Kick, Push
Page 51
To prove to her that she was wrong—everything she’d ever said to me—every verbal beat down of my self-worth—she was fucking wrong. The pot missed my shoulder again, missed my nose, and went straight to my left eye. Liquid filled it, not tears, but blood—and the only thing I could think was that I was grateful it wasn’t my right eye—my shooting eye.
She didn’t take away my dreams.
Not yet.
My hands covered my face, my legs kicking out—trying to get her to back away. “Please,” I begged. “Enough.”
“Enough?” She shouted, dropping the pot. Her shoulders heaved—and if I weren’t smart—if I hadn’t lived through this my entire life—I’d have thought she was giving up… that she finally calmed down. But I knew—it was the calm right before the storm. “Enough? You don’t tell me what to do, Becca! God. Fucking. Dammit! I’m your mother! You disrespectful little whore!” She opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out the biggest knife she owned.
Everything in me went still.
Everything.
Then I screamed.
So fucking loud.
“Help!”
Blood spurted from my mouth, my nose, my eye. All I could see was red. I tried to stand. “Somebody help! PLEASE!”
Nobody came to me.
Only my mother.
She was smiling.
Sinister.
Evil.
“You’ll never leave me, Becca,” she whispered, knife to my throat as she pulled on my hair, making me stand. She held me against the wall, her voice fierce against my ear. “Never!”
She let me go and I fell to the ground. I cried, relieved.
The “episode” was over.
Or so I thought.
Her fingers curled against my scalp, her hands gripping my hair. I slid against the tiles as she dragged me across the kitchen floor. Through the blood whooshing in my ears, I heard her screaming, shouting the same words over and over. “You’ll never leave me!”
With my hands on her wrists, I kicked, I screamed, I begged for mercy. “Please stop! Mommy! Please!”
With my eyes closed, she dragged me through the house and outside. I knew it was wrong. I knew the punishment would be worse but I couldn’t help it. I kicked. I begged. I screamed for help.
Nobody came.
She opened the front passenger’s door of her car and threw me inside like I weighed nothing, then slammed the door shut and ran to the driver’s side. I screamed again. “HELP!”
She got in and closed her door. Then turned on the stereo as loud as possible to drown out my pleas. She turned to me, her face red and eyes filled with rage. So much rage. Then she held the knife to my throat again. “I’d rather you be dead than leave me.”
The life switched off inside me.
The dreams I created were just that.
Dreams.
And I remember thinking that I hope my dreams were the last thing that run through my mind before I died. I couldn’t think of anything worse than being trapped in my reality for the rest of mortality.
“Let me dream,” I whispered as my mother reversed out of the driveway. I looked out my window with the one eye that still functioned and I saw her—the old lady next door, phone to her ear, tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” I mouthed, my bloodstained hands on the window.
I wish she could’ve saved me when I could be saved.
With the music blaring, my mother sped through the streets, ignoring everything around her. I put on my seatbelt right after she ran a red light—the last set of lights in town before there was nothing but empty roads surrounded by trees. She turned off the stereo when she knew there would be no one around to hear my screams.
For minutes we drove in silence.
At least on the outside.
Inside, every single part of me was screaming.
And then the strangest thing happened.
She started to laugh.
Not out of humor.
But pure evil.
She faced me but I could barely keep my eyes open. I knew I was fading, and fading fast—dropping in and out of consciousness.
She smiled. Not out of happiness.
But pure menace.
She picked up speed, swerving from side to side on the empty road.
I grabbed onto the dash. “Mom!”
She laughed harder.
Drove faster.
Swerved further.
I moved my hands from the dash and gripped my seatbelt.
She hit the brakes. I lurched forward but was contained by the belt as the tires screech to a halt. I couldn’t breathe through my nose. My mouth was filled with blood, but still, I fought for air, and that intake and outpour of breath was the only thing I could hear. Darkness surrounded us. The only thing I could see was her headlights and the trees half a mile in front of us. She unclipped her seatbelt and moved toward me. It seemed slow, the movement, though I’m sure it wasn’t. She leaned in close, her dark tear filled eyes on mine—her pale skin illuminated by the moonlight. I felt her hand, soft at first, around my neck—right before she squeezed. Her face an inch from mine, she smiled again. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I never wanted it to be like this.”
Her elbow moved from side to side but I couldn’t make out why.
“I just love you so much, Becca. You know that, right? I never meant to hurt you. It’s just that you’re all I have. You and me. That’s the way it has to be. Forever. You can’t leave me. You wouldn’t leave your mommy, would you, baby?”
Her smile dropped.
She pulled away—just as I heard my seatbelt wind up.
I looked down—already knowing my fate.
She’d cut the fucking belt.
My gaze snapped from the belt to the trees as she hit the brakes and the accelerator at the same; the wheels spun, but the car was stationary.
“You’ll never leave me,” was the last thing I heard her say, right before the sound of tires screeching, of screams—not mine, but hers filled my ears.
Metal crushed.
Glass shattered.
And then darkness.
Sweet, peaceful, darkness.
It felt safe—that darkness. Then I remembered my dreams—the dreams that I’d created on my own. The dreams that started this nightmare.
I fought to breathe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
But something pressed against my neck, crushing it. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel a thing. I felt the darkness trying to suck me in—trying to take me away from my reality.
I needed to see her.
One last time.
I opened my eyes and glanced sideways.
And I saw her.
She was facing me, her head pinned between the steering wheel and her seat. And as I watched the blood trickle from her mouth and her eyes lose the fight for life, all I could think was that she could’ve been beautiful. If you take away her evil and her anger and her need to hurt me—she could’ve been beautiful. In a way, she still was. To me, anyway. In her death—she was still beautiful.
“I hate you, Becca.”
31
-Joshua-
“Maybe now you can understand why it’s so important for her to go to college… for her to do something for herself,” Chazarae says. “It’s going to be hard for her. She has a lot of emotional hurdles she needs to overcome. I spoke to Olivia the first time she started showing signs of depression again—”
She didn’t take away my dreams.
Not yet.
My hands covered my face, my legs kicking out—trying to get her to back away. “Please,” I begged. “Enough.”
“Enough?” She shouted, dropping the pot. Her shoulders heaved—and if I weren’t smart—if I hadn’t lived through this my entire life—I’d have thought she was giving up… that she finally calmed down. But I knew—it was the calm right before the storm. “Enough? You don’t tell me what to do, Becca! God. Fucking. Dammit! I’m your mother! You disrespectful little whore!” She opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out the biggest knife she owned.
Everything in me went still.
Everything.
Then I screamed.
So fucking loud.
“Help!”
Blood spurted from my mouth, my nose, my eye. All I could see was red. I tried to stand. “Somebody help! PLEASE!”
Nobody came to me.
Only my mother.
She was smiling.
Sinister.
Evil.
“You’ll never leave me, Becca,” she whispered, knife to my throat as she pulled on my hair, making me stand. She held me against the wall, her voice fierce against my ear. “Never!”
She let me go and I fell to the ground. I cried, relieved.
The “episode” was over.
Or so I thought.
Her fingers curled against my scalp, her hands gripping my hair. I slid against the tiles as she dragged me across the kitchen floor. Through the blood whooshing in my ears, I heard her screaming, shouting the same words over and over. “You’ll never leave me!”
With my hands on her wrists, I kicked, I screamed, I begged for mercy. “Please stop! Mommy! Please!”
With my eyes closed, she dragged me through the house and outside. I knew it was wrong. I knew the punishment would be worse but I couldn’t help it. I kicked. I begged. I screamed for help.
Nobody came.
She opened the front passenger’s door of her car and threw me inside like I weighed nothing, then slammed the door shut and ran to the driver’s side. I screamed again. “HELP!”
She got in and closed her door. Then turned on the stereo as loud as possible to drown out my pleas. She turned to me, her face red and eyes filled with rage. So much rage. Then she held the knife to my throat again. “I’d rather you be dead than leave me.”
The life switched off inside me.
The dreams I created were just that.
Dreams.
And I remember thinking that I hope my dreams were the last thing that run through my mind before I died. I couldn’t think of anything worse than being trapped in my reality for the rest of mortality.
“Let me dream,” I whispered as my mother reversed out of the driveway. I looked out my window with the one eye that still functioned and I saw her—the old lady next door, phone to her ear, tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” I mouthed, my bloodstained hands on the window.
I wish she could’ve saved me when I could be saved.
With the music blaring, my mother sped through the streets, ignoring everything around her. I put on my seatbelt right after she ran a red light—the last set of lights in town before there was nothing but empty roads surrounded by trees. She turned off the stereo when she knew there would be no one around to hear my screams.
For minutes we drove in silence.
At least on the outside.
Inside, every single part of me was screaming.
And then the strangest thing happened.
She started to laugh.
Not out of humor.
But pure evil.
She faced me but I could barely keep my eyes open. I knew I was fading, and fading fast—dropping in and out of consciousness.
She smiled. Not out of happiness.
But pure menace.
She picked up speed, swerving from side to side on the empty road.
I grabbed onto the dash. “Mom!”
She laughed harder.
Drove faster.
Swerved further.
I moved my hands from the dash and gripped my seatbelt.
She hit the brakes. I lurched forward but was contained by the belt as the tires screech to a halt. I couldn’t breathe through my nose. My mouth was filled with blood, but still, I fought for air, and that intake and outpour of breath was the only thing I could hear. Darkness surrounded us. The only thing I could see was her headlights and the trees half a mile in front of us. She unclipped her seatbelt and moved toward me. It seemed slow, the movement, though I’m sure it wasn’t. She leaned in close, her dark tear filled eyes on mine—her pale skin illuminated by the moonlight. I felt her hand, soft at first, around my neck—right before she squeezed. Her face an inch from mine, she smiled again. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I never wanted it to be like this.”
Her elbow moved from side to side but I couldn’t make out why.
“I just love you so much, Becca. You know that, right? I never meant to hurt you. It’s just that you’re all I have. You and me. That’s the way it has to be. Forever. You can’t leave me. You wouldn’t leave your mommy, would you, baby?”
Her smile dropped.
She pulled away—just as I heard my seatbelt wind up.
I looked down—already knowing my fate.
She’d cut the fucking belt.
My gaze snapped from the belt to the trees as she hit the brakes and the accelerator at the same; the wheels spun, but the car was stationary.
“You’ll never leave me,” was the last thing I heard her say, right before the sound of tires screeching, of screams—not mine, but hers filled my ears.
Metal crushed.
Glass shattered.
And then darkness.
Sweet, peaceful, darkness.
It felt safe—that darkness. Then I remembered my dreams—the dreams that I’d created on my own. The dreams that started this nightmare.
I fought to breathe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
But something pressed against my neck, crushing it. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel a thing. I felt the darkness trying to suck me in—trying to take me away from my reality.
I needed to see her.
One last time.
I opened my eyes and glanced sideways.
And I saw her.
She was facing me, her head pinned between the steering wheel and her seat. And as I watched the blood trickle from her mouth and her eyes lose the fight for life, all I could think was that she could’ve been beautiful. If you take away her evil and her anger and her need to hurt me—she could’ve been beautiful. In a way, she still was. To me, anyway. In her death—she was still beautiful.
“I hate you, Becca.”
31
-Joshua-
“Maybe now you can understand why it’s so important for her to go to college… for her to do something for herself,” Chazarae says. “It’s going to be hard for her. She has a lot of emotional hurdles she needs to overcome. I spoke to Olivia the first time she started showing signs of depression again—”
