As the walls inside of the small kitchen seem to close in on me, I stand in disbelif of what has happened. “Oh no, no, no, baby you alright?” She kneeled over his body as a pool of blood began to form around her. “Breathe, baby breathe… How could you do that Kristen?”
Mom asked as Blye held the knife sticking out of his neck still trying to contain the breaths that kept evading him. Taking four steps back, my hands still shake in reaction from my actions. Continuous montages fill my mind as the vicious accounts of abuse throughout the years from him replay. His first attack on my mother had been two days after my fifth birthday; his first attack on me was after my eleventh, my fifteenth birthday just passed.
My Mom in vicious haste jolts towards me pushing me hard in the chest knocking me off balance into a nearby wall. “Mom!” as I screech in despair. The pager from my sweater pocket drops to the floor. Her eyes fill with terror as she notices the catalyst that initiated Blyes’ despicable rage. She looks up and slaps me in the face, “Damn you!” Her left eye was swollen and dried blood rested above her lip.
“You had it this whole time? …Why did you take it Kristen?” In an attempt to receive a response from me she was unsuccessful. The shock of the situation was still too fresh to comprehend.
Blye gasps for air as blood fills his airway. Hastily, mom rushes over to him for comfort; she attempts to roll him on his side to free his airway, but is unsuccessful. Tears fill her eyes and now mine, as she continues to try and save the man who has caused us so much pain.
“Get over here and help me Kristen!” Inside, a piece of me wanted to help but my feet stood still. “Kristen, help!” she yelled again. Making my way subsequently kneeling by her side, she instructs me to help her roll him on his side. As he spits the blood from his mouth onto the floor, he gasps fro air and notions to be rolled back over. We roll him onto his back as he continues to hold the knife in place.
As our eyes meet his hand rushes out towards my neck and clinches tightly. “Let her go!” Mom screams attempting to pull his arm away, but his grip only tightens. My cheeks resemble a tomato, deep red. My breaths shorten. The knife, the only thing keeping this sick bastard alive was my only hope for survival.
With everything inside, my hand lunges forward and yanks it viciously out of his neck and stabs again. Blood viciously splatters onto the floor. Inhaling deeply trying to grasp some air the tears stream from my eyes. “Blye! Blye!” Mom shakes his body.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, blood smears onto my face. Making my way towards the kitchen sink washing the blood off of my neck and face, Mom leaves his body and picks the beeper up from the floor. She stares at it for a moment before tearfully speaking, “How could you do this Kristen? This is all your fault … I needed him.” Anger boils in my stomach as wipe the remnants of Blye’s blood away.
“He just tried to kill me! The man who you have let beat on you since I was five, just tried to end me! Ten whole years you’ve just sat by and took it all in. How is this my fault?… My only hope was to protect you.” Mom spitefully throws the beeper at me in hopes to connect but is unsuccessful. “Shut up ok, just shut up! Let me think for a moment.” Mom sits down at the kitchen table and opens a pack of cigarettes. She wipes her hands on her shirt before removing one and placing it between her lips.
She lights it and takes a hard drag. “What are we going to do? I call the cops your going to jail. She takes another drag. “But it was self defense… He was beating you! Look at your face and nose! Mom slams her fist down onto the table. “Dammit Kristen don’t you think I know that? But know one told you to get involved in vandalism and soliciting either.” Mom stands up and approaches her purse on the kitchen counter she pulls out a wad of cash and hands it to me. “
I want you to go upstairs and change clothes, then you need to…”Three loud bangs come from the front door. “Police! Open up.” The air in the room seemed to vanish. “Shit! Who the hell called the police? Grabbing my head in a panic, mom grabs my backpack and hands it to me. “Put the money in your bag.” Her words seem to slur as the intensity inside the room heightens she runs over to the sink in search of something.
Three more ferocious knocks arise. “Police! Open up!” Our nosy neighbor, Ann, must of heard all of the commotion and called the police. She has done this before. As Mom finds the pager and hands it to me she notions me out the back door. “Go! Stay hidden!” Pushing me out the back door, my feet ran down the dark alleyway as the officers infiltrated our living room. My only hope is to make it to Ashton, she is my refuge.
Earlier in the day:
Walking through the living room a freshly ashed cigarette butts aroma fills the air, but there is no sign of anyone to claim it. Moms bedroom door was still closed from the night before, leaving only one possible suspect. Walking inside of the kitchen a bowl waits in the dishwasher to be used for cereal and milk. It serves its purpose. On the counter the small shiny device grabs my attention.
Before exiting, it is inserted into my pocket. While arriving to school and exiting the bus, Ashton pulls up in a small four door and rolls down the windows. “You got a new car!” The words roll off my tongue with excitement. “Hell yeah! Get your ass in!” the small cars interior was leather and smelled of roses in the summer. “So, where do you wanna go?” Ashton asked anxious for a response. “Schools about to start.” was my response. “Of course! But we don’t have to go.” She grabs my hand.
“I’ll drop you off at home later.” She puts the car in reverse and the school becomes obsolete as we accumulate distance. “Everything will be fine.” We spend most of the day window-shopping at the mall before grabbing lunch and heading to our favorite park. “Do you want to go to the haunted house with me tonight?” Ashton asked. “Probably not.” The beeper goes off, my hand finds it in my pocket and pulls it out. ‘Who’s is that?” before answering she holds her hand up in disbelief and replies with an unsettled tone. “
Tell me that isn’t Blye’s?” My nod answers her question. “Are you crazy, what if he finds out?” her worry increases. “He wont.” Was my reply. “It’ll be returned safe and sound before he gets home tonight from work.” We finished up our lunch around the same time the school day would have ended. Returning to the car, we made our way to my hose. Once we arrived we said our goodbyes and Ashton waited until the door shut behind me.
She then drove off. While walking through the front door, a piece of broken glass penetrates the bottom of my sneaker. While pulling it out and making my way through the living room, commotion inside of the kitchen erupts. Hearing commotion of this sort was familiar but this time was more intensified then ever before. He wouldn’t stop, nor would he let go as my fingers pried unsuccessful between his. That’s why the knife was a necessary tool; that’s why he is now dead.
Real Time:
Running as fast as my feet can carry me down the alley was when it all sank in. While catching my breath at the end of the street before arriving to Ashton’s, the visible blood on my shirt needed to be concealed. My sweater suffices. As it’s placed around me and zipped up, the small beeper waits un-illuminated with any signals of mother’s circumstance.
The only person who could understand what happened was only a few minutes away. Arriving to her house, the only car in the driveway was Ashton’s; meaning her parents weren’t home from work yet. Approaching the front door and ringing the doorbell, Ashton who is dressed in a hello kitty costume answers the door.
When she opens the door the spark in her eye immediately turns to concern as she notices my disheveled appearance. “What the hell happened to you?” Walking past her, making my way upstairs her bathroom door was ajar. While cutting the showerhead on, Ashton stands in the doorway. “Do you have something I can wear?”
She walks to her room and grabs a t-shirt and a pair of old baggy jeans. “Kristen, what happened?” Ashton asks again. “He wouldn’t stop Ashton, he wouldn’t let go.” While undressing to enter the shower, Ashton takes my backpack into her room. The waters warmness revitalizes me while standing under the streams pouring; the only thing lingering in my mind was the altercation.
Finishing up in the bathroom and exiting, Ashton awaits sitting on the bed. Approaching her she hands me a plastic bag from the grocery store. Placing the bloody shirt and my pants in it from the day, she asks me, “Did you kill him?” Before my lips part to answer, my head nods in a haste as tears begin to form in my eyes. Ashton approaches and gives me a tight hug, while the weight of the world seems to collapse on me.
“Everything will be alright.” Ashton whispers as she holds me tightly. In the midst of the moment my backpack begins to vibrate as the beeper sounds. Opening the backpack, there is a 911 page on the beeper. “This has to be mom.” Ashton stands up. “So what are you going to do?” Her question worries me, because there is no answer to be found to answer it. “It was self defense Kristen, you should be fine.”
Ashton assures. “How can you know that? Have you killed someone before?” the words meant to cut deep like a knife, rationalized by the effects of the visceral pain and fear rumbling through my body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap…but I really don’t know what to do.” Ashton walks over to the house phone on her desk and hands it to me. “Return the call and see who it is, I’ll go check to see if my parents have any cash hidden.”
Taking the phone from her hand and dialing the number, my backpack open exposes some of the cash mother gave me earlier. “Do you think this will be enough?” Pointing to the backpack to get Ashton’s attention. She looks at the contents of the backpack and says, “If need be, where your going to have to go…your going to need more.” She exits the room, while the phone begins to ring. My heart feels as if it is beating out of my chest while awaiting an answer. Someone picks up the phone, but it isn’t Mom.
