Chapter Ten

Charlotte

                I called Karla before I left the party but she said she was going to find her own way home. Apparently she found the preppy guy fascinating and wasn't ready to leave yet. Normally I would stay with her to make sure she didn't do anything stupid, but I was afraid if I hung out there any longer then I would do something stupid - like cry.

                I had enough money to pay for a cab, but when I got home, I wished I'd stayed at the frat party. Watching Christian make-out with a sleazy sorority girl was actually more preferable to deal with my drunken parents.

                I could hear the music blaring from the sidewalk and there were four motorcycles parked at the curb. I knew they were my step-dad's friends' because not many people in Bridgewalk owned such expensive Harley Davidsons.

                I stood at the bottom of the porch stairs and stared at my front door wondering if maybe I should go to Karla's house. Mrs. and Mr. Steele wouldn't even question my being there without Karla, and they'd welcome me into their home with open arms. They knew my parents liked to party - they also knew the type of friends my step-dad kept, so they let me stay over anytime I showed up on their front steps. Although, no one knew how bad my parents could get, and I wasn't going to tell anyone - I honestly do love my mom and dad. Well, when they're sober, anyways.

                I looked at the front window that was boarded up with two by fours and tried to listen for any yelling or rowdy voices but all I could hear was the music. That was a good sign - they probably weren't too far into the tequila yet. I could probably go inside, scurry up to my bedroom and lock the door before anyone even noticed I was home.

                I was exhausted, confused, and as humiliating as it is, a little heartbroken. I knew I shouldn't let myself get too close to Christian because he was a player, and I hated myself for kissing him. If I couldn't refrain from giving into him then he was going to be my destruction - he was going to be my undoing.

                I pushed that thought to the back of my mind and ascended the porch stairs. Maybe seeing my parents in their drunken state would be the splash of reality I needed to remember why Christian was such a bad idea. My mom was only seventeen when she made the mistake of having unprotected sex with her generation's "Christian Steele". His name was Adam Stuart, and my mom was in love with him - unfortunately, he only loved one thing about her, and after he got bored of it, she never saw him again.

                Young, pregnant and disowned by her parents, she fell into a bad crowd and met my step-dad. I love my step-dad just as much as I love my mom - I mean, he's the only dad I've ever had, but they are bad for each other. When they drink, which is almost every night, its like mixing fire and oil. I love them when their sober, but lately they seemed to be drinking and shooting up more than usual. The tequila and whiskey was one thing, but the drugs - that was something else altogether. 

                I took a deep breath and walked into the house.

                The music was blaring out of the stereo in the living room, but I could hear laughter in the kitchen. I needed to walk past the kitchen to reach the stairs, but if I could get to my room then I wouldn't be bothered for the rest of the night. I started down the hallway, but before I took even two steps the bathroom door opened up and my mom stumbled out laughing.

                Her dark brown hair was a knotted, and it looked like she hadn't washed it in days. She was wearing a tank top that was two sizes too big and one strap was hanging down her arm. I could see fresh new needle marks on the inside of her elbow but she was too far gone to even notice me. She stumbled toward the kitchen, and just when I thought I was safe, a man wearing a white muscle shirt came out of the same bathroom. He had my mom's bright red lipstick smeared on his lips and neck.

                He started to follow my mom - also not noticing me. I clenched my fists together knowing that I was going to regret this.

                "Hey!"

                He turned around and looked surprised to see me standing there. "What'd you want, kid?"

                "You might want to wipe that lipstick off your face before my dad sees."

                "You mean your step-dad," he said, but still reached up to his face and wipe his hand across it. He then looked at the red smears on his palm and let out a loud, hearty laugh. "That women is sure somethin', ain't she?" He walked back to the bathroom and shut the door.

                "If you say so," I said softly.

                "Charlie!"

                I knew I should have gone upstairs when I had the chance.

                I looked up and saw my mom staring at me from the kitchen threshold. Her eyes were glazed over and I could tell she was past the point of rationality. Her fingers were wrapped around the neck of a whiskey bottle and she was holding a marijuana joint in her other hand. I tried not to stare at the string of her thong that was showing under her leather skirt.

                "Hi mom, I'm just going up to my bedroom. I have homework to do." I tried to walk past her but she reached out and grabbed my arm. The joint that was between her fingers fell to the floor, and I quickly stepped on it to put the cherry out. 

                "Don't you want to hang out with your father and me? We have visitors over. Come say hi."

                Her grip tightened but I didn't try to pull away - I knew that would just cause her to do something worse. "I have lots of homework-"

                "It that Charlotte I hear?" My step dad stumbled out of the kitchen. He took two steps forward and then three steps back. He fell into the wall and knocked down a framed picture of me from when I was nine. The glass in the frame shattered.

                I kept telling my mom we shouldn't have framed pictures on the walls, but whenever she was sober, she would go and buy new frames to replace the broken ones. It didn't bother me that they kept breaking, what bothered me was that I was the one who always had to clean it up.

                "Jesus Richard!" My mom let go of me and turned to face my dad. "Look what you fucking did! I just bought that frame last week, you idiot!"

                My dad's drunken grin twisted into something dangerous. "You're calling me a fucking idiot?" He pushed himself off the wall. "You're a dirty little whore. Who's dick did you suck tonight, you slut?"

                "You guys its fine, I'll just go grab a broom and-"

                "You're a fucking asshole, Richard!" My mom dropped the whiskey bottle and stomped over to him and pushed him into the wall again.

                I held my breath waiting for the bottle to shatter but it didn't. The booze did pour out onto the floor, and my dad's eyes flared when he saw it. "Now you're wasting booze, you stupid, fucking slut!" He pushed her off him and then back handed her across the face. "Do you have the money to pay for that?"

                "Hey Richie, why don't you come do a line with us."

                I looked up to see two large men standing in the kitchen. One of them was bald, and the other had a big bushy beard - they were both wearing leather jackets. It was the bald one who was trying to get my dad's attention, and I was pretty thankful for it.

                My dad looked over at them and I could see the anger begin to fade, but my mom's eyes were squinted and I saw her reaching for the empty whiskey bottle. Before I realized what I was doing I jumped between them, "Dad, move!" But she was already mid-swing and wacked me across the back. I howled out in pain as the force of the blow brought me to my knees.

                "Jesus Christ Charlie!" She turned her anger onto me, and yelled, "Why the hell did you do that?"

                "Now you've done it women!" I heard my dad roar.

                My vision was blurred by the tears that were trying to form in my eyes, but I refused to let myself cry no matter how much it hurt. I forced myself to stand up and turned around to see my dad grab my mom's shoulder and begin to shake her.

                "Dad!" I tried to get his attention. "Dad, look, I'm fine! Not even a scratch." But I knew it was going to leave a gruesome bruise.

                He turned to look at me and his grip on my mom loosened, and even her fury faded a bit.

                The man in the muscle shirt appeared out of nowhere and put his hand on both of their shoulders. "Come on guys, let's go get fucked up."

                I stiffened when I realized he missed the lipstick stains on his neck. Idiot, that stupid, stupid idiot! I risked everything to warn him and he still couldn't get it all off. I stared at my parents with wide, bewildered eyes. Maybe my dad wouldn't notice it - he was pretty drunk and high.

                "What's that, Frank?"

                Spoke too soon.

                "Hey dad, did you want a tequila twist? I'll make you one, come on, let's go to the-"

                "Is that my bitch's lipstick on your neck?" His voice rose with each word.

                The guy in the muscle shirt, Frank, faltered. He slowly turned his attention to my mom expecting her to save him, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. I could hear the crunching of bones when my dad's fist connected with Frank's face. The man's unconscious body barely touched the floor before my dad turned his wrath onto my mom.

                I reached for his arm hoping to stop him from hitting her but he swatted me away like I was nothing by an annoying fly. I stumbled to the ground and smacked the back of my head off the floor. Baldy, bushy beard and another big man in a leather jacket came out of the kitchen to try and pull my parents apart.

                Big beard grabbed me by the forearm and pulled me to my feet. His grip was so tight I knew it was going to leave a mark. He then pushed me toward the stairs, and said, "Get out of here, kid." I hesitated for a moment while staring at my parents screaming and hitting each other. "Don't make me tell you twice!"

                I ran up the stairs and went straight to my bedroom. I slammed the door shut and locked it, I could hear my parents screaming and cursing. I closed my eyes tight and took a deep breath. I wouldn't cry. I refused to cry. I exhaled and then went to my dresser and turned on my stereo. I kept turning it up louder and louder until it drowned out all the yelling.

                Slowly, I unbuttoned my cardigan and dropped it to the floor. After that, I pulled off my long sleeve shirt, and then my Capri pants. I turned around and stared in the mirror. I hated what I saw looking back. I had bruises covering my arms and two large bruises on my ribs from a few days ago. I took a step closer to the mirror and stared at the large ugly scar that started at my left ribcage and went down to my bellybutton.

                I turned around and looked at my back in the mirror. I could already see a bright red outline of where my mom hit me with the whiskey bottle. The bruise was definitely going to be an ugly one. At least it would cover most of the burn scar on my back.

                I got dressed into pajama pants and a long sleeve night shirt. Karla always assumed I dressed really conservative because of how shy I was, but that was only part of the reason.

                I went over to my vanity and sat on the chair. I looked at myself in the mirror again, and even over the blasting music I heard my dad's ferocious screams. I felt my eyes swell up and before I could stop it, a single tear rolled down my face. I quickly wiped it away, took off my glasses and climbed into bed.

                I knew I wouldn't fall asleep, but I closed my eyes anyways and tried to image a better life.