Page 21 of Guarded

Slowly, I began to undress. I know this game. “Bath Time.”

I climb into the cold tub and lie straight, mentally preparing for the torture. She loved this game. A deranged smile would form on her face at my struggles.

How long will I hold my breath this time? I could handle her attempts to drown me, only because sometimes I had hope that it would finally be the end to everything. Hope that she’d hold me down just long enough for me to escape this world. To never wake up to another day where I had to guess what I did wrong. Questions about what I did that made her not love me.

I lay there waiting for her to turn on the water. For the ice-cold water to hit my bare skin and the verbal abuse to start.

“!Pedazo de mierda!”

“You ruined everything!”

“I should have thrown you in that fire.”

“!No vales nada!”

The words don’t hurt because they are all I know. I’ve learned to accept them as my truth. I know it will be over soon if I close my eyes and do what she says. Closing my eyes, I wait.

I expect to feel the ice-cold water so I can begin to count down in my head.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

I’m prepared to take on everything. There’s comfort in what you know, even when it comes to abuse.

Seven.

Six

By the time I get to one, nothing has happened. No water running from the faucet and no Evangeline. She’s not even in the bathroom when I open my eyes.

I lay there, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. A whistling sounds in the distance, and when Evangeline returns, my eyes shoot to the kettle in her hands. Panic floods every cell in my body at the excitement on her face.

I shake my head.

Please. Please make this quick.

I stop praying for deliverance from the pain and start to bargain with whatever angel or demon is willing to listen to me. If I deserve this, then make it quick, I ask them.

Sometimes, they listen.

“That teacher is causing me a lot of problems Nero.” she tsks.

“I-I’m sorry.” I cry out—my last attempt to beg her for mercy.

“That fucking puta thinks she knows you better than me.”

She grabs my hair and tugs my head back. Her dark eyes meet my petrified ones.

“She doesn’t know what a fucking waste of space you are. Just like your fucking father.” She laughs.

My body starts to fight back. I try to wriggle free, my legs push up, and my arms extend in front of me, but it’s useless. A scrawny eleven-year-old body is no match for hers.

“Stay still!” she screams.

Laying still, the voice in my head prepares me for the torture on the horizon. My eyes squeeze shut, and my fist clench in preparation.

---