Ruby

Smack. Pain. Hot, stinging pain across her face and then crash and she’s on the floor. Her arm is throbbing and there’s a chair lying on its side next to her. She hears a step and then sees a shoe. The linoleum floor squeaks as she scrambles away. He blocks the door so she hugs the fridge for protection but it only gives temporary relief to her stinging cheek and arm. Just one more night. Another step and she presses herself closer to the fridge, turning her face away as his arm extends out. Her breathing is ragged and her body is shaking but whether it’s shaking from her fear or the vibrations from the fridge, she’s not sure. She grabs the first thing she can to try to fight him off even though she knows it’s no use. A whisk. She knows it’s pathetic but, in an act of defiance, holds it between them anyway. He laughs a big, burly laugh and looks down at her, kicking the flimsy kitchen utensil away.

One more step and he’s right in front of her, rough hands grabbing her, pulling her, hitting her. She can taste copper but can’t see clearly, all she can do is feel. Feel the warm, metallic liquid in her mouth, the tears on her face, the vice grip on her shoulder and arm and the pain. So much pain in her body that she can barely hold herself up without his help. I’m sorry. She’s apologizing but she doesn’t know what for except that it’s the safest thing to say at the moment. He asks her what she’s sorry about; demands to know if she did something she should be sorry for. He asks her why she’s crying, pulls her hair, shakes her around a bit, tells her to shut up. I’m sorry. The words echo around the small kitchen, reflect off him and bounce back to her, sounding a little bit more hollow than before.

Another shove and she feels something different; the corner of a table, the flat edge of the counter top, a crack, possibly a rib, and then the burn of the plastic flooring as she lands and slides. Her forehead collides with the table leg hard and the kitchen starts to swim. The fridge magnets are playing chess by themselves while the shelf sways in a dance and why are there two of him? Oh no, God no, please no more. He’s saying something but it’s lost in his shouts and the buzzing and pounding in her head. Just one more night of putting up with this. One last hard kick in the side then she blacks out.

When she opens her eyes, he’s gone and she’s left alone with the dim fluorescent lights blinking at her silently. She takes in a deep breath to steady herself, wincing as her bruised lungs expand and push against the might-be-cracked ribs. Pulling a drawer open, she grabs a towel to clean up the mess in the kitchen. The spill of blood and dirt make pictures and patterns on the floor as she wipes it back and forth. First a red cloud, then a meteoroid, then a bird, what looks like a smiley face next, followed by a love heart and then a crooked arrow aiming just off the door.

It reminds her of when they had gone kite flying once, years ago when she could still order off the kid’s menu, and sat watching the clouds while waiting for the wind to pick up.

“That looks like a fish, Daddy!”

“Yes, Ruby, it does.”

“And that one! That looks like a unicorn!”

“Unicorns don’t exist, Ruby.”

“What?”

The wind had picked up so he had passed her the coil of string to hold while he released the kite into the breeze and up it went, almost taking her with it. She squealed and laughed, running around following the kite until suddenly the wind stopped and it fell.

“Ruby, you’re not doing it right! Can’t even fly a bloody kite... Give it here!”

The kitchen floor is clean now and she stands in the bathroom about to clean herself off so she doesn’t dirty her bed sheets. He hates dirty sheets, even when the sheets aren’t his. Everything has to be pristine so that he has something to spoil. Her eyes follow the mapped out lines that the abrasions make on her skin, leading from one old memory to the next while her fingers trace the red, purple, blue and yellow designs painted all over her body. Just survive a little longer and then I can start again.

She turns the shower on and steps in, moving under the spray of water. The warm droplets hitting her face are a welcomed pressure unlike her earlier beating. As the water runs down her body, she feels the old and new cuts and bruises that she couldn’t see; all stinging and throbbing while the water turns a faint shade of red. She dries herself off when she’s done and pulls on some clothes before crawling into bed. The pillows and mattress cradle her like a baby as she falls into a restless sleep.

Morning comes around and the alarm rings, loud and demanding. Her eyes crack open and she can see the sunlight filtering into the room, greeting her with a cheery goooood morning, it’s a new day! Her aching muscles stretch painfully as she reaches to turn off the insistent alarm and gets up. She follows her morning routine, pulls her work uniform on and, checking that most of the evidence from last night’s attack are hidden, leaves.

She runs into her next door neighbour in the hallway on her way out and before she can get away, old Mrs Anderson calls out.

“Good morning, Ruby!”

“Morning, Mrs Anderson.”

“How are you, love?”

“Fine, thanks. Yourself?”

“Oh, I’m very well, thank you. How kind of you to ask.”

The conversation reaches an uncomfortable pause and she just wants to leave but Mrs Anderson has her feeling like she’s trapped. She opens her mouth like a goldfish, hoping for an excuse to come tumbling out but Mrs Anderson manages to jump in first.

“I don’t mean to pry, love, but I’ve been hearing some... noises coming from your place.”

“Oh...?”

“Yes... Is everything all right at home?”

The hallway suddenly seems smaller than she remembers and she doesn’t like where this conversation is going.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, Mrs Anderson. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that what I’ve been hearing have sounded like fights, especially last night. Some shouting and loud bangs and I noticed the bruises on your legs.”

She freezes, unsure of what to do and feeling very much like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. Mrs Anderson’s concern and questions wrap around her like a hug she didn’t ask for. She’s suddenly aware of the itching cuts and scars, throbbing bruises and how empty she must look.

“It was just me being clumsy; I walked into a door. The shouting you heard was probably the TV Dad had on,” she says after a moment, please don’t ask anymore.

Mrs Anderson looks at her intently for a moment, worry and concern in her eyess

“Well, if you say so, love. Just thought I’d check. You should really take care of yourself, though, Ruby; you’re looking too frail and skinny and you never come around like you used to anymore. Come pay me a proper visit soon, all right?”

Mrs Anderson pats her on the shoulder kindly and she bites back a wince when it touches a fresh bruise.

She nods, “I’ve gotta go or I’m going to be late for work...”

“Of course, dear! Don’t let me keep you!”

She’s grateful for the chance to end the topic and quickly turns to leave.

“Oh and Ruby, happy birthday,” Mrs Anderson smiles, “Eighteen is a big change.”

Eighteen is a big change indeed.

The night begins like a repeat of the previous evening. No real reason for the hits and punches and kicks. Just cause he feels like it. Just because he had a bad day at work and can’t take it out on his co-workers but can take it out on his own daughter in the privacy of his home. Just because she’s still a kid to him and doesn’t fight back. Just because it was her fault his wife died eighteen years ago.

He slaps her and her head whips to the side, body following through so she looks like a rag doll colliding with the counter top. He grabs her and yanks her upright, pulls her right up to his face and she can feel his hot breath like steam off an iron burning clothes. He asks her a question but she’s not listening. Instead, she’s looking to where her bag lies, packed with what little she needs.
Bang. She’s on the floor again and can feel a slow trickle of blood tickling her skin. He asks her if that hurt, because if it didn’t, he’ll try again. Getting up, she looks him square in the eyes.

“No.”