Suits and Scars

“Get back here you little shit!” he growled as I ran down the hallway toward the back door.

If I could just make it to the back garden where Mama was taking care of her flowers I’d have a better chance. She was always able to protect me as long as I got to her before Daddy got to me. Unfortunately this time I wasn’t prepared for him to be upset, or maybe I just ignored all the signs, either way, my little legs could only move so fast.

I was sitting on the couch after school reading a book. I heard his truck pull up the gravel driveway but he wasn’t speeding like normal. He never slammed his door and he even walked up the front steps with barely a sound. Mama would say the front door was shut with kind hands. The glass in the middle of it didn’t even shake. His big black work boots, the ones he had so long the leather was cracked on the sides and torn at the toe, hit the floor a lot harder than they would have if he was in a good mood. That should have been when I got off the couch but Matilda was too good for me to put down.

It wasn’t until he turned into the living room and I finally looked up at him that I realized today wasn’t going to be a good day. The apple I had when I got home was officially in my throat and my heart was pounding so hard I swear you could have seen it popping out of my chest like one of those old cartoons Mama would let me watch when Daddy wasn’t home.

I swallowed really hard before putting a smile on my face and hiding my book between my leg and the arm of the couch, “Hi Daddy.”

“Where’s your Mama at?” His voice was naturally deep and he always projected as if I was hard of hearing, but I still flinched.

“Out back I think.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. Mama said it always helps.

“What’d she make for dinner?” He was no longer looking at me, instead was looking out the windows. Probably in search of Mama’s dark brown hair among all the brightly colored flowers.

I started to shrug my shoulders but stopped before he could see the movement. “I don’t think she’s started yet,” Mama said shrugging makes Daddy angry because it’s disrespectful.

“Why haven’t you started?” His voice was getting louder, I should have gotten up, “You know what time I get out of work don’t you?”

“Yes Daddy, 5 o’clock.” I sat a little straighter, proud of myself for knowing the answer.

An exasperated sigh rattled in his chest before he huffed, “And what time is it now, brat?”

I quickly glanced over to the VHS player under the TV before mumbling, “Six-oh-one.”

The silence that followed was louder than anything we had said so far. Leaving my book without a second thought I shot off the couch like a bolt of lightning. All I had to do was make it to Mama, she always knew how to keep him calm. I was so close to making it outside but I tripped over the end of the stupid rug in the hallway giving Daddy enough time to catch up.

“Get back here you little shit!”

His footsteps were so heavy against the wooden floor you couldn’t even hear the boards creak. He grabbed the back of my neck and lifted me off the floor. There was no point in trying to fight him, it would only make it worse. I didn’t even try to yell this time because even if Mama could hear me she wouldn’t have made it in time to stop him.

He walked me into the bathroom and shut the door. We have done this so many times before all of my movements were made by muscle memory. I stood against the door looking at my feet. No words or tears escaped me, I just counted the tiles and waited.

There were exactly thirteen and a half tiles between the door and the tub and only six from wall to wall. I have counted them so many times now that I knew if I assumed they continued under the sink then there were eighty-one tiles. This knowledge however never stopped me from counting. I could usually count them twice before Daddy was ready for me.

He walked over to the sink and pulled out his supplies from the left-hand drawer. He laid them out on the counter before he sat on the toilet and patted his legs. I pulled my yellow t-shirt up to my chest before laying, belly down, on his lap. It sucked that I was going to have to get rid of this shirt, it was one of my favorites. My best friend, Madison, said it made my hazel eyes look more gold.

Daddy pulled my jeans and underwear down just enough so my butt cheeks could be seen but my whole butt wasn’t out. He took a deep breath, slowly letting it out, as he ran his hand lightly across my back. This used to make me shiver but Daddy doesn’t like when I wiggle so I learned to stay perfectly still.

He grabbed a white washcloth in his left hand and a razor blade in his right. He let out a long sigh before asking, “How old are you now, asshole?”

My voice was even and quiet just like Mama taught me, “Eight.”

“That’s a good number, don’t cha think?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

And then he started making his cuts. He put them wherever he wanted or at least wherever he could fit them on my lower back and across the top of my butt. I used to cry but that would only make him push harder. I learned to just bite on my shirt and curl my fingernails into my hands while I counted each slice. It made it go faster to count them.

One. He pushed the skin around it a little bit after he cut so the blood would come out.

Two. If I could look at him I would probably see a smile on his face.

Three. He wiped the blade on the cloth after each cut so he could see it slice the skin better.

Four. Halfway there, I could make it to the end.

Five. He moved to my butt, I think it was so he could push harder.

Six. I could feel his legs relax a little bit as he calmed down.

Seven. He laughed a little, which was new.

Eight. I cried out as he dragged the razor down my side. He never did that.

He pushed me to the floor, “Don’t move bitch. I’m gonna get your Mama to come clean you up.”

Thankfully he left the room and I could finally let the tears fall from my eyes. I looked down at my skin, this was the first one I can actually see without having to get a mirror. It started right below my ribs and went just past my hip. A sob lurched from my body when I heard him throw the back door open.

“Trace!” He yelled Mama’s nickname, “Tracey!” He yelled again, “get in here and clean up the little cunt in the bathroom and then make me some dinner. I want it done when I get home.” I could hear him walk back through the house, pausing for a moment to probably grab his boots, and then continue out the front door.

The sound of tires on gravel was the last thing I heard before Mama pushed the bathroom door open and scoped me up.

I looked into her eyes, hazel like mine but with spots of green instead of gold, already overfilled with tears.

“Come on baby,” she said in a sweet, even voice, “let’s get you fixed up.”

She washed the blood away with a warm cloth before covering the fresh cuts with cream and bandages. A small sob escaped her when she saw the long one but she quickly recovered and continued to fix me up. There was nothing more that we could do besides cover them and wait for them to heal. At least it was finally summertime and I wouldn’t have to explain why I couldn’t do gym class again. I would have to explain it to Madison though, her Mama watched me while my Mama was at work. At least I knew Mads would keep my secret.

Once I was all covered I slowly walked to the living room to grab my book and go to my room. I didn’t want to be seen by Daddy whenever he got home. I carefully made it to my room after telling Mama I didn’t want anything to eat. She followed me in and helped me lay down on my stomach. Mama covered me with my favorite purple blanket before she kissed my forehead and turned on my bedside lamp.

She stopped before closing my door, “I’m so sorry Taylor.”

I didn’t say anything back. What could I even say? This wasn’t the first time Daddy did this and I could guarantee it wouldn’t be the last.