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Run Away |
| Written by Natalie Flynn | |
| Monday, 21 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      This is the first chapter of my (work in progress) novel, titled 'Dad's Secrets'. I feel it is a short story in itself, so am sharing it with you........
At what point do you decide that you’ve had enough? Is it the first time he hits you? Or does he convince you at breakfast the next morning that he’s sorry and it won’t happen again? What about the second time? Does it worry you that he did it again or do you push it to the back of your mind and make an excuse for his behavior? What about when he’s crouched over the toilet, having drunk too much? Does that make you want to leave him? When the punching turns to throwing? How much do you want to run away then? When you’re lying on the floor after he’s thrown you across the room? Lying so still hoping that he won’t come back and do it again. The thing is, it’s so hard to leave. So many times I wanted to go, but I couldn’t. Years of no love, no affection and making me feel worthless had taken its toll. Nobody knew what he was like. He was such a well-respected man that nobody would believe me if I told them. Even our closest family had no idea. If I left and I told them what he’d been doing to me for years, they wouldn’t believe me. They’d probably even think I was mad. That’s what he told me; he told me that they wouldn’t believe me and they’d think I was mad. I became dependent on him too. All I knew was how to do everything for him. He expected it. He would expect me to know every business appointment, have everything prepared and most of all make sure that there was a hot meal on the table for him. Every night. He’d come home from work each evening; he’d eat and then he’d drink. Some nights he’d get through a whole bottle. He couldn’t blame the drink for his behavior though; he was like it sober too. I did everything for him, for years and years. I didn’t have time for myself. I wasn’t allowed. I didn’t even work. If I were seen to be doing something for me, I would be scolded. He’d make me feel guilty. Accuse me of not loving him. One day though, from somewhere deep inside me, I found some strength. It came out of nowhere. I really had got to the point where I could take it no more. I could let it carry on forever. Or I could run. And for once, I chose to run. It was Christmas eve. I was decorating the house in a vain attempt to make it feel festive. I’d never had a proper Christmas in all my twenty-five years, but I tried in my own way to make it special. He didn’t like that time of year. I never knew why, but I was lucky if I ever got a present. It was about nine o’clock when it happened. I’d just finished putting fairy lights around the mirror in the hallway and winding tinsel around the banister. I’d decided to make a cup of tea, but we’d run out of tea bags. He was in the front room, TV blaring out so loud. He was on the Scotch and was probably asleep so I thought it would be safe to nip to the corner shop. I put on my coat and boots and quietly opened the front door. I’d worked it out just right, it would take me five minutes to walk to the shop, a couple of minutes to find and buy the tea bags and five minutes to walk back. Even if he wasn’t asleep, I would’ve been back before he noticed I was gone. But I was wrong. The heavy front door creaked and before I even had a foot outside, I could feel him behind me. He pulled me back by the hood of my coat and slammed the door shut so hard the stained glass in the window pane shook and the holly reef on the outside flew off its nail. Then he had me against the wall. The dado rail was digging hard into the small of my back. His hands were round my throat and his face so close to mine. The smell of the booze on his breath made me gag and that made his hands go round my throat tighter. I tried to beg for him to let me go. He was talking to me but I didn’t know what he was saying because all I could think about was the tightness of his grip. I was petrified. I only wanted a cup of tea. I didn’t deserve that. Then he backed off sharply, without saying a word. I slumped down the wall struggling for breath and rubbing my neck. Although the relief flooded through me, I was still petrified. I’d pissed him off. He was angry. ‘Get up.’ He hissed at me. I did as I was told. I couldn’t look at his face. That meant I saw his clenched fist swing straight for my stomach. He gave me his best shot. I fell back down to the floor, clutching at the pain. I looked up at him as he walked backwards into the living room, muttering that I wouldn’t be going anywhere now. He showed no remorse. No emotion. He just looked. I stayed on the cold wooden floor until I was sure he was asleep. As soon as I thought it was safe, I struggled up as quietly as I could. I was shaking with fear. The stuff he did to me day in, day out was bad, but it wasn’t often he’d attack me like that. Although my whole body was in pain, for the first time ever, I knew I had the strength to run. It was a decision I made in a split second. It was then or never at all. I tiptoed back towards the front door and quietly opened it. It creaked again. I silently begged it not to. I heard a noise in the front room that made my heart thud hard. My feet took over and I moved so fast down the path that I ran into the front gate. I fumbled to open it and then I was gone. I knew I couldn’t stop running until I was a safe distance from the house. Far enough away from him that he couldn’t find me and drag me back. I was running hard. It was freezing cold and dark. When I found myself on the main road I knew I was ok. Although most of the shops were closed with the shutters down, the glowing Christmas lights decorating the lamp posts and the cars driving past were comforting. I spotted an open shop and walked towards it, breathing hard from my run. The cold air was stinging my lungs and I had a pain in my throat. The door beeped as I walked in and the harsh lights and smell of inscence took me back. I browsed the two narrow aisles until I found the tea bags. When I went to pay, I realised I only had five pounds in my purse, left over from last week’s housekeeping money. I hadn’t thought about this properly. I wondered if I should just go home but I knew I’d be in for it if I did. I didn’t like that thought much. I spent a while wandering around aimlessly until I found myself outside a Church. I pushed open the gate and let myself in to the small garden. The Christmas tree was lit up with hundreds of coloured bulbs. I went and sat on a bench, just inside of the black railing. I held the box of tea bags in my hands and tried to swallow the pain in my throat away. It was Christmas eve and I had nowhere to go. Nobody that loved me or cared enough about me to make sure I was safe. The sound of heavy footsteps on the path outside made me jump. I slouched down on the bench, to hide away. I was nervous that he may have found me. Then someone said my name. ‘Rachel.’ I held my breath. When they said it again, a little louder, I knew it wasn’t him so I turned around. On the other side of the railing was a man. He was tall and skinny with bright copper hair, and was wrapped up warm in a black, knee length coat and beige scarf. I knew him. It was Tim. We were friends at school, allies against the bullies. ‘Rachel, is that you?’ He said. I wanted to reply, but I had forgotten how to talk. Instead, I got up and walked out of the gardens. When I was in front of him, he put his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. Did he know? Had he always known? I had never told him, and I hadn’t seen him for years. Had he always known what I had suffered at that man’s hands? Just by being my friend, my only friend, at School. ‘I’ve run away.’ I told him, handing him the tea bags. He didn’t speak. He put his arm around me and we walked down the street. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked him in a whisper. ‘Well, I was on my way to Mass. But I’m sure I’ll be forgiven for not attending.’ He replied, pulling me tighter into his body. ‘Let’s get you somewhere safe.’ I gave my trust to Tim that night and for the first time in my life, I felt safe. As the relief numbed my body, a tear fell down my cheek. It was over. The nightmare was finally over. I had run away from what my life had been for as long as I could remember. That night I knew I’d had enough. That night I knew that no matter what it took, I would never let my Dad hurt me, ever again. Copyright 2008 Natalie Flynn |
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| Last Updated ( Monday, 21 April 2008 ) |
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