She desperately grabbed at the delicate little chain with the small gold heart that he waved in front of her face. She wanted to yell, scream, cry for help so very badly but she knew she never could. She couldn't talk. They would find out how dirty she was. How....broken. Broken? Yes broken. So very broken. No one would want her, no one could. He knew why she wouldn't talk and he knew what that small piece of metal meant to her. But even now he was still teasing her, tricking her. The lying bastard! Holding my choker like it's nothing, like it means nothing! He knows it means something.
She felt the hot tears run down her face as he slapped her across the face and threw her necklace into the garbage. She desperately crawled over to the bin as he repeatedly kicked her in a blind rage. As she neared it he started to slow down and she knocked the garbage can over not caring if he hit her anymore, just wanting the necklace. She dug through the old food, wrappers, napkins, tissues, and other.. worse things until she reached the small chain. She pulled it out and wiped it on her shirt as he kicked her legs. She tried desperately to fasten it around her neck.
All of a sudden he stopped and reached down picking her up as she stiffened with her hands still trying to clip it on. When she was standing he turned her around and fastened the chain around her small neck. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close as she stiffened once more against him not sure what he was going to do. He kissed the back of her head and said,"Sweetheart? You know Daddy loves you right? Now go to school baby girl and don't forget what this means," he said grabbing the small charm on the necklace and pulling her even closer, much closer than a father should have his daughter. His voice turned thick and full of lust,"When you get home from school we'll have fun. The kind you like. The kind I like. The kind that feels good.." he trailed off. "Just hurry and come home sweetheart," he groaned into her ear," I want you so badly sweetie.." She wanted to throw up but she didn't have anything to throw up. She'd stopped eating.
The girl ran to school and rushed into the nurses office. She grabbed the small gold heart resting on her collar bone. She thought about the happy memories at the beach. She thought about the time they went on vacation but the hotel was full so they stayed in a motel and had the time of their lives. She thought about the backyard games of tag and messing around with squirt guns. She thought about all those times in the kitchen making those messes. She thought about her hugs. She thought about when he first touched her. She thought about that terrible day she had given the beautiful choker to her after he had hurt her. She thought about that night she didn't come home. She thought about her funeral. Her moms funeral
She ripped her clothes away from her body and showed the nurse all the marks, bruises, scars, and cuts on her body. The nurse immediately ran to the phone and pounded the keys. She talked forcefully to a voice on the other side. The girl started crying and fell to the ground staring up at the clock. Watching it go tick and watching it tock. Never stopping. Never. She faintly heard other adults rush into the room and stare at her naked body but she didn't care. She wondering if he was like the clock. Never stopping. Would he stop? She was jerked back into reality as she felt arms wrapping around her. She knew that hug. It was a mothers hug. She looked up to see the nurse with her arms wrapped around her and she kissed her head whispering," You're ok Bebe. It's going to be ok. You're ok. You're ok." Over and over again and again. Then she had something to say.
She lifted up her wrist, covered in red lines and the nurse wrapped her hands around it and kissed the lines. The girl whispered two words into the nurses ear with a croaky voice from not talking for so long. The nurse looked down at her confused not understanding what she had said for a minute, the she figured it out.
The girl had said," help me."
Author Notes: Constructive criticism welcomed.