Page 91 of No Saint

It was occasional at first. Once a week where he’d hit me, throw me around but he seemed to get pleasure for it and so it became more regular. I’d tried to run once but they found me and eventually he locked me in, kept me in the house to use as his regular punching bag. There wasn’t an inch of me left unbruised and when hitting became boring for him, he turned to cutting, slicing with a knife or a pair of scissors mainly on my arms, my back. I’d had cigarettes stubbed out on me, my hair cut and pulled. And he drowned me. Often.

It was when I turned sixteen that he decided he could get money from me. Sold me to his friends to use. It went on for so long that it became normal. It was what I was used to.

I had no friends, no one to turn to. I’d gone to the police before, but they hadn’t done anything. No one was there. Until I fell pregnant with Lincoln, and I realized I had to save myself in order to save him.

“Amelia?” Gabriel stands, “Where did you just go?”

I swallow down the memories, “Nowhere.”

I’d hidden my abuse from everyone, wore long sleeves and clothes that hid my back to conceal the scars. I was ashamed of my past. Ashamed I hadn’t done more to save myself until I had something other than myself to look after.

Ashamed I’d let someone do that to me and ashamed I still let that trauma rule most of my life.

But I’d opened a well of memories now, flicked the lock on the box and I couldn’t stop the memories. Couldn’t stop them from flashing through my mind. I could hear Gabriel calling my name but so were they, their manic laughter as I would beg them to stop, the way it smelt when a cigarette burned a hole into my skin, the gasp of my breath every time he pulled me from the water by my hair, pulling it so tight it felt as if he were ripping it right out.

“Amelia!”

I jolt to the present, finding my nails digging into the wood on the table, blood dripping from one because I’d pushed it back. I hadn’t even felt the pain.

Enzo appears besides Gabriel, staring at me, head cocked, brows low as if he could look right inside my brain and pluck out these thoughts.

“I’m okay.” I whisper hoarsely, shaking my head, “Sorry, daydreaming.”

Gabriel’s jaw is locked tight, even Lincoln in his lap has stopped moving, his innocent eyes staring. My chest felt tight, my throat closing. Gabriel stands, handing my son over to Enzo as he rounds the table, lifting his hand.

With the fresh memories, the flinch happens regardless of whether I know he would never hurt me like that. He freezes.

“You’re going to tell me,” he demands softly, “You’re going to tell me what happened to you.”

But I couldn’t breathe. I open my mouth to say so, knowing it was a panic attack having suffered with them for years.

I lash out for Gabriel, grabbing him with my bloody fingers, smearing it into the sleeve of his white shirt. “C- can’t breathe!” I stutter between stunted breaths, “Can’t.”

My clothes were too tight, the shirt on my back burning on my skin. I needed it off.

“Take him!” Gabriel bellows but I don’t follow, too lost as I try to stand and sink to the floor instead, Gabriel dropping down with me, “Take him to my mother, Enzo. Leave now!”

“I c-can’t breathe,” I gasp out.

Water was filling my lungs, choking me, suffocating me. It was ice cold and dirty, so murky I couldn’t see anything. It stung when it hits my eyes. I was fighting.

“Get it off!” I hear myself scream but that’s not right, it’s in my head. The voice, “Get off me!”

I suck in air, but it was too tight. Everything was too tight.

“Amelia!” Gabriel. That was Gabriel.

Was he drowning me? No. He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t.

“Take them off!” I beg, “I can’t breathe.”

“What Amelia? Take what off?”

“The wet clothes!” I cry, shaking him off to claw at my own shirt.

“You’re not wet, Amelia,” he tries to say.

“I am!” I manage to get it off, get the clothes off but it wasn’t enough. I try to remove more but I’m suddenly restrained, thick bands going around me, holding me still. I scream. Too much. It was too much.

---