Bruised by Time

I Stand Tall

When I was little, I was terrified of my parents. With good reason. I would fear the sound of their footsteps, cringe at doors opening, and jump at the slightest noises. My biggest fears lived in my home and walked through my hallways.

When I was 10, my mo brought the first guy to me. She broke me once that night, but he broke me over and over. The next morning, I was going to kill myself. I was ready to do it, pills in hand with the bathroom door locked. Suddenly, I heard the neighbors radio blare on. This was a common occurrence. Being very old and very deaf, the only way the woman could hear it was if she had it on the highest volume.

Before she changes the channel, though, I heard one sentence. On quote that kept me alive. One quote that kept me going. One quote that kept me from doing the irreversible.

The speaker said, "If you stand tall and strong, nothing can tear you down. In fact, it will make you as strong as stone and tear down your enemy instead."

That quote saved me that day, and every day and night after that. I kept me waiting for the day that my parents would fall, instead of me.

As I sit in the the back of the car, this quote runs through my head over and over.

Stand strong.

Be tall.

Be stone.

Make him fall.

He doesn't talk to me as he drives, seeming to be lost in thought. But, I don't care. I am stronger than him. He will fall before me.

As the hours pass, I begin to get antsy, my legs restless and my arms sore. I groan softly, trying to stretch my muscles discreetly, hoping he won't say anything to me. Of course he speaks, though.

"We're almost there." He turns to glance at me, barely shifting in his seat.

"I'm starving." I mutter, wanting to complain but also not wanting to deal with him.

"You can eat when we arrive, we are almost there." He retorted, an icy edge added to his voice. Great, just what I need. A bipolar gangbanger with an attitude problem and a short temper.

"You could be nicer to someone you kidnapped against their will," I complain. I utter it even softer than before, unable to keep the comments from rolling off my tongue.

"Shut up." He says it lightly, but I can hear the dangerous edge to his words.

I gaze back out the window, wishing I wasn't in this situation.

•••

My vision grows cloudy as the wheels roll. I try to pry my eyes open, but they continue to drift closed.

"We're here." He grunts from the front, making me jump up.

Not wanting to miss anything, or any chance to escape, I stare out the window. I focus, memorizing everything. I take in guards and doors. I memorize the road. I study the woods. Suddenly, we pull up to a lavish wrought iron gate, with a a guard window and men with guns. It breathes authority, and I can't help but fear the moment I walk into their line of sight, and cringe at the thought of being behind these walls.

When we pull up to the guard house, the car comes to the stop and he opens the window.

"Boss! What took you so long? Your father expected you home hours ago. I heard he had a date set up for you." The man at the window grins, seeming to enjoy my kidnappers frustration.

He mutters something under his breathe. I don't understand him, but I can hear enough to know it is in another language. French? Maybe Italian?

"My father can go to hell." He responds back to the guard. "I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Transporting this one." He grins arrogantly back at me, and the man in the window learns to gaze at me.

The guard looks scary. He has tattoos lining his arms and neck. He has a gun strapped to his chest and a tight leather jacket on. His mouth is in a straight line, and his eyes narrow at me. I can't tell if he is suspicious or just wary.

"Who is she?" He turns away, ignoring my presence instead of asking myself.

"She witnessed me killing Sergo. I don't like witnesses." He scowls and  grips the steering wheel tightly. "Plus, I wouldn't want another reason for my dad to get mad at me."

"True, although, maybe your father will just make you marry her."

I gasp, wide eyed and horrified. There's no way in hell! Plus, I plan to be gone before that could happen.

"Shut up Enzo. Non capisci una fava."

I don't know what that means, but the guard, Enzo, bursts out laughing.

"I know more than you, ragazzino." He smirks.

"I hate that name. I'm older than you." He scowls and folds his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, by a week."

"Whatever, are you gonna let me in?"

"Fine." Enzo turns around, probably to unlock the gate. Suddenly, the iron doors swing slowly open, leading a path through more woods.

"Addio!" My captor doesn't respond to Enzo, ignore his wave and his farewell that he shouted after us.

As we crept through the woods towards his mysterious house, I began to grow more and more terrified. My palms sweat and my legs shake. I keep moving my eyes, taking in every little detail of the trees.

Is he going to kill me?