If you’re smiling do you think they can hear your screams?
My feet slapped hard against the wooden floor as I raced as fast as my legs could carry me. A yelp of pain and frustration echoed down the hall behind me as my shoulder slammed into my bedroom door. Quickly I yanked the door open and shut it behind myself.
Going to my closet I crawled inside. Opening a panel in the back I squeezed into the small dark space. It was cramped with dust and pipes hardly making enough room for me. I pulled the panel back in place shutting myself in the darkness.
“Summer!” My daddy’s voice boomed through the house and I covered my mouth trying not to make a sound. “Summer!” He yelled for me again Tears bubbled at the corner of my eyes and I pressed my hands over my ears.
“Don’t be Summer. Don’t be Summer. Don’t be Summer.” I whispered chanting it over and over in the darkness. If daddy was looking for Summer I wanted to be anyone but Summer right now. I wanted to be some place that was far away from here.
“Summer!” Daddy’s voice was closer. He was outside of my door I squeezed my eyes closed.
He found me.
Emerging from the closet the door flung open and I pushed my hand against my chest appalled that there had been no knock prior to the door opening.
“Why I never,” my voice took on a Southern tang it normally didn’t have.
“Don’t do that,” the brute demanded. He stood over me his larger hands clamping down on my shoulder. Hazel eyes looked too much like my own. Brown hair was wild and shabby. The stink of booze clung to him like a cologne.
“Unhand me,” I demanded looking into those glazed eyes not backing down or running away.
“Stop it. Stop it now. You stop talking like that, Summer.” The brute shook me as he made demands.
“How many times do I have to tell you my name isn’t Summer.” I sighed getting really tired of this game he liked to play. You may call me Marjorie Boone.”
“You want to play games then?” His fingers fell away from my shoulders and he grabbed my wrist yanking hard to pull me from the room. His grip was so tight it was painful.
“As I live and breathe,” I muttered. “This isn’t how you treat a lady.” I told him though this man wouldn’t know the first thing about how you’re supposed to treat a lady.
With a hard fling he sent me across the kitchen floor and into the bottom cabinet. My shoulder banged hard and I could hear a rattle of china. A small whimper of pain passed through my lips.
“He’s really mad,” a soft voice whispered within me.
“Hush child.” I silenced the voice.
“Where is it, Summer?” The man asked and I rolled my eyes. It was annoying how he refused to use my name.
“You should be clear, sir. What am I looking for?” I asked as I picked myself up from the floor.
“Where is my dinner?” He yelled and I flinched to the left when a plate was thrown at me. It hit the cabinet and shattered. I squared my shoulders not showing any signs that he might have rattled me.
This man liked the fear. He enjoyed it more if he thought he could make you cry. He laughed louder if he knew he could make you hurt. Not giving him a reaction was the best way to win against this man. That was what I was trying to teach Summer.
The girl was still young. Despite having this brute as a father she was too soft and good nature. She bowed to his will and he broke her down every chance he got. That was until I was born. Summer needed someone to protect her and I stepped up to be that person.
“I believe I taught you how to ask properly. If you want dinner need only ask. There is no need to throw a tantrum like a baby.” I shook my head turning and going into the refrigerator to pull out something to make for dinner.
Fingers pushed into the back of my hair and my head was yanked backwards before thrusted forward. My forehead cracked against the cool steel door before I stumbled back slightly. I could see my reflection distorted in the stainless steel door. Could see the red smear of blood on the door.
The warm liquid trickled down my face and I blinked blood from my eyes. Reaching up I touched my head my fingers coming back wet and red.
“Get my dinner cooked.” The man’s voice was a growl and I turned around to see him retreating farther into the house. Probably off to find Summer’s younger sister. Or maybe his wife was hiding somewhere in this house.
Pulling out the ingredients for dinner. I went to the bathroom to clean myself up. A dull ache was throbbing in my skill but I worked the stove making sure that dinner was underway.
“He’s going to kill me,” the soft voice of summer whispered again.
“Not today child.” I promised her. But maybe one day he would kill her. Maybe one day even I couldn’t be enough to stand against him and that would be the end of Summer Lake.
“Summer,” a small voice called and I turned to see Blossom Lake in the doorway. The child was four years younger than Summer and she looked up to her big sister.
Closing my eyes my time in the chair was done now.
Blossom helped me with dinner. Together we worked hard to make a meal that would satisfy both of our parents. After we set the table Blossom called mommy and daddy in for dinner.
Daddy pretends nothing was wrong. He acted as if he didn’t remember demanding dinner. Instead he praised our cooking. Saying how we always do such a good job on the meals around here.
After dinner Blossom and I cleaned up as daddy went back to drinking and tv. Mommy went back to her study locking the door to keep the rest of us out. Then there was just me and Blossom.
“He hurt you again,” Blossom gently touched the bandage on my head. I winched and she quickly drew her hand back.
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt much,” I lied. Blossom knew it was a lie. Still she gave me a sad smile as we went to my room. There my sister and I held each other and we cried.
In this house tears were all you had. They were the only thing that man couldn’t take from you. It was the only thing to remind you that we were alive. That you made it through another day.
“We have to get out of here, Summer.” Blossom whispered to me. “He’s going to kill us.”
“I won’t let him.” I told my sister. Something dark and inky creeping into my voice. “I won’t let him,” I repeated smiling through my tears.
To Be Continued . . .