Tortured Souls (On Hold)

Chapter 6

Author's Note:  This chapter may be disturbing to some readers due to the subject matter discussed.

I am not sure how I actually drove home after leaving the hospital.  My mind kept replaying Samuel’s face over and over again.

I had built up the wall fairly high, or so I thought when it came to men.  He was proving that I hadn’t built it as strong or as high as I had intended.

He was truly handsome.  That smile was inviting, and strong.  The kind you felt you could depend on even when things were going to hell.  I had proved that at the hospital with our confrontation.

He had these beautiful aqua blue eyes that would have a calming effect on most women I am sure, but then I am not most women.  I had a choir of screaming voices inside my head telling me I couldn’t trust him.

He had sandy blond hair that he kept cut short.  He wasn’t overly tall, about average for a man.  He was in shape; that much was obvious by the way his clothes formed to his body.  He didn’t have that superior air about him that most good-looking, well-built guys had.  He was humble, at least that was the word stuck in my head; even though I have no idea what humble looks like.

What the hell is wrong with me?  I had vowed to hate him, and anyone like him, so why was he the only thing I was thinking about now?  Perhaps I wasn’t medicated enough.

It was a Sunday night, and I had to work in the morning, so getting obliviously drunk was not a good idea, but I had to get him out of my head and stop the painful cluster of voices bouncing around my brain.

If I couldn’t drink that meant I only had one other option to quiet the voices in my head.  I grabbed my razor blade and dropped my jeans.  I started to make small cuts in my pubic hair area as it is easier to hide the scars this way.  As I lay there bleeding, a new voice began in my head.  The impulse to masturbate was intense.  I imagined what it would be like to have Samuel touch me.  Would a religious guy like him even touch a woman like I was doing to myself?  Would he be sexually excited seeing me bring myself to climax?  How would I know what would be normal or not?  I had never experienced normal.  I only knew sexual deviancy, and masturbating allowed me to get the release I needed without the disappointing effort that debasing myself with a man always proved to be.  This way I was sure to be satisfied, and I didn’t have to worry about trying to explain why I had small scars around my vaginal area.

With my release, I was finally able to quiet all the voices, except my own.  My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.  Why all of a sudden was my mom talking about God?  How was she able to forget everything that she went through?  Why did she let that guy, Samuel, into her room in the first place?  Did the demons ever control her thoughts and actions like they did mine?  Do they still talk to her?  Did she ever wish her father was the one that had died?  I had endless questions and few answers.

I couldn’t help wondering how different our life might have been if my grandfather was the one who had died.  I imagined my grandmother taking my mom and me in.  My mom wouldn’t have been alone, and we could have gotten away from my dad.  Perhaps my mom wouldn’t have ended up taking drugs.  Then I thought about the fact that she would have made us go to church with her.  I imagined how condescending all those people would be toward my mom and me.  I know they would have worn those judgmental scorns on their faces, and I am not sure that would have been better than living at home with my dad.  Abuse whether physical or emotional is still abuse.  While the beating aren’t forgotten, the words spoken never leave you.  How do you believe you are worth something if you have never heard someone tell you so?  How do you believe you can be more than forgettable when no one encourages you?  My dad’s favorite words of encouragement were,  

             "You worthless piece of shit, I wish your mom had killed you when she had the opportunity.  My life would have been something.  Now I am just tied down to you ungrateful bitches.”

You can only hear that so many times before it really starts to destroy any self-worth you struggle to manufacture.

I felt myself finally begin to drift into the blanket of sleep.  My last thought was, “Please, no nightmares tonight.”