Take a deep breath. Try and hold it.
“But the clothes are smelly.”
Do you want him to find you?
I cannot hold my breath my fear is so strong. My hideout in the laundry is pretty good. With so many lumps what is one more? I can hear him moving downstairs. For some reason he left the house; maybe he thought I was going to go out there. I am not sure.
You should try to control your breathing.
“I am really scared this time.”
I know. I am sorry.
The footsteps come up the stairs.
I begin to sing and play music in my head in an attempt to quiet my thoughts, or at least mask them. His footsteps go right to the pile of clothes, but he does not investigate at all. He does not move within the room, but I can hear his stupid breathing.
He can breathe just fine. Nothing makes him want to stop breathing. Nothing makes him try to control an asthma attack, so his beater doesn’t find him. Nothing makes him want to run away and give up. Nothing.
Something in the other room must have fallen over. I have no idea what it is, but he actually leaves the room to find the answer.
You can make it.
“No, I can’t.”
There are the stairs. They’re a hurdle for sure.
His footsteps leave the other room and start back. Panic is just the beginning and fear is always there.
He is yelling, and it is deafening. I can hear all the nasty names and whatever else he wants to make up. Just because all he spews are lies doesn’t mean the words don’t hurt. The tears run down my face and on to the reeking clothes. My breathing becomes more strained, roaring inside my head. I try to stifle the sound with a sock. It works… almost.
All too soon, yelling is no longer enough. Objects are flying around the room. I can hear them crashing into the walls, the lamps, and the dresser. Something strikes the pile and the sock does not muffle my “oomph.”
“NO!” That is the only thing I can scream as he grabs me by my hair.
I am always here. I will pray with you.
His blow to my mouth makes me move my prayer from my speaking voice to the one inside my head. My thoughts and me stay in prayer. When we finish the, I hear a soft melody.
Can you hear the music I started?
“Yes, I can.”
Sing with the music in here. The music will help.
I retreat further into my mind and let the music wrap me in a warm blanket. I sing in my mind and I let it help me slip into sleep. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose and know it instantly, but sometimes you have to wait to win.
“Oh, there you are. Welcome back.”
The Ambulance is cold and unforgiving with every bump. The paramedics tell me that I was unresponsive in the house. They managed to restart my breathing and moved me into the ambulance. I cry and cry.
“Can you play some music? Please. I love music.”
With a push of a button the radio comes alive.
What luck! It is your favorite singer on the radio with one of your favorites playing.
“It seems like I am lucky in more than one way today.”
Indeed. Sing now.
I begin to whisper-sing the song with tears going down my cheeks. My eyes close as I see the paramedic give me a small smile. I let my mind go and fall into song.
I will be a hero one day.
I will find my way out.
I will get away.
I will escape.
I will be a hero, even if it is for one day.
I WILL BE MY HERO.
About the author, Selena Taylor
Selena Taylor is a wife, a mother, and a woman who strives to tell the many stories that occupy her mind. She is active in the Rhett & Link fandom and appreciates dark humor. She and her family live in Illinois, where she takes every opportunity to lose herself under the stars and let her imagination run wild. For more from Selena, check her out on Facebook.