Girls Can Play Dirty Too

Chapter 6

Adrielle returned home with the silence of a mouse. Taylor was dead. She knew it. No matter what the other girls thought, no matter how many times she told herself she wasn't, she just was. Adrielle knew it, but didn't want to say anything to the other girls, for fear they'd argue with her.

 Just as she was sitting her sketchbook down on the kitchen table to draw, a drawling voice floated through the kitchen.

 "Adrielle?"

 She looked up. In a tiny voice, she said, "Yes?"

 "Where've you been? You didn't come home last night!" Her father came in through the doorway. Instantly, Adrielle pushed her sketchbook away. But before she could hide it, her father caught a glimpse of it, and made a grab for it.

 "Wait!" Adrielle gasped instantly, but the word was washed away by the bile rising in her throat.

 Lip curling, her father rustled through the sketchbook. "Have you been with that boy again? Has he been teaching you how to sketch?"

 Rhett was her best friend, and even though her father "disaproved" of him, it didn't mean she stopped hanging out with him. He'd been the one that taught her to use the side stroke when using oil pastels, the one who'd even gotten her into art in the first place.

 "No," Adrielle replied firmly. More firmly than she felt, anyway.

 With sudden swift motions, he started ripping out the pages in the book. Colored pages of autumn leaves, winter mornings, children hand in hand with their mother's, spring blossoms, and summer beaches all fluttered to the ground as if whisped away by the wind.

 Tears sprang into Adrielle's eyes. "No! Stop that! Stop it now!"

 He slammed the book on the wooden table as she stood up. "Where the hell were you last night?" He roared with the fearlessness of a lion.

 "I told you! I was with a friend!'

 His eyes narrowed. "It was that boy, wasn't it? I bet it was! Admit it!"

 She knew how much trouble she'd be in if she admitted it, and be in even more trouble if she didn't. So she kept silent. Lies wouldn't work on her father, she knew that. But she couldn't tell him she took a plane from Maine to North Carolina, could she?

 Her father brought his fist up, and it came down with a sudden blow, over her stomach. It felt like a sledge hammer was driving in her abdomen. The blow sent her sprawling to the ground.

 "Now's your chance to be honest with me," he growled. "I don't like being lied to. You know I hate Rhett!"

 Adrielle shook her head pleadingly, her muscular father looming over her. The expected punch came again, in the same spot.

 "STOP IT!" She howled in agony, pain exploding from the wound. With a hard kick in the side, her father spun away, muttering.

 "Worthless piece of shit," she heard him mumble. Tears seeped down her cheeks, soaking her chin, and dripping off her face. How could a father do that.

 A sobbed escaped her throat as she got to her feet, pain from the three blows still piercing through her like little knives. Adrielle stepped outside in the chilly air. And ran.

 She ran as fast and as far as she could away from the evil house, holding the evil monster of her father in it. Her wounds were swelling to bruises, but she didn't care. She had bolted into the woods, and suddenly stopped, sliding down a thick oak tree. She was so far away from the house she couldn't see it any longer, like it was swallowed up by trees and vines.

 Early Saturday light filtered through the air around her, through the trees. The sun was high in the sky and exploding in vivid brightness. It made her feel a little better.

 She pulled out her phone, wondering what to do. Should she tell? This was the last straw! She had to tell someone! He'd done this repeatedly to her ever since her mom died, and prior to that he was still hurtful with his words. Beatings were like his lesuire activity to Adrielle, like a punishment. Sometimes, if she snuck in after school quietly, he wouldn't bother her. But most of the time she trudged up to her room in pain.

 She pulled up Blair's number, the girl she'd met on the street, the girl she met at the Meeting Tree. She seemed to have good judgement, and Adrielle and the other girls had swapped numbers to figure out what Taylor's absence meant.

 Taking a deep breath, Adrielle pulled up the number, and pressed 'Talk.'

 Blair picked up on the first ring. "Hello?"

 "Hey," she said, throat tight. "Um, so I trust your judgement, and I just...." A sob escaped her then, and she heard Blair's tiny gasp.

 "Adrielle! What's wrong?!"

 "It's my dad," she replied in the strongest oice she could muster, which cracked with tears. "He....Beat me again."

 "Again! Oh my God!"

 "Look, it's happened so many times, and I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm tired of getting treated like this! He acts like it's my fault for my mom's death!"

 "Adrielle...." Blair's voice on the other end became soft. "Does he....hit you?"

 She replied with a rough voice, tears flowing freely from her eyes. "Yeah."

 "You need to tell! The police! You have to! Oh my God, Adrielle! I need to tell the others this!"

 "You think I should tell?"

 "YES!"

 "Okay," Adrielle whispered. "Thank you."

 "Hey," Blair said softly. "Call me later. I want to know what happened. We should meet again sometime."

 "Yeah, and the others too. To figure out what happened to Taylor and all. Bye, and thanks," she said, and hung up the phone.

 Adrielle sat there for the longest time, watching birds flit in trees and butterflies play in wildflowers. She thought about the colorful remains of her pictures on the floor, and thought about the blows that had hurt so much, that her own father had done to her.

 And they hurt, bad.

 With shaking hands, Adrielle dialed 911, pressed 'Talk,' and pressed the phone to her ear.