Deception (11 page)

There are shelters we can stay at, where Kylie insists that Joseph won’t be able to find us. I’m sceptical though. I imagine a room full of rundown bunks and other strange women, and it breaks my heart that I’d have to take Ricky there, but I have no other option. I feel the slightest bit better when Kylie informs me they’re safe houses, clean and homely and nothing like I’ve seen in the movies.

By the time I hang up, I feel, for the first time ever, like none of this is my fault. No matter what I did to provoke him, nothing makes violence okay. He can’t justify his actions. There’s no excuse in the world for abuse.

So now I have a way out. Simple, clean cut, and easy - on paper that is. Nothing is that straightforward in reality, and I’m terrified. Ricky’s and my life are about to be turned upside down. But at least now I know there are people out there to help give me the courage. No matter how alone I feel I don’t have to do this by myself.

“We are still masters of our fate. We are still captains of our souls.” - Winston Churchill

Luke

I
go into work grumpy and tired, and grumble in annoyance each time the alarm goes off. Most of the fires are small, until at about 2:00 a.m., when a call comes in for a huge factory blaze.

The giant orange flames light up the sky, looking kind of beautiful, when I know no one is inside this dangerous hazard. Grey smoke coils upwards, wrapping around the stars and looking like clouds in the night. Whatever is burning, crackles and explodes, as it gets eaten away by the extreme heat.

“What is wrong with you, Luke? Get your head in the game!” I’m shaken out of my appraisal of the sight in front of me by Jake, lucky it wasn’t the chief who caught me zoning out, before dealing with this callout or he’d consider me a risk and not let me out of the truck. I’m not sitting in here while the guys with families are out there fighting. I haul ass and join my crew.

*****

I
’m surprised when I see Roxi running again the next morning. I expected her to avoid me after what I discovered. Although, the long sleeve shirt and sweatpants she wears compared to her usual attire has me suspicious. What is she trying to cover?

“Did you forget its summer out?” I make a joke, attempting to get a response off her without scaring her away. If I don’t tread lightly I may never see her again, then I would never get my chance to help her obtain a better life, a safer life.

I lightly graze my fingertips over the material wishing I was touching her skin instead of the cotton. She sucks in a sharp breath at my touch and I look at her questioningly.

What did that bastard do to her?

She tries to pull her arm away from me, but I wrap my hands around hers, stopping her. As I push up the sweatshirt at her wrist, I’m horrified by what I see. Cuts are crisscrossed all over her delicate skin, angry red lines against the palest of white.

Fuck.
Self-harm, I’d recognize the signs in anyone. I personally identify with it. My head pounds, as that familiar feeling comes back to me. The anxiety that builds, threatening to eat you alive from the inside out. The need to cause physical pain, as a distraction from your own tortured thoughts.

“Why?” I simply ask her. However, I know why. This time when she tries to pull away I don’t stop her. I subconsciously rub at my own wrist. Cutting only works in the short term and the scars never leave, on the inside or the outside.

“I....” she pauses as she thinks about what to say.

“Don't you dare tell me that was an accident, I’m not stupid. That isn’t gonna fly.” The time for skirting lightly around the issue is over. If her husband doesn’t kill her, she could very well kill herself.

After a while the cutting is not enough. You get used to it, immune so to speak. It doesn’t affect you anymore, or cause the distraction you desire. So you move on to bigger things, more dangerous things. Even though I’m pretty sure she isn’t trying to off herself, accidents happen, tragic accidents that will forever affect everybody around you, and I should know.

Her eyes dart everywhere, and she shifts from foot to foot appearing flighty. “Please don't run from me. Let me help.” As she tries to explain to me that I don't understand I take her hand and place it on my left wrist. I watch her pupils go wide as she discovers the jagged white scars that are still there. “I understand, sweetheart.”

We stare into each other’s eyes, and it’s like staring into a mirror. Both sets contain the same deep anguish.

In the past, cutting was my escape. It’s a place I know well, I was on suicide watch a long time after the death of my family. The foster home I was in wouldn’t even let me take a piss without watching over me.

Eventually, I learnt to just say what the shrink wanted to hear. So I could get the privacy I wanted, the privacy I needed, to end the torture I was going through. In the end, I didn’t have what it took. Just like I wasn’t man enough to claim responsibility for the fire, I wasn’t brave enough to take my own life either, to send myself to hell, like I deserved. Not for lack of trying, though.

I knew exactly where I had to slide the blade across my wrist to cause the ultimate damage. But I convinced myself I needed to practice first, before I went for the money shot, so I wouldn’t fuck it up. During several run throughs in preparation for the main event, I deluded myself into thinking that the pain I was causing myself was warranted. I thought that I should suffer through it some more. Soon the burning sensation as I sliced myself open was all I could concentrate on, it blocked out all the terrible thoughts and became my escape.

Where Roxi is now, I know. I’ve been there.

“Jeeze Vicki, get off my case, it’s nothing.” I’m pissed I have to justify everything in my life. I don’t care that her suspicions are dead on, she can get fucked. She’s not my mum, just my foster parent. If cutting my arm makes me feel better, why can’t they just let me have this one freaking thing? Pretend my lies aren’t full of shit and go on ignoring me, like all the other people who do this gig for the money? I’ve had foster parents like that before. Why did I have to be left with a pair that is so bloody nosey? “I hurt my arm during basketball practice. The bandage is to protect my wrist.”

“Okay, let me see your injured wrist then. Maybe we should ice it.” She follows closely, as I go straight to my room. I walk through the door and have just enough time to slam it closed behind me, flicking the lock before she gets to the threshold.

“No. It’s fine.” I turn up my music and sit on the edge of my bed. My legs bounce full of anxious energy. It speeds through my body so fast I can’t think straight. I need to let it out. My hands shake as I reach for the book on my nightstand, the book that conceals my secret stash of razor blades. I fear the pain, but crave it at the same time.

The fire that scorches across my skin as I cut deep, consumes me. All of the panic that was building up, seeps out of me like poison. Just like an addict, after getting a hit, everything becomes peaceful and serene once more, but not for long. It’s already escalating, restless thoughts accumulating, waiting for my next fix. The time in between each cut is getting closer and closer together. When it isn’t enough, what will happen? 

How many times has Roxi done this? How much worse will it get? It won’t at all, if I can help it. In the end, it was people I hardly knew that were able to get through to me. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger about your problems than someone you know. You still feel ashamed, but at the end of the day you never have to see the person you confide in again, if you don’t want to.

“Whatever you’re going through, there’s a way to fix it.” It wasn’t the case for me, but it has to be for her. I won’t believe otherwise. I won’t stand on the sidelines and watch this situation play out again. I’ve seen it once before, when I was younger. I tried and tried to stop it, but I failed. Dad’s fists petrified the living day lights out of me. I felt like a traitor for not stepping in to save Mum from the same fate. I was the worst son in the world. Trent and I just hid and got stoned, got away from reality. We gave up trying to help, when it wasn’t getting us anywhere. We realised our attempts were actually making things more difficult for Mum.

“Cutting doesn’t help to solve your problems. It only makes you forget them temporarily. Trust me. I’ve tried anything and everything as a means of escape – cutting, drinking, prescription drugs, and smoking weed. It’s like trying to put a Band-Aid over a broken arm. It makes what you are going through, a lot more severe.”

“You two boys remember, out of sight, out of mind. You just stay in your room and let your mumma handle things. Or better yet, go out with your friends. Have some fun for once. There’s no reason for your father to be upset. The house is clean. Dinner is ready to be served. Everything will be fine here.”

What I’m witnessing is all too similar, to what I have seen before.

I can tell by the way Roxi avoids eye contact and fidgets with the hem of her sweatshirt, which she’s not taking in anything I’m saying. She thinks she has it all figured out, or is too embarrassed and proud to reach out for help.

“Look, I spoke to someone on the phone yesterday about my situation. I need more time to organize where Ricky and I are going to go, and how to get there safely. I can go home tonight, everything will be fine.”

Those words again, only it wasn’t fine, we should have never left that night.

I stumble through the door, Trent by my side. The house is dark, cloaked in a heavy blanket. Hiding the signs. Our reaction times are slow, the haze of what we got up to tonight lingering, keeping everything surreal. By the time the warning bells get through, it’s too late. Mum’s whimpers on the kitchen floor, pull us out of our fog. Our footsteps are loud against the tiles to get to her. I slide in something wet on the floor.

“Run boys!” Her voice is a strangled groan. It registers moments before something hard smacks against the side of my face. Pain ricochets through my head, as I lose my balance and fall to the ground, a second thump beside me. My body wants to panic, but my mind won’t allow it, because the drugs still have a hold on me. I am trapped, stuck in my own head.

My father turns on the light in the kitchen and I see him looming over us with his menacing glare, with his shovel in hand, and blood pooled on the floor.

“You boys too good to stay home and have dinner with your family now? You ashamed of me?” He presses the cold metal down on my throat. Everything was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be stable and predictable tonight. He presses down harder, restricting my airflow and I black out.

He was like a ticking time bomb. We never knew what was going to set him off. There was only one guarantee, expect an explosion at any given time.

I place my hand under her chin, and raise her head to look at me. Vulnerability shines in her eyes. They are clear and uncertain. “Everything won’t be okay, Roxi. Not if you go home, and back to him. It’s already not okay. You have to take your son and get out of there. I know you don’t know me very well, but I’ve been through what you’re going through. There’s no shame in reaching out for help. It’s the complete opposite, it’s courageous, and it’s brave. You have the strength, Roxi. I’ve seen you throw a mean Frisbee.” She smiles at my attempt to lighten the seriousness of our conversation, my own lips rising at the corners in response. “Let me help you to get away from him, and away from danger.”

“I’ve been trying to figure a safe way out,” she confides. “I don’t want to take Ricky to a shelter, but I have nowhere else to go. I’m scared, what if they can’t protect us? What if he finds us there?” Her voice breaks, leading me to believe that she is deathly afraid of him.

I gently trail my fingers next to the bruises down her neck. “Once is bad enough. In some cases it only takes one time. You need to get away from him now.”

The mirror image I’m looking into, cracks and shatters completely, and I see right into her soul, but she is scared to step off that cliff. I hold out my hand and offer her a bridge. “Move in with me temporarily, until you can get on your own feet. You and your son are both welcome, as long as you need. I’ll protect you. Let me be the friend you need.” It seems excessive for someone I’ve only known a few weeks, but extreme circumstances call for significant actions.

This feels like my chance, my opportunity to save a family after destroying mine. What I did was just as bad as the violence my father dealt out. I need to make my wrong right, and this is the only way I know how.

“I hardly know you,” she voices my exact thoughts.

“I’ve got to be a safer option than him.”

“But what if Joseph somehow still gains the rights to see Ricky? I won’t be there to watch over him.” I see the hope trying to escape, but the trepidation holding it down. Molten honey flickers through the dull brown of her irises, and I want to be the person who creates more of that, the one who brings the colour back into her eyes and the smile back to her lips.

“There is no way he is getting near Ricky, not with the bruises he left on your neck. I’ll help you file a protection order.” At this, she finally takes my hand in hers and squeezes lightly.

“Are you sure?”

I squeeze back. “I’m positive.”

*****

A
ll the memories from my past assault me. Guilt claws at my insides, makes me want to crawl out of my body and escape this never ending nightmare that repeatedly plays in my head. They mix with images of the bruises on Roxi’s neck, the cuts on her arms, and the fact that some asshole has been putting her through hell.

Anger from so long ago, that I’ve never fully dealt with, simmers just below the surface, threatening to explode. The extra running I just did on the way home was futile in the effort to calm me the fuck down.

Slamming the front door behind me, I head straight for the boxing gear on the back patio. My bare fists slam the bag, and then I put my full weight into my kicks. It's not nearly satisfying enough.

“Whoa. You’re gonna tear your hands to shreds. Glove up and I’ll hold the bag for you.” Jake walks over and motions to the rest of the gear on the table. I nod, not ready to talk. Just wanting to punch. To fight the demons inside, until thirty minutes later, when I’m finally exhausted enough to fall in a heap on the couch.