Page 5 of Dark Rapture
I listen to them chat away while I prepare a tray of honey oatmeal cookies to put in the oven, nodding and smiling when necessary, trying not to focus on who is lurking in the living room just beyond the kitchen doorway.
I subtly touch the protection spell bag in my pocket several times, any time I feel I need to refocus and clear my head. It’s also helping to keep my anxiety down, which I am grateful for. I believe in the magic, and I believe in the love of my ancestors, so I force myself to believe that I am safe because I have it with me.
When dinner is finally ready, I help Mom finish setting the table before she calls everyone in to eat. We gather around the one of a kind, old oak table in the dining room, and I take the chair closest to the exit.
Of course, Uncle Jake decides to sit across from me at the table. As much as I try to set myself up to maintain the utmost distance, he always finds a way to achieve the closest proximity to me that he can without garnering any attention from the rest of our family.
My stomach twists and flips as dread and anxiety finally overwhelm me, but I still manage to put a decent amount of food on my plate despite my trembling hands. I will not let him see me upset, and I won’t let the rest of my family think anything is wrong. I’m not a child anymore, and I can handle this.
I canhandlethis.
Ican.
Nausea slams into me. I take a deep breath in an effort to calm my frantic heart. My hand drops to my hip, slipping into my pocket to grip the spell bag contained within. I hold it until my heart stops racing, and my stomach settles. Only a few moments, moments that I keep my eyes on Mom as she explains what food we’ve prepared tonight.
The spell is working, my nerves are soothed by the protective forces I’ve manifested to get me through today. When my hand returns to the table, I feel in control again.
Mom says a quick prayer, thanking God for our food, and for Dad’s good health. Although I don’t pray with my family, I do say a private thank you to the magic I keep in my pocket.
When we all finally begin to eat, a foot bumps mine under the table. I freeze as though the brutal winds of winter have descended upon me, my gaze lifting to the man sitting across from me. He’s watching me while he eats, his arrogant brown gaze narrowed ever so slightly. Just enough to tell me he is upset that I haven’t spoken to him.
My mind represses the nightmarish memories most of the time, but my body remembers. It always remembers.
Pain sparks at the base of my spine, rippling through me like a bolt of electricity. I flinch, and try desperately to hide the swell of emotion, but a memory assaults me against my will.
“Honeybee.” He groans the pet name into my ear.Sweaty hands leave my waist, reaching forward to grip my throat. Tears fall from my eyes like acid rain, leaving hot trails all over my face. I can’t stop him. I’m so small, and he is too big. He never listens when I cry and beg him to stop.
“You tell anyone about this, and I’ll kill your mom and dad. I’ll kill your brothers, too. The police might catch me, but everyone will be dead first.”
My body hurts so much. I hate when he babysits me.
“Do you want to be all alone with no family, Selene?”
I shake my head and cry. I don’t want to be alone. I want to be safe.
“Then don’t you tell anybody.”
I was only six years old. What feels like fire-breathing dragons with knives for wings rip around inside my stomach like a destructive tornado, and what little food I’ve eaten so far threatens to leave me. I swallow the agony down, deep down where I can hide it from everyone around me.
“Excuse me,” I say quietly, getting up from my seat and heading straight for the bathroom. When I shut the door behind me, my numb fingertips struggle to lock it. Once it clicks securely into place, I turn away and lean back against the door so I can slide all the way down until I am sitting, drawing my knees up to my chest.
Silent tears fall so fast and thick that I struggle to catch my breath and stay quiet. I let it out as quietly as I can. I let several years of trauma induced misery fall from my eyes in silence.
It takes every ounce of strength in me to stay quiet despite the violence of the tears pouring from my eyes. The effort drains every bit of energy from my body.
In an instant, my soul feels like a lifeless desert. Scarred from scorching winds, fracturing rocks, and devastating earthquakes leaving fissures like gaping wounds. My chest aches so profoundly I feel like I’m having a heart attack, but death never comes, and the suffering remains the same.
I close my eyes and rock back and forth, desperate to soothe myself.
When I can breathe again, I stand up and turn towards the sink, turning cool water on to splash across my face. I pat myself dry with a towel from the rack and then stare up at my reflection.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my protection spell bag and open it up. Reaching inside, I grab some of the contents between three shaky fingers and sprinkle it in a circle around me. The dried herbs and glittering dust fall around me like a spectral shield.
“I need you. Hear my voice and protect me,” I say quietly, taking another smaller pinch of the mixture and sprinkling it directly over me. “Please. Hear my voice and protect me. As I will it, so it shall be.”
I take a few more minutes to put myself back together before I finish up and head back to the dining room, only to see Dad shaking my uncle’s hand and Mom escorting him to the door.
“What’s going on?” I ask my brother Josh as I sit back down at the table, turning my head to face him so he can hear my hushed words.
