Okay guys. Those of y'all that read this before probably won't recognize it. This is the final version that gets turned in...
Laura Davies
Workshop Story
Creative Writing
May 6, 2003
Kelly DeLong
Cold Comfort
Emily woke in a cold sweat, long ago spoken words echoing in her ears and ghost-like images of what he had done to her floating in front of her eyes. “Ugly, fat, horrible, stupid. You should have never been born. You don't deserve to live,” the insidious litany swam around inside her skull. She saw the knife coming towards her again and flinched away from it. Shivering, she pulled the blankets up around her, wishing for a different kind of past, one with happy thoughts and fond memories of the man who had helped raise her. She closed her eyes briefly and pretended the monster didn't exist. At least he no longer lived close enough to hurt her. She took a deep breath and moved closer to the warmth of her husband beside her.
She hadn't screamed and woken him up like the last time. Emily put her arm over him and was grateful when he turned over, muttering in his sleep, and reached out to hold her close. It was precisely what she needed; she laid her head on his chest and listened to the soothing sound of his heartbeat. Absently, she scratched an old, almost faded scar on her wrist and grimaced as she remembered how her step-grandfather had put it there.
Emily scooted closer to her husband, trying to absorb some of his warmth into her ice cold body. She wished there was a way to make all of her bad memories go away, but there was no magic strong enough in the world to drive away the pain of her childhood memories. Her therapist was helping her get past it, and James was being very supportive of her efforts to heal. After all, he had been there himself; just not to the same degree.
Emily kissed James softly on his shoulder and curled up beside him, pulling the blankets tightly around both of them. Wide awake now, she let her thoughts drift back and to the time when she and James had first met. She had been captivated immediately when she'd seen him walking across the quad, but had ruthlessly suppressed her attraction, convinced that she was too damaged to even attempt a relationship. Three days later she had seen him again, walking into the counseling center for her support group meeting. James had struck up a conversation and even asked her out, but she had been determined to stay away from relationships and started running down the hall like a frightened child. He'd caught up with her eventually and, after months of patient wooing, James had finally taught her how to trust again. They married shortly after her graduation. Emily gently kissed one of the many scars on his back--a reminder of the cruelty inflicted upon him by his father, and cuddled spoon-fashion against his back. He stirred and opened his sleep-heavy brown eyes to look at her questioningly..
James sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, illuminating the cheerful room that she'd decorated in shades of blue and white. “What's the matter?” he asked groggily. Shifting position, he yawned and ran his hand through her hair. “Did you have a nightmare?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Yeah,” she admitted softly. “It's the first one I've had for months.”
James yawned again and leaned over to kiss her forehead lovingly. “”I know,” he said, giving her the beautiful smile that she had fallen for at the very beginning of their relationship.
Emily's gray eyes began to twinkle with mischief as she thought of what she'd like to do with him--all because of that sexy grin of his. She supposed that she'd have to settle for a kiss; after all, they both had to go to work in the morning. She smiled at him seductively, leaned over, and began to trail soft kisses along his jaw until she reached her goal. Her mouth hovered over his for a brief second before pressing her lips to his and parting them in invitation. Even in his half-awake state, James responded to her kiss and their tongues joined in a slow, familiar dance. Emily broke off the kiss slowly and gently tugged James back down on the bed.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” she whispered, stroking his hair in a gentle caress. She smiled as his breathing began to even out again, signaling his descent back into sleep. Emily leaned over him to turn off the bedside lamp, and as she did her eyes drank in the the familiar surroundings of their bedroom. Her grandmother's favorite patchwork quilt hung from a rod suspended in the ceiling on one wall--the same quilt that her grandmother had wrapped her in after her mother's desertion. A crocheted spread lay folded lovingly across the foot of the huge bed; it was the last thing that her grandmother had made just for her. The memories of her grandmother and the patchwork quilts that she made were special to Emily. They represented one of the few periods in her childhood that she had felt safe.
She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her cheek on them. So much of her life had been a series of “what if”s. What if her mother hadn't been clinically depressed and committed suicide. What if she hadn't found her mother's body. What if her father had married someone else. What if her step-grandfather hadn't been such a bastard. The only sure thing in her life about which she had no doubts or reservations was James. Marrying him was the best thing she'd ever done--for both of them. They came from similar backgrounds of abuse, and both were adept at hiding the signs. She smiled as she began to remember how they had been drawn together.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Emily!”, she heard a voice call out her name from somewhere behind her. She turned, holding her child development book to her chest. It was James. They'd met a few weeks ago and she’d politely declined his offer to take her to dinner and a movie. Unswayed by her refusal, he’d asked again only a day later. And again, the day after that. The boy was either incredibly lonely or incredibly obtuse. Either way, she couldn't say yes. Someone like her didn't deserve someone like him. Sure, they were in the same support group for victims of abuse, but why would he want to burden himself with her nightmares and pain when he was still trying to cope with his own?
“What is it now, James?” she asked, annoyed. “Did you accidentally drop something in my backpack this time, or did you just forget that I told you to leave me alone?”
James grinned at her, a look of determination in his brown eyes. “C'mon, Em I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment here. I just wanted to know if you'd like to go out for pizza. Also, I’d like you to consider being my lab partner in chemistry next term; I know you're taking the class, too.”
Emily gave careful consideration to his proposal, then sighed resignedly. Maybe she’d misjudged him after all. Maybe he did only want to be friends. “Okay,” she replied quietly. “I guess pizza would be good. And I suppose I do need a lab partner.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She smiled and kissed his cheek gently before she laid her head on his chest and curled her arm around him. That one study date had been the best decision she'd ever made. Even after James had been forced to leave school to care for his sick mother, they had kept in touch, and after her graduation, they had gotten married. She was now established in her career, and they both hoped that James could go back to school to finish his education--he had a successful business now, and was enrolled in night classes at the local community college. Emily yawned and closed her eyes. Morning seemed to come earlier and earlier lately, and with their recent discovery of her pregnancy, she needed all the sleep she could get.
James woke to the sound of the phone ringing. He reached over and picked it up, squinting at the early-morning sunshine peeking though their window. “Hello?” he said groggily.
“James?” the voice on the other end asked. “This is Kate. Can I talk to Emily?”
“Sure,” he said, running his hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “Emmy, wake up,” he said nudging her. “It’s your mom.”
Emily slowly opened her eyes, and sat up. The moment she did, her stomach lurched and she bolted from the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom.
James grimaced in sympathy as he heard the sound of retching coming from the restroom. “Kate, she'll be with you in a minute,” he said.
“Is she okay?” Kate said, her voice betraying at least some concern for her step-daughter's well-being.
“It's just morning sickness,” he replied. “The doctor said that she'll be over it in a few months.”
“Morning sickness?” she asked, shocked. “James get her on the phone now.”
James sighed and handed the phone to Emily as she came back towards the bed. He kissed her flushed cheek gently. “I'm going to take a shower,” he said. “Let me know if you need me.” He laid his hand on her stomach briefly. “Behave, peanut,” he murmured to her stomach. “No more making your mother sick.” James slid off the bed and headed towards the bathroom.
"Hi, Mom.”
“Emily, you're pregnant? Why didn't you tell us!”
“Mom, we just found out yesterday--we haven't had time to call yet.
“Emily, this is probably a really bad time to tell you this, but Grandpa Ritter is very sick.”
“Grandpa's sick?”
“It's worse than that, Emmy.”
“Oh, so he's dying, and I bet he wants to see me.
Tell the bastard he can rot--I'm not coming. Why should I?”
“But Emily, he is the grandfather that helped raise you, you should come and make peace with him before he dies.”
“Yes, Mother, I know he's my grandfather. It doesn't mean a damn thing to me. You know that I hate the man.”
“Emily, I know you've said that he's hurt you, but would you at least consider it? The doctors are giving him a week, if that. Please, Emmy?”
“Mom, I'll think about it. Now I have to go to work. I'll talk to you later, okay?”
“Take care of yourself, Emmy--and of my grandchild.”
“I will, Mom. Bye.”
“Bye, Emmy.”
Emily hung up the phone with a click, and started to get ready for work. The phone call had stirred up memories that she'd rather not face, but she knew that she should go to South Carolina to talk to Grandpa Ritter; her therapist said that she should confront her abuser, after all. She sighed, then reached for her hairbrush to arrange her hair into some semblance of order.
Despite her good intentions, she wouldn’t have her opportunity to confront her tormentor prior to his death. Five days later, Emily's stepmother called again, this time asking them to come to South Carolina for the funeral. James immediately got out the overnight bags and began to pack for the long drive from Alabama; it would be easier on them if they stayed in a motel overnight. Emily soon joined him and pulled her oldest and most worn clothes out of the back of the closet for visiting the gravesite. She folded them carefully and put them in the suitcase. "He doesn't deserve any better," she murmured in response to James's questioning look. “Besides, it's hot and muggy out there--and I don't want to ruin any good clothes on the trip,” she added practically.
She didn't like the hours on the road; the long drive gave her far too much time to think and allow the more hurtful memories to surface. The drive became worse when the air-conditioner in the car stopped working not long after they’d entered Georgia, and the muggy heat soon had their clothes sticking to their skin. The scenery became monotonous very quickly, with nothing but an endless stretch of highway bordered by fields of dried, yellowish grass. As they made their way north through Georgia, the flat, red earth gradually began to transform into gently sloping hills and soon they passed over the South Carolina border.
Emily stared out the car window, watching the miles slip past. She had to be there, she knew that. But at the same time, it was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. She twisted a Kleenex between her fingers, absently shredding it in the oppressive silence of the vehicle.
"You didn't have to come," came a soft voice from the drivers' seat beside her.
"Yes, I did, James," she asserted. "I promised myself that I'd at least see the gravestone. I know we're going to arrive too late for the funeral, but I think seeing the grave will give me some closure.”
"Emily, that’s not rational. Your parents told you your grandfather passed," James pointed out logically.
"I know. But I have to go--James you know as well as I do that my therapist said this would be good for me," she insisted. “Besides, I want to make sure that he's really dead.”
James sighed and looked at her. "You haven't seen him in almost ten years anyway; he can't hurt you anymore."
He hurts me every day in my mind, James. He’s always there in my head, tearing me apart, little by little.”
James sighed. He wished he could help her put her past where it belonged. "We'll be there in about five minutes," he said, pressing harder on the gas pedal. A few minutes later, he silently pulled into the gates of the cemetery. “Want me to come with you?” he asked softly.
Emily shook her head. “I think I need to do this alone,” she said. As the car rolled to a stop, Emily opened the door and began to climb the hillside. The grass was dry and brittle beneath her feet; the sere brown blades crunching underneath her worn sandals. A harsh wind whipped her dirty-blonde hair into her face and blew her faded, patched skirt behind her as she made her way to the simple stone that marked the spot. She stood there, staring at it for a moment, not quite believing that her long time tormentor was actually there beneath the sod.
Emily scuffed the toe of her shabby sandal in the dirt, looking very much like a small child expecting to be punished for some infraction. Nervously, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before turning to glare at the tombstone. For years, she had dreamed of the day when he would be dead, no longer able to hurt her. Then perhaps the nightmares would finally be over. Emily paced around the freshly turned earth before she ended up standing at the edge of the plot.
She shivered as the painful memories of injuries inflicted years before washed over her. The bastard had been careful not to hit or cut her where it showed--except once, and he had explained it away by saying that she had fallen on a broken bottle. She had worn long sleeves for years to cover the scarring on her upper arms. As she had gotten older, he had hurt her in other ways, other places where it would not show to the casual observer. Emily trembled as his spoken words echoed though her head. “No one will ever want you--you're too ugly; no one will give you a second look with all of those scars.” She could still see his shadow looming over her.
"I said I'd dance on your grave," she said finally, her words hanging in the stillness of the air. She stopped as if waiting for an answer. "I hated you," she said harshly. She looked at the headstone of her step-grandmother beside it. "I even hated you for dying," she whispered. "How could you leave me alone with him?"
Emily began to pace around the double plot restlessly. "Why?" she whispered, glaring at the tombstone. "Why did you do it? Why was I your victim?" She stopped and looked at the grave. "Why do I still even care--and why can't I get rid of the nightmares that are your legacy?" She drew in a shuddering breath.
"They're your fault, you know. I can't get the images of what you did to me out of my head. I can't forget your hateful words either," she glared accusingly at the grave. "You’re dead but all the memories are still there, waiting for me to go to sleep so they can come back to torment me over and over again." Emily stomped her foot and screamed her frustration at his grave. "I hate you! I will never stop hating you and I can't forgive you," she finished harshly as tears began to trickle down her face.
She fell to her knees, sobbing now. "I'm not sorry that you're dead," she choked out in between sobs. "I'm not," she whispered fiercely. Emily climbed to her feet and brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks. She dusted off the faded print of her skirt and without even a backward glance, began to slowly make her way towards James who waited with the car.
"Are you okay, Emily?" he asked gently, noting the tears on her face.
"Not really," she admitted, drawing in a shaky breath.
"Do you at least feel better?" he said as he reached in his pocket for a Kleenex.
"It--didn't feel as good as I thought it would," she admitted. "I promised myself a long time ago that I'd come back after he was dead to tell him what I thought of him. That's why I had to come."
"I know," he said softly. James walked around the car and hugged her tightly. “I'm going to go up and--pay my respects.” Emily watched as James climbed up the hill she had come down only moments before. She couldn't understand what he said, but she recognized that they were harsh words from the tone of his voice--it was the same tone he sometimes used when they started arguing.
James came back down the hill and took her hand in his. "There--now I've told him what I think of him. I've often wanted to kill him myself for what he did to you," he said with a grimace. "I've seen the scars, and those are only the visible ones."
"I never wanted you to," Emily whispered, "I tried to make you stay away, but you wouldn't," she climbed into the car and shut the door tightly.
"I don't know why you put up with me," she said softly, looking down at her lap.
James walked around to the driver's side door of their old green station wagon and got in. Silently, he reached over and gently took her hand in his. "It's because I loved you--then, now, always, and I know exactly what you're going through." He looked up at her with a twisted, pain filled smile. "We're all walking wounded, honey. You and I just have more visible scars than others." He kissed her hand gently before he laid it back on the seat and started the car.
Emily sighed and ran a tired hand through her shoulder length hair. There were bound to be recriminations from her parents for not attending her grandfather's deathbed as well as skipping the funeral, but she didn't care. She really didn't like her family much; one of the reasons for their move to Alabama had been a desire to put some distance between her and them. They were much easier to deal with from a few hundred miles away.
She looked at James for a moment. It still amazed her that he would put so much effort into loving her when she was such a mess. But then again, he had expressed similar sentiments to her a few times. She wasn't sure if they would ever be what other people considered to be “normal”--whatever that was. Her family never seemed to care about her pain and his family was dead. The woman she called 'mother' still denied what Grandpa Ritter had done to her, and her father always took her stepmother's side. Emily wished her mother hadn’t taken her own life. After she’d died, Emily had wanted to die too. Sometimes she was still angry at her mother for leaving her to her father's indifference and his new wife's disdain. She supposed that her step-grandfather's offer of free babysitting had been too tempting to resist when her stepmother had wanted to go back to work.
She knew that her stepmother had viewed her as an inconvenience; after all, she wasn't Emily's real mother. Emily sighed as she remembered the long rants she had endured about the difference between real children and step-children. It hadn't started that way. She barely remembered when things had started to change, but at first, her stepmother had been extremely nice to her and treated her like her own. Later, after her half-siblings' arrival, her position had been made clear. Since then, she had always known exactly where she stood in the Steel household--she wasn't considered as good as the other three children that lived there. Slowly, she reached out and took James's hand. "I love you," she said softly. Emily ran her thumb over his hand, feeling the rough calluses on his palm against her smooth skin.
“I guess we should get going,” she said. He nodded and released her hand so that he could shift gears, then pulled out of the graveyard, and began the long drive home. The drive back to Alabama would take a few hours as they lived right on the Alabama/Georgia border, and they would probably stop somewhere along the way and spend the night. Emily smoothed down the worn, cotton fabric of her skirt. She’d faced her biggest demon. He was dead, and couldn’t hurt her anymore--not if she wouldn’t let him. She glanced briefly in the rearview mirror and promised herself she would never look back again. Her future beckoned and she had happy memories to build with James and their new baby. Emily laid her hand on her abdomen and silently promised the child she carried within her that the cycle would not be continued.
