Just Breath

I was breathing heavily. Trying to breath in and out. But no matter how hard I tried, it would hurt more. I heard someone coming up the stairs. IN. Step. OUT. Step. I tried to get away from the door, crawling as fast as I could. IN. The door opened and I tried to stand up. IN, OUT, IN, OUT. I was breathing faster and harder. And the belt came off of the figure. I winced away. And I was trying to get away. And I was trying to get away. And how to get out without having to come back again. The figure was getting closer.

I looked behind me. And I saw a window. Before I had anytime to react, I jumped out. IN. I looked up and saw the figure looking out the window, at me. OUT. And I heard the door of the house open up as I tried to keep my eyes open. IN. OPEN.

I tried my hardest to get away from him without getting caught. But then, I heard police sirens. And saw ambulance lights. I leaned against a tree and saw that they were coming over here. I tried to call for help, but I couldn’t utter a word. They were getting closer and closer. And the figure began to run away. OUT.

The police came up to the house and saw me lying there. Before I could utter a single word, my eyes slowly began to close. And no matter how hard I tried to keep them open, I failed. The officers started shouting for help as they saw the bleeding, battered body that I was. And I could barely feel them as they picked me up and carried me into the ambulance to be sent to the Emergency Room.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of the machine linked to my heart woke me up. But the bright translucent lights of the room made it hard to open my eyes. When my eyes finally adjusted to the room, I saw all the machines hooked up to my body. The needles stuck in my arm. And the bandages all over. And the dizziness from my head. And the needles. And I didn’t know what had happened. How did I get away from The figure? And why did my head feel so dizzy? I tried to think, but all it did was hurt me more. Soon, a police officer came to see if I was doing better. And to see if I could answer some questions.

“When we found you, you were covered with bruises and cuts, how did that happen and who did this to you?” Before he could finish his question, I started to cry. I didn’t remember. And he left, saying he would try later, instead of staying to comfort me. I sat there, not know what to do. And I wept. I wept in that great big white room with no one else but me. Just like always.

The next day, he came again and asked me the same questions. I gave the same answer. And I cried. But not because I didn’t remember, but because I did. The bad night. And the pain I had felt. And the belt. And the breathing. Instead of leaving, the police officer stayed. It was new to me. A thing that I hadn’t felt in a long time. We talked a little to calm me down. And the next day he came. And we talked more, but not about me, about him.

And we did it for a week. Everyday, I was stuck in the hospital. And everyday he would visit. On that last day, I wasn’t afraid to answer. I wanted to tell him what had happened to me.

“My father” I answered shakily and quietly. “My father did this to me.”