Hey guys,
This is part II of The Darkness Within. It's an edit of work I've posted in the Advanced Critiques forum.
Hope you enjoy!
XxxDo
Ps. I wasn't sure how to make this clear without just telling you, 
, but this is a flashback to Jess's morning, before she ran away.
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I opened my eyes, waking from slumber with the bitter taste of dreadful anticipation in the back of my throat. As my vision adjusted to the bright beams of sunlight that played across my walls and floor, I let out a heavy sigh. Dawn, one of the worst times of the day. It meant a clean slate, a day that could lead to happiness, amusement, terror, or pain. In my household, the latter two were most likely to be accurate descriptions of my day.
I turned onto my side, kicking away my tangled blankets, my bruised body protesting movement with muscle stiffness and aching. My gaze drifted to the digital alarm clock on my nightstand, and involuntarily flinched, then clenched my teeth in pain. I was late. Swinging my legs over the edge of my bed I sat up, carefully stretching to awaken my muscles, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, feeling drowsy and lifeless.
“Jess?” Jake’s voice sounded dull from outside my door, though a hint of discomfort was audible in his tone. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I got to my feet, straightening out my nightshirt, then moved over to the door in a state of semi-consciousness. I reached out for the door handle and allowed my younger brother into the room, feeling as though my brain thought I was still sleeping soundly. He smiled sheepishly at my tangled hair, as he always did in the morning, the sharply defined bruise around his eye a painful contrast with his childlike amusement. Yesterday morning he’d been the focus of Michaels rage, and now he bore the painful marks of the insane outburst on his otherwise flawless skin. Yesterday afternoon, on the other hand, had been my turn. I was grateful enough that little Katy didn't find herself on the wrong side of his fists yesterday, but watching my brother move slowly, delicately avoiding putting pressure on any of his bruises, brought tears to my eyes already.
My heart sunk to my shoes as I eyed his small face. There was so much honesty and righteousness in the little boy who stood before me, but I feared it would only be a matter of time before the beatings began to steal his innocence away. Michael was forcing him to grow up far too quickly, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“What’s up?” I asked, retreating, blinking my tears away as I started to pick my clothes off the floor. Arranging them neatly over the back of my chair, I glanced at him, watching his eyes cloud over with concern. “Michael asks that you come downstairs.”
I could’ve guessed. Michael always used him as a messenger. I could only assume that it was some kind of authority issue. Having me come to him like a summoned dog seemed to make him feel rather self-important.
“Thanks.” I weaved my hand through his thick mane of blonde hair, and then pulled him into an embrace; carefully. The feeling of his warm hands on my back calmed my inner storm. There was a lot Michael could take from us, but he could never break the strong bond I had with my brother and sister. That one was ours for the keeping.
“He was kind of annoyed.” Jake whispered into my nightshirt, his cheek hot against my stomach, his voice quivering mildly. “I think you should hurry.”
“Alright big guy, thanks.” I kissed the top of his head, and then reluctantly released him “Go ahead, go back downstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”
He nodded slowly, his green eyes filled with a terror I hated to see. He didn't fancy the prospect of having to return to the kitchen, where I knew Michael was sitting right this moment. The tension in the air, the common knowledge that none of us could fight him, and his fists that rested on the table were enough to silence all of us. Jake turned, bowing his head in defeat, and left the room. Shutting the door behind him at a snail's pace, as though to keep the moment of security from fading out of his reach, he vanished from my sight.
I stood there for a moment, glancing at the blue sky outside my window, then observng the grey clouds that were ominously approaching. We'd soon see a storm, both inside and outside my house, and by the looks of it they'd match one another in ferociousness.
I drew in a shaky breath. Dad, what am I supposed to do? I can't save them, dad, he'll kill me if I fight. I need you, please come back, please find a way to come see me. I can't stand it anymore, daddy, he's hurting them, too, even Katy. Last week he beat her, and when I helped her bathe afterwards to soothe the bruises I couldn't stop crying. She's so small, so innocent, and she was covered from head to toe in fist-sized bruises. She turned six since you left us, daddy, and she's gotten only slightly taller. She's still a child. I don't even know how to describe it, it's so absolutely wrong, dad, and I feel powerless. I want to help them, more than anything else, but I... I can't.
I felt my eyes sting with unshed tears, and changed into jeans and a sweater as rapidly as my battered body allowed. With long sleeves and jeans most of the bruises were covered. I hitched up my sleeves and let my gaze slide up and down my arms, counting the blue discolorations, then stepped towards the mirror and examined my face. Apart from some mild swelling on my lower lip it had escaped most of the damage. Last night it had been my arms that took the worst of the beating, as I used them to shield my head and face from injury.
Late last night I'd checked the weather forecast, which, luckily, predicted rain and storms for the next few days, so tomorrow, when I went to school, I wouldn’t stand out with my long-sleeved clothing. Brushing my hair I winced, putting too much pressure on the forgotten bump on my scalp. When had that happened? Was that why my head had throbbed so badly after he threw me into the wall? My fingers traced the bump, which stung with every touch, and I determined that it was probably not all that serious. I'd survive.
With my short hair hanging untidily down the sides of my face I regarded myself in the mirror, motionless, wondering why Michael thought I deserved what he did. I didn’t consider myself provoking, rude, annoying, or disrespectful in any way, unless I was yelled at for something I never even did. Then, yes, I argued. Every glance could be interpreted wrongly, or so I’d learned last night, when a confused look on my part had left him spiraling into anger and violence. Honestly, what were Jake, Katy and I doing wrong?
I sat down on my chair, opening the middle drawer and taking out a pair of black socks. As I put them on I strained my ears, failing to find any angry shouts. If we were lucky his mood would be better than yesterday, though luck was a feat that tended to run short in this household.
I halfheartedly paced down the stairs, pausing on the last step, unable to shift my gaze. Lesley’s door was closed, as always, and I couldn’t help but be thankful that she wasn’t here to see this, feel this, and endure this. I know it would have killed me if Michael hurt her, and secretly I was happy that she was gone, that she had been granted a way out. A fate I, on occasion, wished I had shared. It had come close, and at that very moment I had been, however unexpectedly, ready to leave life behind.
Dad… he had once promised me he’d always be there when I needed him, and I had believed, with every single piece of my heart, that he would be. It angered me that a stranger made him break his promise, a stranger who couldn’t care less about the good man my father was, a stranger who only cared about killing him. It was the first time in my life that dad had said something to me, and failed to stand by it.
“Jess?” Katy appeared, stopping on the other flight of stairs. “Michael’s angry.”
I had stalled for too long, and cursed in silence. I had to work on resisting the urge to drift off into thoughts. It was too tempting, though, to escape the real world for a second, and to pretend that I wasn’t in trouble with a madman whose fists had left imprints on my skin too many times before.
I crossed the hallway, starting down the second flight of stairs, meeting my youngest sibling. Running a hand through her hair I glanced down at her. It was an expression of affection I’d always used to show them that I cared; the quick ruffle through their manes of hair.
Her hand sought mine, and I closed it around her small fist, walking her down the stairs to the door of the kitchen. I heard Michael talk at a tone, then listened to Jake’s apology, and again Michael’s angry words.
I flattened the palm of my hand against the wood, pushing open the door, my eyes meeting Michaels as I headed to the breakfast table. The tension was so present that it nearly choked me, and I released Katy, watching her sit down at her seat in between Jake and mom. Michael’s eyes gleamed with anger, though omnipresent was a glimpse of twisted amusement. The sick bastard.
“You’re late.” It was a snapping statement so cold that it froze Jake, his spoonful of cereal suspended in mid-air, his mouth open, his eyes wide and focused on me.
“I’m sorry.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re late, now does it, Jess?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You know how much I hate it when you’re late. I specifically said that breakfast was at nine. What time is it now?”
I knew better than to give attitude, and gazed at the clock on the wall. “Nine-fifteen.”
“How late are you then?”
He simply loved this, questioning me with no other purpose than to see me show any signs of attitude, or accidentally say something he interpreted as out of line. I didn’t have a chance at getting away without a beating, and I knew it. There was always something wrong with my attitude, from his point of view.
“I am fifteen minutes late.”
“So, what do you think your punishment should be?”
That was the worst of questions, for it had no correct answer. If I suggested a punishment he would say it wasn’t quite fitting to my misbehavior, but if I told him I wasn’t certain, he’d be equally as judgmental. Either way; I lose.
“Well?” I saw Jake set down his spoon, the cereal dropping back into the bowl of milk. I wasn’t surprised that he lost his appetite. Katy looked like she was holding her breath, her expression somewhere between fear and confusion. Mom was staring past me without emotion, though I was certain she was aware of what was going on.
I was at loss for words, and opened my mouth, then closed it, unable to verbalize anything coherent.
“That’s what I thought. Sit down; we’ll talk about this later.”
“Okay.”
The moment the word left my mouth I realized my mistake, and clenched my fists, my nails digging into the palm of my hand. I’d given him the reason he’d been looking for. Such a normal word, but I should’ve remembered that it was enough to set him off. Immediately correcting myself I added. “I’m sorry. I mean, yes, Michael.”
“Okay?” He rose. “Okay? Is that polite, Jess? Are you disrespecting me?”
“I didn’t mean to!” I backed away from my chair, my fists unclenching in terror. I wasn’t going to fight back, because then he’d kill me. “I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry, I meant: Yes, Michael, I understand, we will discuss this later on.”
My second attempt at correcting my mistake was ignored exactly like the first. With every passing day his toleration for me was lowered, and even the slightest moment of letting my guard down could get me into massive amounts of trouble. His response to this “trouble” was violence.
“I don’t care what you meant, you said what you said.”
He got up from his seat, his eyes gleaming angrily, rounding the table and stepping towards me. My eyes met Jake’s, and I saw him pull Katy off her chair. His hands pressed against her back as he rushed her out of the kitchen, to the safety of their rooms. I was grateful for what he did, for we all knew what was coming, and I didn’t want either one of them to see it once again. The wooden door swung shut with a mild click; they knew better than to slam it.
Michael balled his fists. I tensed, ready to lift my already battered arms to protect my face from the worst blows. I knew I wouldn’t fight, I’d merely defend, holding my arms up, curling into a ball if he beat me to the floor. The consequences of striking back were too horrifying to even think about.
He smirked, his fist rising up in the air as I widened my eyes in fear, nausea flashing through my stomach. “How long will it be, Jess, until you learn what you should or shouldn’t say?”
