Exceptional The emotional dam finally breaks Spectre : The Unload by Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.                                         Thunder quiet through deserts room Drowned in dust avoids the broom Fluidic sand its watered gloom Wintry tan and autumns bloom   Molten ice the lava's chill Freezing fire starvations fill Rough silk grips a liquids drill Effortless replete midlin will   Sunny storm its twisting state Tornadoes calm the tidals gate Winding road begs the straight Climb the fall the early, the late   ***************************************************************************************************   New year's Day...the first day of a brand new year and what shall I do with it?  Forge on!  Continue doing exactly what I've done. What I was meant to do.  My computer winks at me as I finish that sentence, knowing that I'll be back to type more. So many lessons learned, so much to tell and the words just keep flowing.   New year's Day here dawns crisp and cold.  A bright, blue crystaline sky and pluming breath in the air with a small dogs beautiful white smile. That was the start to my day. I hope yours was just as magical.    The time to look over the documents has come.  My sisters arrived which we have read together. As you can imagine, it was and is difficult for her to go through from her own perspective.  My own mind spins with words wanting to come out but it's not my tale to tell. For her privacy and for the sake of this narrative, I will continue from my own perspective as I have from inception.  I will not reveal her documents but, I will write about those similarities that are the same as my own.  Because it is raw, I can't help but think how much I despise the man that hurt us and how much I despise the woman who, at the very least, let it all happen. And then I think to myself, "God, let me not be so filled with hate because it's a shitty place to be."  That is my personal internal battle these days and yet the more I know the harder it is to turn away from those feelings.    Shall we go on a little stroll down the lane called memory? That place inside my mind where she lives.  Let's have a look at the young girl again. She seems to have found her niche in the world.   Put on your walking shoes folks...let's follow the trail....   *********************************************************************************   I crumbled. My carefully built facade was falling off my face. The same one I wore for so very long, I just couldn't hold it any longer. The kindness in her eyes and the soft entreaty of her voice, was enough for me to finally let fly all the tears.  The sadness, betrayal and the madness of all of it just came to the surface wanting me to pop the last door. I looked at Mrs B's face. it was showing only genuine concern and empathy reflected in her eyes. "He hurt me...," I whispered tears tracking rivers across my face. "I'm sorry dear, I didn't quite catch that," She said. "He hurt me...he always hurt me, as far back as I can remember, only hurt." I started to sob. I wrapped my arms around my torso, bent over and sobbed.  Gut wrenching, wailing sobs that I couldn't stop rang out of me. So I stopped trying and let it pour. P looked around as if he might find a tool to tighten my bolts while Mrs. B wrapped her arms around me. A bewildered expression on her face she stroked my hair and told me it was going to be okay. I tentatively put my arms around her, but felt weird not knowing or had much practice in hugs, I settled for a gentle touch. I finally just packed it in and allowed her to comfort me. I hadn't realized how tight of a grip I kept on myself until I relaxed against her large bosom. After a while, my sobs subsided. I blew my nose half a dozen times, wiped my tears and finally I settled.  Mrs. B waited patiently while P patted the back of my hand. "He just kept hitting us...punishing us...making us go hungry...making us bleed. The worst of it all was my mother watched, she knew, she let it all happen." Fresh tears began rolling down my face. More controlled this time, not the uncontrollable sobbing of a few minutes before.  The stupid, odd and irrational thing that always stayed with me whenever I talked about my parents' crimes, was the feeling of guilt. Guilt that they instilled in us.  A behavioral response drilled into our heads, brainwashed into us as children.  We were trained to be ashamed of ourselves and feel guilty if we spoke about them in any derogatory way. I felt it then in the telling of it. I became angry with myself that I had betrayed them, then angrier still they had that power over me. It's fucked up, I know. "Who was this dear? Your father?" Mrs. B asked. "My stepfather," I sniffled. "My mother's had a few." As those words fell out of my mouth I realized how very true that was.  Once again it set me to wondering about my father. Who was he? Where was he?  Should I be feeling such guilt? Sometimes decisions were hard with the mind set I had. "Oh my dear girl. I'm so sorry that happened to you," Mrs. B said kindly.  "He hurt my younger sister's too and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Not a thing!  I was so angry and scared.  I didn't know what to do, or how to stop it. We were constantly punched and ordered around, we were their slaves, that's it." Tears coming and going as they pleased, I poured out everything, all of it, right down to the dregs. Right up to Mr. and Mrs. D's house and having to escape her crazy husband which brought me to Mrs. B's house. Finally my words trickled to a halt, my tears dried up and my body was tired. I slowly rolled my eyes up and looked at them both expecting to see an expression of disgust. None was forthcoming. My friend looked at me like he always had. No change in his slightly mischievous expression and Mrs. B continued to look at me with her earnest and honest face giving nothing but empathy. Again there was a letting go within me. That final, last wall that said maybe, just maybe I could trust these people. "One last thing please.  Please, do not call the police or the social welfare people. They will send me back to them. Please, don't call them." I pleaded. "Oh, young lady please, don't worry nothin' like that is going to happen you have our promise," Mrs. B said with a reassuring smile.  I was exhausted again; sleep tried to grab me while I sat there at the table. There was no more left inside of me to pour out. "Oh dear, you've done a lot today, that was hard for you. It's time to rest...We'll wake you for supper when it's ready, then you'll be right as rain," Mrs. B said. "Yeah, maybe you can get your lazy ass outta bed so we can watch a movie after supper," P remarked as he winked at me. "Language P!" Mrs. B said. I rolled my eyeballs back at P as I padded off to bed, no arguments at all. Settling back underneath the covers comfortable once again, I could feel my eyes closing fast and my last thought was, "Is this what peace feels like...? *****************************************************************   That year I spent with the family, the only time in my life I felt at peace and completely safe. But when the year was done, adulthood stared me in the face. Playtime's over...   The ride's only just begun.... Recognized Author Notes This story is from an autobio called Spectre book two in a trilogy. Book one is called Ghost. Both books can be found in my portfolio if you wish to read. Please note, some chapters are hard to digest. Reader discretion is advised. ***Picture by Pinterest***

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