The Bad and The Broken

Part 69

My blood ran cold as she went on about her father and the unspeakable things he did to her.

It ran colder when I realized she was holding back the majority of what he did.

She fidgets with her fingers the whole time, but I understand why she's uncomfortable.

If I'm being honest, behind all my anger, I admired her.

I would do anything to protect Kendal in any situation there is possible. I check under her bed, in her closet, and in her bathroom every night for "the boogie-man." I promise her that I'll keep her safe, I'll scare him away, or I'll "teach that boogie-man a lesson if he tries to come after my little sister." But Dawn? Dawn protected her brother from a real monster. She's been to hell and back, and she did it every single day– for years. She walked through the gates every day after school, and couldn't come back out until morning. Just to walk right back through them all over again. So on, and so forth. It never ended.

Until now.

Who could do such a thing?

And he starved them? She wears clothing fit for a giant, you really can't tell the exact size of her body.

"How much do you weigh?" My thoughts jump out of my mouth, and I feel my cheeks go red for after realizing how embarrassing that was to ask someone. "I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that."

"It's alright," Dawn looks up at me, "as of right now, I'm not sure." I nod.

"Well I think that's enough for today," mom says, "Dawn I need to check your stitches and bruises. While I'm at it, I will be trying to talk you into going to the hospital with me when I go in for work, so get ready for a lot of nagging."

"Okay, but I'm not going to a hospital," Dawn replies, an amused look on her face as if she thinks it's funny that mom believes she can talk her into it.

They get up and leave, which leaves only me and Jesse.

"You know," Jesse cuts the silence, "she's never done that."

"Done what?"

"Last night when she had that panic attack," he looks up at me, "she never done that. She always said crying, asking for help, begging for mercy," his eyes gloss over, "is weak. She thought that she was weak. She hasn't shed a single tear in years because she needed to "be strong" for me," he puts his hands down after making air quotes, "every night he'd try to break her by giving her the worst pain a person could even endure. She'd just.. lay there. In complete agony. And not once would she ask me to help her, or scream, or cry. She'd just suffer in silence." 

"Jesse, she probably didn't want you to worry about her," I try to comfort him.

"No, Ryder, you don't understand. She lived by it. She would tell herself not to do those things over and over again. It was like it was burned into her head," his voice cracks.

I was about to try comforting him again, but my name was called by my mother.

"Ryder! Come here, hurry!"

Springing up, I run to the room, thinking something is wrong.

I go in to see Dawn sitting down, and my mother trying to pull her up.

"I need you to help her stand up," mom says, "she's very weak."

I give a curt nod, and walk over to her.

Putting my hands on her elbows, and my arms under hers, I hoist her up. Her hands stay on top of my forearm, squeezing a little.

My mom starts unwrapping the gauze around her body. I covers from the top of her chest to her stomach. I keep my eyes on my mom, trying not to be disrespectful, but I caught a glimpse of her back.

After that, I just couldn't look away.

Anger was an understatement as my eyes gazed upon the damage done to her body.

I feel tears go down my face, one after another. I make no effort to stop them.

Hundreds of scars, multiple bruises that combined into one giant bruise. Her spine poked out of her body, as well as the back of her ribs.

Her scars were unbelievable. They welted out of her body. You could tell which ones were old, and which ones were more recent.

More tears flowed.

How could someone do this to her?

How could someone do this to anybody?

My mom looks at me, giving me a sympathetic, heartbroken expression.

She cleans up her stitches, and curses about how dangerous this is to do outside of a hospital.

Also about how she shouldn't be doing here at all.

Also about how she shouldn't have to go through this in the first place.

Dawn squeezes my arms, and I see her tiny back flex a little as my mom touches her sensitive bruises. She doesn't make a sound, though.

I stop looking, and just stare at the wall ahead of me as I still made no attempts to wipe my face.

Why would someone ever do such a thing?