I was young enough not to understand that my life was different. Colin became the one person that I could count on to protect me. He suffered for the both of us by carrying the burden of our secret.
“What are your plans for the day,
little one?” I asked, and she startled.
“I have a report I need to finish
on the adverse effects of corporal punishment used on children.” I laughed and
shook my head, my eyes going back to the television. “Yeah, so that will be
fun. But if Connor and Grace aren’t back, I can always skip school tomorrow.”
“Not a chance.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
I looked over at her, her eyebrow
raised in challenge.
“You had a private tutor.”
“I had antisocial tendencies and a
habit of challenging authority.” I laughed as the credits rolled on the screen
in front of us.
“I don’t doubt that.”
We fell silent as we both sat,
unmoving. “So this guy…” I let my voice trail off.
“He’s just a guy.” She shrugged as
she pulled on a loose thread on the blanket.
“Is he a good guy?”
“Are you?” she shot back.
“That’s a loaded question.” I stood
up, stretching, and when I looked down at her, her smile fell. “What?”
“Did that hurt?”
I sighed as I thought of the marks
that covered my back. “Don’t.” I walked over to the shelves of movies, scanning
the titles. I didn’t know if it bothered me more that she was asking about them
or that she looked upset over my injuries. I was no one for her to feel sorry
for. While I’d received them for not doing what I was told, I’d earned them by
following through with the orders. But answering that question perplexed me. If
you take a child and never show him affection, any attention received is
positive in his eyes. Coupling that with the twisted abusive behavior and
dominance that was instilled in me so young, I learned to derive gratification
from receiving pain as well as giving. It was a release, a way to atone for my
sins.
She stood and walked up to my side.
My scars should have been a warning to not get close to someone like me, but
Annabel saw my dominant side as a reflection of my overprotective nature toward
her. My eyes closed as her hand ran softly over my back. Her featherlight touch
on my own wounds more painful than when I had received them.
“Annabel, stop,” I bit out, but she
continued on, her fingers trailing over the raised welts. My body stiffened,
not wanting someone to give me affection I didn’t deserve. It turned my
stomach, and for once I was completely thrown off guard. So I did what I knew
best, and I instilled fear in her.
“I said fucking stop,” I seethed as
I grabbed her by her shoulders and slammed her small body against the movies,
causing the shelves to shake. Her green eyes were wide with fright, and now I was
the one desperate to touch. Her fear was palpable, and while I knew I was
pushing away the one person who even remotely began to understand me, it was
for her own good. She didn’t have to understand as long as she listened. But
listening to me was something Annabel rarely did anymore. She’d become too
comfortable in my presence, and now she ignored the alarms that would set a
normal person on edge. That was what terrified me about her seeing this guy. I
had no idea what kind of person he was, but I knew Annie wouldn’t be as
cautious as she should be.
“Annabel…” I rested my forehead
against the case, my body hovering over hers, caging her in with my arms on her
shoulders. Her name came out like a plea for help.
“I-I’m sorry.”
I lifted my head and looked at her.
The fear-induced stutter let me know I had succeeded in making her understand.
I took a step back from her,
running my hand along my jaw before turning and leaving the room, desperate to
put distance between us.
"I
was a Russian spy at the ripe age of thirteen, given my uncanny ability
to tell if someone was lying ( I also read fortunes on the weekends).
By sixteen I had become too much of a handful for the Lethal
Intelligence Ensemble (L.I.E.). I was quickly exiled to the south of
France where I worked with wayward elephants in the Circus of Roaming
Animals and People (C.R.A.P.). I was able to make ends meet by selling
my organs on the black market for pocket change and beer money. At the
age of twenty three I decided to expand my horizons and become a
blackjack dealer in Ireland. I loved the family atmosphere at Barney's
Underground Liquor Lounge (B.U.L.L.). People couldn't resist the allure
of Liquor up front and poker in the rear. Eventually I became tired of
the rear and headed off to the United States to try my hand at tall
tales. That is what brings us here today. If you have a moment I'd like
to tell you a story. Teresa Mummert is an army wife and mother whose passion in life is writing. She is the author of the New York Times and USA Todaybestselling novels White Trash Beautiful and Suicide Note. Born in Pennsylvania, she lived a small town life before following her husband's military career to Louisiana and Georgia. Check out her website for samples and updates! TeresaMummert.com"
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