leave and he would always be waiting.

It made her sick.  Cecilia thought about her mom’s mumbled words over the phone, “I’m pregnant.”  She had hung up right after, knowing she was going to have to come back.  There was no hesitation.  Four hours on the road gave her a lot of time to think of what she was going to say.  How was she going to convince her mom to leave?  To get away from him, even though it never worked before.  The closer she got, the more upset and nervous it made her.  Three years and not a word spoken between them.  What would she say to the man who tortured her for so many years?  Left her broken and scared. 

She lowered herself to one knee picking up the knife with her blood soaked hand.  His limp frame in the corner of her sanctuary.  She muttered still seeing her actions in her mind, “No more scars.”  

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