Savior of the Wolves

Jessica’s POV

On most days, I just sat here studying my classes on this little screen. That was when I was alone anyway. And every second I could find was a small piece of treasure that would eventually build to a future I desperately longed for.

My education was everything. Time was the commodity that would get my diploma. Every day it seemed that I would never finish the assignment, but every single day was its own war. And I just had to keep winning.

Every time my father returned home, my heartbeat almost instantly began to reverberate within my own head.

Could he hear it? What a pitiful thought.

Even though I fought it, my breathing intensified with the fear of knowing his anger was deep-seated lately. No matter how quiet, behaved, or obedient, he looked for anything to abuse me over. He had to take his anger out on someone. Unfortunately for me, I’m all there was left.

He announced, weeks ago, that he expected his house to be silent from now on. At all times. I was no longer allowed to talk to him unless spoken to first.

He had no idea that to me, that was not a punishment.

At first, I felt a bit relieved that we wouldn’t speak. But, as the silence grew, I grew terrified to cough or sneeze now when he was home. I made that mistake once and he accused me of trying to find a way around his new rule. He said I faked the cough. So, no dinner for me that night. How ludicrous. Truth was, I would’ve nearly suffocated myself to avoid making any sound near him now. I sure as hell wouldn’t do it to test his resolve. But reasoning with him was a thing of the past. He was oblivious to anything rational now. So, I didn’t eat and didn’t say another word about it.

And I finished ALL chores before he got home. No noises!

And, every single day, I tried to remain the unnoticeable house occupant as I covertly listened to the sounds he made when he returned home. I tried to put the pieces in place to assess what day he might have had. Would he leave me alone tonight? Would he create a new chore for me just to say I failed so he could hit on someone? This new skill might have been what kept me out of trouble, but it made it very hard to concentrate on my schoolwork. I focused the best I could, but mostly, I would wait until he was asleep. His snores, though gurgly and thunderous, signaled my brain, and nerves, the all-clear. I could finally focus on my life…my dreams. And I gladly went without the sleep.

After my stepmom left him, my father became excessively violent. Well, he was violent before, but she got the brunt of it. I didn’t think, as a teenager, I could ever imagine what she was going through behind closed doors. Now, it seemed to be my turn because he was not leaving anything to the imagination now.

I realized that my life had gone from horrible to hell when I first asked a question without him speaking first. The back of his hand cut through the distance between us like a deadly snake. It struck me so fast that I had no idea what had happened. As I laid on the floor, my face stinging as though I had actually been bitten, I looked up to realize that he had struck me with every ounce of force he had. As the tears rolled down my face, I sniffled, and he stormed at me to be silent. I choked on the remaining tears as he ordered me to my room.

“I can’t stand to look at you,” he bellowed.

As I walked into my room, I could see why he said that. I caught a glimpse of myself as I passed my floor-length mirror and took a step back for a second look. My entire left cheek bore the imprinted swelling of his entire right hand. He was such a coward that he didn’t want to see me…see the evidence of his flawed character…his ugliness…not mine.

So this was my life.

The same week that my stepmom left, he removed me from my high school and enrolled me in the Virtual Public School system. He didn’t do it for my own good. He realized that when a minor child wore his marks, he couldn’t just let me go out in public. He didn’t want social services showing up on his doorstep. So I was no longer allowed to go out.

His mental state was frantic now. Desperate. I worried more every single day about my safety. The physical abuse was almost tolerable. I didn’t cry anymore. I didn’t make eye contact. I just endured it and reminded myself that this would all be over soon.

What scared the hell out of me was the new look in his eyes. It didn’t bother him to hurt me. There was no depth or sadness. I didn’t believe anyone would believe me if I told them that he even smiled after he knocked me to the floor.

I could block out the pain, but I can’t block out the fear of how far he might take this abuse.

I think about running away almost every second of the day. If it weren’t sad enough, I have nothing. No money. No one to go to. No one would believe the stories I told. They were too horrific. They might send me right back to him. What would he do then?

So I willed myself to believe I could hold on a little longer. I just had to reach eighteen years old.

I read the insurance policy. He didn’t know that I knew about it. But he received monthly payments until I became of age. Eighteen! Then the money was mine. I would leave and get my own place...far away from here. Finish online school. Go to college. My grades were excellent. I could do whatever I wanted.

I had a plan.

That was what made all the hell endurable.

***

The final weeks passed. I was going to make it. Something deep inside of me would not allow me to give up. No matter the fear that grew every day as my birthday approached.

Does he even know when my birthday is? I don’t think so. God, I hope not.

The night arrived. As I laid in bed, there was no doubt...I’d never sleep from the excitement that was building by the second. I didn’t even care. I’d sleep on the bus.

Tomorrow is my birthday! I would have the best birthday since…well, since Mom used to celebrate them with me. She always made my birthday the most important day of her year. But that was mom. She made me feel like the most important person in the world. Now that I think about it…she made everyone feel like that.

So tomorrow...for her...I would celebrate my birthday. I couldn’t wait to feel like celebrating. It wouldn’t have to be my birthday. Being out of this nightmare is enough reason to celebrate.

I went to bed at my usual time to avoid any suspicions. I just stared at the darkened ceiling, almost hypnotized as I went over my plan in my head. I would wait for him to go to work. Just around 7:20 in the morning.

He left like clockwork every day.

Then, I would make a run for it. No hesitation. Just like my stepmom did.

I hadn’t packed yet. No way. He would definitely notice. So I organized everything that I was taking. I practiced it over and over in my head. I had a large duffle in my closet and would quickly throw my necessities in just as I rehearsed.

My bike vanished months ago. He said it was stolen, but I didn’t buy that story at all. He controlled every detail of my life. He wouldn’t allow me to keep something that I could get away on. That or because it was a gift from my mom. I don’t really know the truth…not that I ever expected the truth from him.

The path to the nearest bus stop was mapped out in my head too. I knew which backyards to cross to avoid any main roads. It was only a few minutes from the house. I would leave in just enough time to avoid sitting there too long. I didn’t want anyone seeing me and telling him which bus I left on that might give a clue as to my direction of travel.

I could taste freedom.

“Taste freedom.”

I heard that phrase used when I was a child. I remembered thinking, “How silly. You can’t taste it.”

But it’s true. The excitement of a new life is overwhelming all of my senses…even my taste. Like comfort food. There was such an enormous peace in the thought of what my life would be like in less than twelve hours.

I could taste the sweetness of it already.

I finally felt a peace that my life was heading in the direction that mom would want for me. I had never felt so sure about anything as I did right then. I could almost see her smile as I stared at the ceiling.

Then suddenly, as if my entire body knew, I sensed something horrible was about to happen.

What was going on? I had just calmed my nerves. Was this self-doubt creeping in? Fear trying to manipulate my actions?

Every part of me shook from the impetuous movement of my bedroom door. The door was pushed open so violently that it crashed into the wall, making a small indentation. Without any warning, my father was standing over my bed, looking down at me.

“Get up,” he roared.

I was about to respond with, “Okay” but even a confirmation might get me punched. So I did as he said and stood there like a frightened child. That was what made my blood boil. How he made me feel. Cowards take smaller people’s strength and confidence from them. Like that makes them strong. My ass it does! He had only grown weaker in my eyes. He had never even hit anyone his own size…just smaller women.

I stood there, staring at him, trying not to project hatred from my expression, and waited for what was to come. But I knew one thing…this would be the last time he ordered me around.

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