Leaving Eva (The Eva Series Book 1) (8 page)

BRYNN LIKED
WATCHING
the blood bubble up slowly from her skin as she drew the blade slowly across it.
It didn’t hurt! It didn’t hurt at all!
Brynn anticipated terrible pain, but there was none.

She always took her time, savoring it. It was a different pain than the harshness of his fists, his belt, and his hands. It was Brynn’s pain, and she controlled it. She could make it hurt as much or as little as she wanted it to, depending on how deep she pushed the blade in. Sometimes it didn’t even hurt at all, until after. Then she could feel it hurting all day, and it focused her. It kept her from thinking of how he chased her and dragged her on the floor to get a better hold of her. She didn’t think about how his boots somehow found the same place in her ribs every time. The pain made her think of anything but how his big calloused hands clutched hard at her hair to make sure that she couldn’t get away. It made her forget his hot whiskey breath on her face, curling her nostrils, making her gag.

Pop, pop, pop.
She visualized the bead of blood popping up on her skin. She wiggled in her chair in her geometry class, feeling her skin tight around her cut.
I bet there’s a good scab growing over the cut by now. It’s red, and fresh, and tight. If I pick at it, it will bleed. I wonder if I can make another cut right next to it.
She was obsessed, and it was the only thing that kept her from jumping out of her own skin all day.

The first time she hurt herself was an accident. She didn’t even realize that she was doing it. She opened a can of pop and carelessly cut her finger on the inside of the can. She was fascinated for a minute with how it felt. Just that tiny thin slice in her finger consumed her, the blood only oozing for a moment, but the pain lasting for hours.

She realized that it distracted her. When she thought about the pain, she didn’t think about him. For a few moments, she felt different—she felt better, she felt relief. She thought she should try to cut somewhere else on her body to see how it felt. Just once, she thought.

She found a razor blade in the medicine cabinet of Thomas and Rose’s bathroom, and snuck it into her bathroom. She felt her heartbeat quicken.
What if it hurts too much? What if I like it? What if I cut too deep?
She was afraid, but she knew she would do it. She was too excited not to do it.

She didn’t want anyone to know what she was doing. She thought her stomach might be her best choice since nobody would ever see her stomach. At thirteen, she thought who would ever see her stomach?

She stood in front of the full-length mirror and took a deep breath staring at her thin body. The girl looking back at her barely looked like her. She was small and thin, almost too thin. The eyes were too big for her face.
Just do it! Do it! Don’t be afraid. It’ll be fine. You
liked when the can cut you. It was sweet.
It was a different pain from the sting of the belt and the ripping of hair.

Brynn took the razor out and her hands were trembling. She held it up to her side and held the cool metal against her skin for a brief moment.
Ouch! So sharp!
She saw a tiny bubble of blood rise up, and she stared at it for a long moment. She slowly drew the blade across her side making a long line from the middle of her stomach to around her side as far as she could. She didn’t feel the pain at first as she just watched the blood pop up in a perfect thin line, fascinated. She thought about making another line, but she hesitated. She wanted to enjoy this one first. She wanted to think about this one for the rest of the day.

I can’t believe how brave I am! I can do it!
She was proud of herself.

She blotted up the blood with a tissue until it stopped bleeding. She was careful not to go too deep, even though she knew that she could go deeper. She didn’t want to keep bleeding all day and give away her secret.

She didn’t want anyone to know, not even Stacy. She just wanted to keep it to herself.

She got dressed after she bandaged her cut and she went to school. All day, she could feel it stinging as she moved, as she sat in class, as she ate lunch with Stacy in the cafeteria. She thought about the scar that must be forming by now and felt strangely happy.

Stacy never saw Brynn happy. It was something they had in common. She thought that she even saw Brynn smiling to herself, and she was curious.

At the end of the day, Brynn realized that she hadn’t thought about Thomas once. She was so obsessed with her secret scar that she didn’t feel choked up as she usually did. She almost felt free as her mind was distracted with her secret.

She didn’t know how she survived up to this point without something else to occupy her mind.
How have I lived this long without doing this?

She couldn’t wait to do it again.

The next day she found herself with the razor blade in hand staring at the girl in the mirror again.
Do it again! Cut somewhere new!
She stared at herself naked, focusing only on the smooth skin of her stomach, and her cut from the day before. She cut a perfect straight line above the other one. She took her time, savoring the feel of the blade against her skin. She hoped that this could be her salvation.

At thirteen, she already knew that without this, she would have nothing, and that she would be nothing. Without this pain, that she could control and find her peace in, the other pain would overcome her, overtaking her. The pain of her birth mother leaving her, and her father hating her, would consume her, and she knew that she would die.

She knew that this tiny sharp blade would save her.

THOMAS WAS
SICK.

He hadn’t felt well for days, for years. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time that he had felt well. But this was different. He was nauseous and his stomach hurt. It didn’t stop him from drinking his Wild Turkey every day after work, but he cut back by a drink or two hoping that would help.

He rarely ate lately, and he knew he was losing weight.

“I made meatloaf,” Rose said when he came home from the plant on Monday night. Brynn was staying over at her friend Stacy’s house. She was glad that Brynn had her friend. She knew that their secret was safe because she knew that Stacy’s dad hit her, too. Everyone knew.

Rose was a terrible cook, but for some reason she could cook meatloaf well, and roast. Thomas blamed her mother, Clara, who always thought she was above cooking so she never gave it much effort. She refused to cook with any seasoning and everything she made was dry and bland. Rose cooked the same way. But her meatloaf was a mystery. It was actually quite good, and she made it at least once a week. Brynn hated meatloaf, so on meatloaf night she would stay at Stacy’s house.

She had his drink waiting for him when he walked in.

“Thank you,” he mumbled sneaking a look at her when she turned away. He knew she was plain, but to him she was pretty. He always thought she was pretty.

He had never been able to talk to girls very well, and when he got older, he couldn’t talk to women. Women always made him so uncomfortable but he never felt uncomfortable around Rose. Maybe it was because of her plainness, but even when they were kids in church, he liked to be around her.

His daddy hadn’t loved his momma, and he had only talked mean to her. He had never really heard a man talk to a woman in a normal way. Try as he might, his tongue always got twisted up, and he could never get his words out the right way. So he stopped trying. Except with Rose.

But Rose never really liked him much. In fact, she had never cared for any man much. She hadn’t even wanted to marry, but she knew that she would have to get married in order to have a child.

He knew that he would need to get married because he wanted someone to cook and clean for him. He wanted someone to watch TV with who would keep him company. He also wanted someone that he could take his sexual tension out on when he needed to. He really never pictured himself with anyone but Rose. He had gone out with other girls as his friends had. He had even done
it
with other girls like all boys were supposed to. But he always felt awkward doing it with the other girls because the only person he wanted to do it with was Rose. He could tell that she didn’t like it, only tolerated it with the hope they would create a baby. He didn’t want a baby. He never wanted a baby. He didn’t know what he would do with a baby. The only thing he wanted was Rose, and he was able to get her, but she made it clear that she didn’t love him and never would. He knew that he was her only chance to marry, and he was happy about that. It made it simple for him, and easy. But he wanted her to like him at least and not cringe when he touched her to let her know he wanted her.

It frustrated him to have her there knowing how much she disliked him. He felt like exploding sometimes when he felt his feelings were going to boil over. But she never saw it in him. She only saw him as someone to pay the bills and give her a roof over her head, and even then, she didn’t appreciate him. She only tolerated him.

He thought in the beginning that if he could get her to marry him, she would eventually grow to love him. He had liked her since the first time he had seen her in Sunday school. She hadn’t remembered, but he had picked her a flower at their Sunday school picnic. She had looked at him so sweetly, and from then on, he had been smitten. But he had always been too shy to ask her on a proper date. He had gone out with other girls, prettier girls, but they never really wanted to talk or date the right way. They just wanted to fool around in the hopes that they could get him to marry them. He was happy to fool around with them, but his thoughts always went to Rose. He could never understand why he liked her so much.

After all, she was tall and gangly, and plain. He didn’t figure she was very smart because her Momma always said she was lucky to barely finish high school. But by then, he already had a job lined up at the plant where his daddy had worked, and he had already planned to marry her.

It all worked out exactly as he had planned, except for her falling in love with him. He had become his father, and she was becoming his mother, with that worn sad look about her.

He wanted to be different with Rose, but most of his friends were the same way with their wives when they wouldn’t cooperate or listen. He hated it, and he knew that it made her hate him all the more, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The dice had already been rolled.

When he finally gave in, and let her adopt that little shit kid, he knew that it was all over for him. He would never have a chance to win her over. At first, he thought it would help her to see how much he really cared for her. He had truly tried everything he could to win her over, but when he offered to buy her things, she refused. She didn’t need fancy clothes and the house was fine the way it was she had told him over and over. She just wanted a child, and he was clearly disappointing her by not giving her one. So he gave in. And now she loved the kid more than he would ever love her.

Why can’t she see how I look at her? She’s so wrapped up in that snot nosed brat that she can’t even see me. She barely even lets me touch her now.

He knew that hitting the kid was bad for his cause, but when he drank the whiskey, he couldn’t stop himself. He knew the kid liked him because she looked at him, always waiting for him to talk to her, but he never liked kids. They were loud, snotty, needy, and they always broke shit. He never wanted one.

He tried, for Rose’s sake, to be nice to her. He even bought her stuff as Daddy’s were supposed to do, and that seemed to make Rose happy. But when it was clear that he was always going to be at the bottom of the barrel in Rose’s eyes, he figured it didn’t matter anymore what he did. Maybe if he just drank his whiskey, and did what came natural, she would at least pay attention to him more. And she did.

When I’m hitting her, at least I get to touch her. I can make her look at me, and I can punish her for not loving me, for taunting me. I can at least put my face close to hers, breathing her in. It’s the only time I can get close to her, push myself against her, and wrap my hands around her neck. I can feel her heart pounding through her chest. I can hurt her the way that she is hurting me. I must be the only crazy man to love such a plain looking bitch like her. How dare she not love me? She doesn’t even try!

He knew that he wasn’t an ugly man. He was rough and rugged. His hands were permanently stained with dirt and grease in the cracks of his skin, but he earned an honest living. Despite being a little thin from drinking too much, he knew that his body had held up pretty well for his age. He was strong and looked decent in his Sunday suit. He even got some looks now and then from the ladies in town. But Rose never looked at him.

He knew that after he started hitting the kid, he would never have a chance with Rose. But he hated that needy kid. The kid stood between Rose and him. Thomas knew that she was the only person in the world that Rose loved.

He was surprised when Rose started cooking for him. She could only cook two decent meals, but now she made one at least once a week for him. On that night, she always sent the kid away.
Is it because she is starting to love?

“How was your day?” Rose asked tentatively.

“Fine,” he said in his usual low, gravelly tone. He was surprised she was talking to him, because she never initiated conversation,“Yours?”

“It was fine. I went to the store and got some things. I got that chocolate cream pie you like.” Rose said quietly.

Thomas grunted in acknowledgement, “Thanks.”

He liked the quiet. The kid talked too much. He liked when she wasn’t there. When she was, she and Rose chattered like a couple of magpies. He always took his dinner into the TV room, and shut the door so he didn’t have to listen to their constant chitchat. When he came home, he didn’t want to hear all the noise. He just wanted quiet. He liked when the kid was gone, and it was just him and Rose. He could sneak looks at her over his glass, and she would sit and ignore him in silence. It was unusual for her to talk to him, and he liked it. He liked the sound of her voice.

“Maybe after dinner, we can watch that police show you like so much,” she said looking at him directly in the eyes, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones. She rarely looked at him directly.

“Uh, that would be good.” She made him nervous when she looked at him.

He took a big drink of his whiskey. His first sip had an odd taste, sweet. He took another big swallow and decided it was fine. It was a strange night. He wasn’t used to interacting with Rose this much. He liked it, but it unnerved him. He wasn’t feeling anxious tonight like he usually felt. He felt anxious in a different way. He didn’t think that he would hit Rose tonight no matter how much whiskey he drank.

He found himself hoping they would have another meatloaf night again soon.