Welcome to the eleventh chapter of Stealing Anne.
Leaving Behind.
Anne had been staying with Jermaine for about six months now. She was delighted to have found a warm place to sleep. It had been terrible laying on that rough bed of leaves in the bamboo forest in the frigid month of November. April was almost over now though, and the world was a much warmer place. At least it would be for a while.
Things weren't warm at Jermaine's though. On the contrary, they were both hot and cold. Jermaine was hot for Anne and took every opportunity to touch her inappropriately. He figured he was doing her a favor by letting her stay with him, and besides, where was she going to go? What was she going to do about it? Anne, on the other hand, was as cold as ice. Sure, she didn't show it. She needed a place to stay after all, but deep inside her joy at having a warm bed was becoming fully overshadowed by the need to get away from Jermaine.
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Every night was the same thing. Anne would hide in the closet right around 7:00 in the evening. Gina would come home, cook dinner, spend a few minutes with Jermaine, and then leave to her boyfriend's place just after 8:00. Jermaine would save her a little bit of whatever food was made, she would scarf it down, and then he would announce that he was sleepy and that they should go to bed.
Anne came to dread this routine. She was never tired that early. Jermaine always slept in his tiny white undies and he insisted she sleep in hers too. He told her that her outer clothes were too scratchy for the confined twin bed they shared. Once in bed his hands were like search lights seeking any part of bare skin that Anne happened to have available. Cold, clammy, dirty...... she felt that she couldn't take much more.
Anne's appreciation for the male gender was fading rapidly. She didn't remember much about her own father, except that he smoked and had a faint charcoal smell around him at all times. He had left her and her mom when she was just a baby. Her mother had found religion, and then had a string of abusive boyfriends that took advantage of her gullible nature. Bob, the last of these boyfriends, had preyed on Anne, viewing her as an object to be desired despite her young age, and even gotten her kicked out of her own house at only 11. Yes, her love for men was not great these days. In fact, she was starting to hate them.
Just when she was starting to feel safe she now had a teenager with raging hormones trying to grope her every chance he got. She understood. It's biology. This kind of stuff is what boys think about. However, it was clear to her now that the only reason Jermaine had let her stay here was so that he could perv out on her. He didn't like her. He didn't want to spend time getting to know her. He just wanted to touch her. It made her mad. It made her SO DAMN MAD. She didn't know how to handle that feeling, so she just laid there and took it.
For awhile.
The day was seared in the middle of Anne's mind, as she stared at the unblinking white ceiling of her tiny metal cell.
April 24, 2014.
Jermaine's mom had just left for her boyfriend's house like she did every night. Dinner was spaghetti with marinara sauce. Giant mounds of pork meatballs filled a blue ceramic bowl to the very top. There must have been 4 pounds of meat in there. She was starving, and she ate for what seemed like a full hour. Jermaine stared at her the whole time. He had a strange glint in his eyes this evening. Anne didn't care. She was used to his antics. She may not have liked them, but she was used to them at the very least.
She knew what would be coming right after dinner.
"Yawn, I'm tired. Let's go to bed."
Bed right after dinner. It always gave her a stomach ache. Still, she had no recourse.
She followed Jermaine into his small room at the back of the unit. His walls were covered in posters from horror movies and action flicks like The Blob and The Terminator. Typical boy stuff. He threw off his shirt and pulled back the blue comforter. The got undressed down to their tidy whites and hit the sheets like they did every night. Another grope session. At least she was full and warm.
Jermaine was particularly attentive tonight. His hands were everywhere. Anne remained focused on the old style alarm clock by the brown and white night stand. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. That night stand was a complete mess. It had scattered over it's surface about 200 baseball cards, an alarm clock, a large stack of letters that sat by a shiny silver letter opener, several action figures, some legos, and a single black speaker that didn't appear to work.
Tick Tock. Hands on her belly. She was used to it.
Tick Tock. Hands on her thighs. Eyelids closed hard.
Tick Tock. Make it stop.
Tick Tock. She could feel him trying to part her legs.
In a flash the letter opener was in her hand, and in his stomach. What had she done? The look on his face was more surprise than anger. Disappointment? Blood was everywhere. The white sheets were a river of red. It just wouldn't stop. She hadn't meant to hurt him. Was he going to die? Anne had to go, she had to go now. Feelings were one thing, but she had to go RIGHT NOW.
And she did.
She left all her things and just ran.
Out into the darkness of the night.
Hands covered in blood.
Heart covered in ice.
She ran.
