Thursday, June 11, 2009

snippet #002

The prompt was “The empty spaces within her ached to be filled.” for the Return of the #Journalling #Journaling Game

Naturally, my Muse went to a dark place. No clue where this was going, or where it came even from. Though, I do know that there's a Lila...somewhere... in the story. Somewhere... not... here.

So totally first draft.

Comments welcomed.

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"Everything would be ok if he were dead."

Charlotte hugged herself and pressed her forehead against the window with a faint sigh. She was too ashamed to admit she'd thought the same thing for years, and there was Brock putting voice to her thoughts. Again.

"Charlie, you're not focusing," Brock chided gently.

Not focusing, Charlotte thought, on killing my husband. Right. She shivered against a cold chill spreading through her body and wondered briefly if the conversation or the contact with the glass caused it.

"Charlie," Brock paused then sighed audibly and started again with a hint of frustration in his voice. "Honey, I know this is hard, but we gotta figure out what you're going to do."

Charlotte resisted the urge to turn and scream at her long-time friend, taking out all her frustrations, anger, and fears on him. It would do her no good and he didn't deserve the hysterics or the shrewish lashing. He was only trying to help. Instead, she watched her two children dashing through the snow, hurling snowballs at each other. They deserved better, too.

Behind her, a chair scraped across the floor and she tensed. Please don't go. Please don't go. Please don't go.

"Charlie, look at me."

Charlotte didn't turn. She couldn't. She couldn't look at Brock and see the pity swelling in his chocolate brown eyes when he looked at her bruised and battered face, couldn't handle disgust that flickered across the surface. Again.

"Charlie."

She felt the warmth of his chest pressed to her back, felt the strength of his embrace, felt the brush of his breath on her battered cheek. She closed her eyes against the swell of emotions making her chest tight.

"You keep telling me it's getting better, but it's not, honey. It's getting worse and I'm afraid Kevin's going to either kill you or turn on the kids one of these days."

Fear surged up Charlotte's spine and her eyes snapped open. Her gaze darted in search for her children in the snow-covered yard and she breathed a sigh of relief only after she found them. She leaned back against Brock a little. She missed being touched, missed talking, missed sharing. The empty spaces within her ached to be filled - physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Charlie, honey," Brock whispered, his voice strained with what sounded almost like fear, "look at them. Look at James. He's growing up, Charlie. He was so angry when he called me this time, and feeling guilty, too. He sees what's happening. He's been seeing it all along. 'I shoulda been here, Uncle Brock. I shoulda been here to stop him.' That's what he told me. What happens if he's here the next time and does try to step in? What happens then, Charlie?"

Tears welled up in Charlotte's eyes, the image of her 13-year-old son playing in the snow with his little sister growing blurry. His gangly body was only just starting to fill out. He wouldn't be a match for his father.

"And look at Marie," Brock whispered roughly against her ear. "She's already starting to change. How much longer before she's full on into puberty, Charlie? What happens when Kevin notices?"

Charlotte stiffened against Brock. Oh, no, she thought. Kevin would never do something so horrific... Her gaze shifted from Marie to her own reflection in the window. Lifting a hand to her face, she brushed her fingertips across the split not yet scabbing on her swollen lower lip, moved them over the tender cheekbone, then up to the dark purple and murky blue skin that covered her swollen left eye. Oh, God. Is that me? Oh, God, he would. He has.

Charlotte shifted her gaze to her children, back to her reflection in the window, then back to her children again. She lingered against Brock for a moment longer, savoring the closeness that didn't come with verbal or physical abuse, then stiffed her spine and pulled away. "Brock," Charlotte whispered hoarsely, "please go tell my children to come inside and pack what they can't live without. We're leaving."

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Love and bondage,
Rubi Jayne <3<3

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