Missing the Wall | Teen Ink

Missing the Wall

November 7, 2007
By Anonymous

As I fell down those seemingly endless stirs, I realized who I was,who I was, was nothing. What makes a person? Family, friends, laughter, tears, dignity, dreams, faith, all in small doses, but you can not call yourself a person, of any sort, without love.

I sat in an old sushi restaurant waiting for the blind date I was pressured into attending. The whole place smelt rotten like it was not fish being slaughtered, but humans. The old man chopping the fish was grunting words I could not understand no matter how hard I tried. I was concentrating so hard I barely heard the old glass door creak open. He was tall, with sandy blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes. His name matched his walk, full of confidence, that would give you a touch of fear but a river of lust, Camalus, not surprisingly named after the god of war.

Two months later we sat in his old blue Chevrolet watching the sunset fade, “ I heard you were talking to that chubby boy, uh, is his name Timothy?” I laughed, “ Oh that’s my next door neighbor.”. This would be the first time he hit me and the first time I restrained my tears inside as prisoners. The first time he said he had no idea what happened, he was so sorry, and never again.

A week later I was kicked out of my house for the third time and I was forced to move in with Camalus. He became my lover, confident, and home. So when he hit me the second time I had no choice but to forgive. As he threw me against that dirty white wall next to the bed and screamed at me, I soon became accustomed to telling myself it would be over soon, he would hold me and apologize soon. I began buying more cover-up, but people still noticed the bruises. I shunned my friends, betrayed them, the more hurt they were, the less questions they asked. I trembled when he entered the room and held back the tears as he left.

I sat on the stairs of the school, he had forgotten to pick me up again. “Need a ride?”, I jumped, I never expect people to talk to me. I recognized him, his name was Anthony, a very quiet boy with striking features. I did not know why and I never will, but I said yes. “I need to grab myself some coffee, do you mind joining me?”, I did not answer, scared of my own response. “I’ll take that as a of course not”, he laughed. We talked at the coffee shop for three hours. Every time he laughed or told a story, he peeled away my shield. I was falling in love with this stranger.

We met for coffee every day for the next three weeks. If we had to I would sneak out and he would meet me at a park with a blanket and a thermos in the deepest of the night. I was not home near as much and the bruises multiplied in the dozens. I felt like I was only in this world if Anthony was there. I only watched him hit me, only watched him rape me, only watched him throw me against that wall. I was watching a movie, a horror movie, constantly.

I knew I was late and I knew the wall was waiting for me. I walked into the room and he grabbed me as predicted. I could always feel the most pressure through his thumbs bearing heavily into my arms. Every time he pushed me against this wall to hurt me, I felt as though he was trying to push me through it.

I awoke tonight to a hand pressed against my lips, it was Anthony, “ You will be free, follow me.” he whispered. I slowly got out of bed with my eyes locked on Camalus and my heart beating straight out of my chest. I grasped Anthony’s warm hand and followed him slowly. This was me, not a movie, me.

Unfortunately this was also me that he pushed, no wall this time, only the stairs, and I have never missed that wall so much in my life. Falling hurt, but the gunshot killed. I heard the shot, it felt like it echoed for hours. As I landed on the floor I knew I as nothing now. I heard him walk down the stairs, his steps are loud, like each one was filled with the life he just took. I am shaking now uncontrollably, knowing my life my also end now, and wondering why that would matter. I waited for the kick, the shot, or the hit. I felt his touch first, than his voice, “ Please don’t shake baby, he can’t hurt you anymore.” . I looked up to see Anthony, holding me tight and I burst into tears without control. But, found a comfort in his eyes, intertwined with relief and worry.


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