Alexandra's Revenge

HE pulled up to the garage five minutes ago but remained in a drunken daze as he slurred along to Patsy Cline's ‘Crazy’ which was currently playing on the radio. During this time, I was perched up against my window sill, communing with the universe, so someone up there could hurry him off to dreamland. Much to my dismay, there was no such luck tonight, as he finally decided to stagger his way out of the vehicle. My apprehension mounted with every unsteady step he took towards the house belonging to my late mom. I could almost guess how tonight would play out.

As if suspecting he was being watched, he looked up, and I scurried away from the window, bringing my cold clammy hands together as I hoped against hope that somehow, I had not been caught watching him. He hated it.

Perturbed and uncoordinated, I accidentally knocked off the few things on my beside stool as I paced around, still yearning for the miracle. I didn't hear the front door creak open, but when it got slammed, the sound ricocheted around the partially ruined apartment. I'd been caught.

“Mary!” He shouted. “I saw you spying again, little rat!” I could hear him groping through the darkness downstairs--the bulbs had blown out for as long as I can remember--stomping his feet as he made his way towards the stairs. I rushed to the oval mirror in the bathroom, analyzing the areas of my body a kind old nurse had checked out earlier this afternoon. She'd warned me about the condition of my two broken ribs and sprained ankle after a series of X-ray examinations she had to pay for. I couldn't see much, save for the deep reddish-brown colors that covered my pale skin around the chest region and purple splotches on my right ankle. It was bad, but there was more to come.

“Mary!!” He was only a few stairs away.

I rushed into the room, searching desperately for a spot to hide. The wooden wardrobe which stood beside my bed would've been a reasonable choice, but he'd ransacked it once, searching for the cash I make doing meager jobs during the day. So, I laid flat on the floor, pushing aside cartons of my mom's belongings, making some room for myself as I crawled under the bed.

Halfway through, my door squeaked loudly on its hinges as it went flying into the wall. I flinched, and then smelled it--his permanent stench of cigar and alcohol. It burned my nostrils and paralyzed me to a spot.

“Get out here!” He ordered angrily. I really wanted to do as I've been told. I wanted to just push myself out from under the bed because if he did that for me, I'll have it much worse, but fear crippled me.

“Don't let me repeat myself.” He warned, and my heart thumped heavily against what was left of my rib cage. His burly hands clamped down on my legs suddenly, and I struggled in vain, filling the room with loud screeches from my diaphragm. I was dragged out from under the bed--along with a box I'd held onto--like a sack of potatoes.

I felt like I was going to lose my voice with all the noise I was making, but he turned me over and struck me, effectively shutting me up as the stinging pain sent rude signals to my brain. I was hit with a wave of dizzy spells and alarm bells went off in my ears.

“What were you doing by the window?!” He asked, grabbing fistfuls of my hair. “You disobedient little weasel!”

He struck the other cheek. “What did I tell you?!”

He was possessed, and I was in so much pain. It made me wonder if mom felt this bad during her last weeks with me. Oesophagal cancer as I've seen comes with an intense amount of pain.

His hands came up again, but I kneed him in the crotch. He let go of my hair immediately, groaning and nursing his wounds for a change. I landed against the bedpost but got up almost instantly.

“Mary!!!” I ignored him and ran. Surely if I'd faltered in my steps, he'll kill me and bury my body in the kitchen as he always threatened. I hurried down the steps and up to the front door. Pushing aside the feeble obstacle, I ran into the cold night to nowhere in particular, just away from him.

******

I had wandered far into an abandoned railway station before realizing that Marion; my stepfather, was no longer on my trail. It was a painful struggle to calm my labored breathing while looking around for nothing in particular. The sky had gotten cloudy with a chance of raining buckets, bringing the temperature to relatively low levels. I found a corner where I coiled into a ball, thinking about my mother, Louise Grey. She'd been diagnosed at 37 and died, thinking my life would be better off with him.

In her defense, Marion wasn't always a brute. Once upon a time, he'd been a very respectable man who controlled the town's biggest supply of wood and paper. And although mom turned him down repeatedly, he persisted till she finally gave in to his request when her health condition deteriorated considerably. He lost all he owned to her ailment yet didn't bother much. He was strangely optimistic that she'll survive and be his reward. When she didn't, his love turned to hatred. He'd lost everything for a woman who felt nothing for him and eventually lost her too. Mommy did it for me. She married him, so I wouldn't be alone when she passed. We had no relatives, and dad left before I was born--he doesn't even know I exist. Marion knew this and punished her for it by hurting me.

“Retard.” I whispered blithely. I'll have to throw myself at the mercy of a good orphanage home before he kills me. Although I preferred to be with mom, I couldn't. She made me promise not to come after her. She said I had to survive. Hot tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, and they continued for a while.

The sky had cleared and light from the full moon partially illuminated my surroundings, when I stopped crying. I'd just been thinking about how late it had gotten when I heard the scuffling in the dark. I rose to my feet, keeping an eye out for Marion. I wondered how he'd been able to keep up, deeming how drunk he was. The questions died in my head when a strange guy crept out from nowhere. Under normal circumstances, I would've taken time to appreciate his good looks as seen under the moonlight, but not tonight. Especially not when another guy came up behind him, gilded by fine sheets of sweat and looking like madness.

I ran.

I didn't mind running, I loved running. Every morning, by 7, when Marion was still too passed out to object, I would circle carttiongs' perimeter in one hour. I found it relaxing but tonight, I'd been hitting hard for too long on an injured ankle--I feared that my injuries could worsen. I burst out of the rail station, already in a poorly lit alleyway that led back to the apartment. Back to Marion.

They were close, making derogatory remarks about the way I ran. I ignored my pain and kept running, a little more resolute as the first building in the dusty streets I lived in came into view. I was just about ready to call out for help when I was forced to the ground by a painful jab to my left side. I fell into the dust and screamed, squirming in pain as I held on to my newly acquired wound. Rough hands turned me over quickly, and I was gagged. Another tried to grab my legs, but I kicked him in the face. He cursed and squeezed down on my ankle instead.

The pain was unbearable.

“You'll love this.” A voice said. I was terrified.

My shirt was suddenly ripped apart. And my pleas remained smothered by the gag. I squeezed my eyes shut and desired death. I needed mom to appear and whisk me off on a journey to the land of the dead.

One MONTH LATER.

“Where's that food, Mary? You're so useless!” Marion jammed his meaty fist against the table as I hurriedly flipped over pancakes.

“It's almost ready, Pa.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?! Certainly, you're not just useless, but equally foolish. I'm not your father.” His fist pounded again.

“I can never beget a slut like you. You seduced those men, didn't you? All five of them. You swayed your tiny waist and showed some of your filthy flesh. Then, you shamelessly ran to the cops claiming you were sexually assaulted! That's what you did. Now you have me going back and forth with the police, giving statements, and signing documents.”

“I didn't--”

“Oh shut up!” I transferred the pancakes onto a blue plastic plate and turned off the gas before serving him.

“Sit.” He picked up a fork. “You will listen while I tell you how useless you are, Mary.”

“Yes sir.” I sat on a stool.

He took a bite and a deep furrow appeared on his forehead. His jowls moved with the rhythm of his chewing and words. “This food tastes like ash!” His fist pounded once again and I flinched.

“I'm sorry.” I rose quickly to my feet. “I'll prepare something else.”

“Sit down!” He commanded, cutting another piece to chew. “You find, making ordinary pancakes, so difficult?! I abhor you, you stupid child. Louise left me with you, knowing full well that she was about to die soon. That bloody scam of a psychotic--"

He suddenly went silent and I stared confused. A fleeting second passed, and he started gasping for air. He signaled for help and I got up quickly, but halfway to his rescue, I stopped. My initial look of worry was replaced with a stoic expression, and I casually returned to my chair. Something transformed within me as great discomfort cause his facial muscles to contort tightly. He rolled off the chair, landing hard on the floor, and continued his struggles for air.

He writhed in pain, crawled on the wooden floors of our apartment, and begged with his eyes for mercy. I sat silently and watched, waiting for the inevitable turn of events. As more time went by, his struggles became less visible and soon stopped completely. The room was eerily silent, and his horror-filled eyes remained open as he gave in to the cold hands of death.

I got up, humming to Wallace Willi's ‘Swing low, sweet chariot’ as I cleared the table.