Long Lost (an All Time Low/Jalex fanfic)

Chapter 7: So Now You Know

Chapter 7

*Zack's POV*

She unhooked her pinky and laid her hands on her thighs. She looked straight ahead and said nothing for a while. I stayed quiet because it was not the time to interrupt. She sighed and turned to me. "I've been trying, unsuccessfully, for a week now to figure out the best way to say this. The truth is, there is no right way to say this. It's a horrifying story that I never wanted to tell, but here I am.

"Am I right to assume that Alex told you about our parents' divorce?" She asked.

I shrugged.

"We were 7 and inseparable. He was my best friend and I was his. We spent every second together. It was mid afternoon on the day everything changed. Alex and I were playing in the sandbox in the backyard when we heard our parents screaming at each other. I can never remember the exact words, but they were harsh. All I remember was my mom screaming 'take your devil spawn with you!' at my dad. He spun towards us and marched over. He grabbed a fist full of my short hair and yanked me to my feet, dragging me behind him. I didn't go without a fight. I kicked and screamed and did everything I could to get away. Alex ran after me before Mom caught him and dragged him into the house, also kicking and screaming.

"Dad threw me into the backseat of the small car and buckled me in. I could never undo seat belts, so I was trapped. I cried and screamed until the car stopped again. He yanked me out of the car and slapped me as hard as he could across the face. I fell and stayed quiet. We were at the airport and Dad bought 2 last minute plane tickets back to England. The people who worked in the airport seemed suspicious, but they left us alone.

"So we flew back to England and that's when my life really went down the drain. Dad managed to buy this shitty little shack of a house and he locked me in small bedroom that was about the size of a coat closet. I spent a week in that closet, alone, with no food or water or anything. I was slowly going insane. That was the routine for the next few years. Shoved in the closet by myself, let out once a week for a very small amount of food and then shoved right back in.

"The cutting started around that time. I was maybe 10 years old and it was the only thing I could think of that would take some of the power from him. He couldn't hurt me as much if I hurt myself," she said. She reached towards her shoe and pulled out a small pocket knife. She flipped the blade up and ran her thumb gently along the edge of the blade before closing it and handing it to me. "I found this in a drawer at the house and I decided to keep it with me at all times."

I handed the knife back to her hesitantly while she continued her story.

"By the time I was 12, I was no longer confined to the closet. When Dad was gone out of the house, I was aloud to roam free, as long as I stayed in the house. I couldn't have left even if I wanted to. He kept all the windows and doors locked from the outside, so there was no way for me to escape. When he got home, that's when things got scary.

"He would come home piss drunk every night, pissed off. There was no one else around for him to take his anger out on, so he took it out on me," her voice caught for the first time. I could see how hard it was for her to tell me all of this, so I took her hand. I rubbed my thumb across hers as she continued on.

"He would hit me, every night. Each night more violent and painful than the previous. It started with fists, but it quickly escalated to frying pans and baseball bats. On the nights he didn't feel like beating me, he would torture me. He would press my hands against the hot stove top elements, or he would make me drink cleaner. There was no doubt that he was just trying to kill me. I was of no use to him, so why should I have been kept around.

"I was 15 when he decided I was finally old enough. No woman wanted him, so he turned to the only 'woman' who couldn't escape him, and that was me," she paused and took a deep breath. "There was no escaping him. It would happen every few nights. I looked forward to the beatings after a while, because they were less emotionally scarring.