The Day He Saved Me

I throw my phone on my bed and lie down on it, a soft sigh escaping my lips. I just made a phone call to check on my sister, Melanie, who has just arrived in Australia with Mom and Dad.
She's just been accepted at a well-known university in Perth to pursue her bachelor degree, and our parents are staying there for a week before going back home to New York.
Meanwhile, here I am, in Texas. Completely away for them. To say that I'm thrilled to work here as an intern in one of the biggest oil and gas companies in the country is an understatement.
I can't be more grateful for that. It's the result of all the hard work that I've been putting my entire life.
I just have to make a little more effort to nail my job here – enough to secure the company's trust – and finish my final year in Boston University before graduating with honours.
I've got my life planned. Some people might think that I already have everything in my hands. Excellent academic records. Promising career prospects. And glorious achievement in sports – I've never given up the thing I love the most, which is football.
But now, as I stare at the ceiling of my house, I can't help but feel empty. I'm close to achieving all my goals. So what now ?
Another sigh escapes from my mouth as I cover my eyes with my arm, closing my eyes to sleep.
At some nights, just like what happens now, the same horrible feeling stirs inside me again. That feeling of guilt. Regrets. Fear.
The funny thing is that it always happens when I feel lonely.
Fuck. This makes me not want to fall asleep. But I can't help it.
No matter how hard I try to resist, when the nightmare comes, it just happens.
It's something that I've been trying to escape, only to fail miserably. It's something about my ruined past. My horrible past.
It's something that happened years ago. Back when I was still in high school.
.

« Jake. » Her voice is shaking. It sounds so vulnerable.
A scream threatens to escape from my mouth. I don't want to hear it.
I don't want to go through this anymore.
« Please, » she begs, her cries echoing in my ears.
I snap my eyes open, but I can't see anything. Everything is dark.
I try to open them as wide as I can, to the point that I can feel that my eyes are bulging out of their sockets. But still, I see nothing.
I can only hear her voice.
« It hurts, » she whispers brokenly.
The lump in my throat is getting bigger, and I swallow hard. Her sobs break, and suddenly, I feel nauseated again.
I want to throw up. I'm so disgusted at myself. I want to scream, but again, nothing comes out from my throat.
I want to get out, but my arms and feet are attached to chains. They are controlling my body and my movement. I feel my hands roaming something, and I jerk in shock. This is not happening. I can't let this happen.
I won't let this happen. Again.
My fingers brush against something soft, and I know what it is. I can feel her skin. But I still can't see her. I can't smell her either. I can only hear and feel.
It's impossible that something I used to find comforting, something that made me feel at ease, now pains me to the point that it can actually kill me. Yes, now that I'm sane, it tortures me. Fucking tortures me.
This is fucking ridiculous.
Something warm engulfs my neck and shoulder. She's clinging unto me like I'm her life.
Yes, I'm the only one who can save her, but I chose not to. I beg to do it now. I beg to stop what I'm doing, but the chains are too powerful.
She can only cry in my arms now, her soft sobs so close to my ear, and I'm losing my mind because I can't even remember her voice. It always changes every time I have this nightmare. It's just a fraction.
« Stop it ! » I can feel the words in my throat as I shout at myself, but still, no sound leaves my throat.
Because I know that it happened. It already happened.
« Jake, » she says my name one last time, and I can feel her hot tears dampening my neck. I already know the next words that she'll whisper, because all of this has already played in my mind countless times, in every nightmare. « It hurts... »
Slowly, I open my eyes, and a tear slides down my cheek.
I'm staring at the ceiling of my bedroom. It's brighter than the last time I saw it before I went to bed, because the rays of the morning sun have come through the window.
I sit up on my bed, and my hand is shaking when I rake my fingers through my blonde hair. I'm panting, and my chest hurts like hell.
No matter how many times this happens, the pain won't lessen.
This is my curse, and I have to go through it as long as I live. This is my punishment.
It hurts. Just like she said.
I open the drawer of my nightstand and take out a small box. My throat tightens as I open it.
A small earring sits inside it. It's lost its pair, which might still be with its owner. It's silver-plated and comes in a form of a butterfly.
It's the only trace that was left of her.
Closing the box, I trudge toward my balcony. As the morning has come, I can already hear the sound of cars on the street as their passengers start their weekend.

The weather is good, and when I look up at the clear blue sky, I immediately regret it.
I snap my head back down, tearing my gaze away from it. Why can't I look at the sky ?
I hate the sky. It always worsens the pain inside my chest every time I think about what happened years ago.
A soft cry finally leaves my lips as I look at my own shaking hand that's gripping the small box.
I'm a monster.

Age 17
A hard slap lands on my cheek, making my skin stings as I collapse onto the floor. My glasses fall due to the blow.
I touch my cheek, wincing in pain. A tear forms at the corner of my eye, and I know that it's only there because of the physical pain.
I can't shed another tear if it's because of the pain in my heart – I can no longer feel it. My heart has been numb for a few months now.
« You foolish girl, » barks my stepfather, Tuck. His nostrils flare as he stares at me. « Is this all that you could get for me ? » He gestures the money in his hand, the cash I just gave him.
Anger builds up inside me. How could he say that to me ?
It's my money and not his. I've been working hard to earn it by juggling my studies and my part-time job.
Just like tonight, I've worked overtime at the local bookstore. The owner is kind enough to reward me daily with cash.
But that's all for nothing now as this loser in front of me immediately snatched it out of my hand. Well, at least not all, since I'm keeping the other half in my jeans pocket.
I can't let him steal my money again after he forcefully robbed my wallet last time. I don't even know how he uses my money. What for ?
All I know is that he's jobless and is trapped in the world of gambling now. I've seen those debt collectors in front of this house a few times.
I know that I'm tottering on dangerous ground by hiding my money from him, but I have no other choice.
I have to keep it so that I won't starve myself to death, right ?
« Come on, Lais, » he hisses. « You're lucky that I gave you a shelter to live in, that you can still stay under my fucking roof. And this is how you repay me ? » His voice is low and dangerous.
But if Mom hadn't married him three years ago, we wouldn't have moved here in New York. She wouldn't have sold our house back then, and we wouldn't have lived in hell with him.
My hatred toward him becomes even stronger.
Back then before they married, Tuck tricked Mom with sweet words and promises.
He'd put on a mask, saying that he loved her. That he would protect us and take care of us. And when he finally revealed his true self – egotistical, abusive, violent – it was too late for us.
He didn't love Mom. He only loved her body, and he used her to help him solve his problems instead, including his debts.
« Don't look at me like that, you useless brat, » he spats. « Don't look at me like that with those ugly eyes. Geez, you're so ugly, don't you know that ? »
My hand is shaking when I try to reach for my thick glasses on the floor.
I know that he hates me – I remind him of Mom. My eyes are exactly hers, and every time he looks at them, they remind him of all those anger, regrets and disappointment in Mom's eyes every time they fought.
Before I can even put my glasses on, he kicks my knee harshly, and I groan in pain. Furious, he stomps out of the foyer toward his room, leaving me alone, lying helplessly on the ground.
My jaw tightens as I stand back up on my feet. Feeling my blood boiling, I storm into my room, lock the door and throw myself on the bed.
I bury my face in my pillow and cry. I hate this. I've promised myself not to cry anymore because of him, but I just can't help it.
I miss Mom. I miss her so bad.
I wish she were still here with me, but she's not.
She's gone. Died in a car crash.
She left me three months ago, leaving me heart shattered. I should have warned her that she shouldn't be driving that morning when she had barely enough sleep from working overtime and dealing with Tuck's anger the whole night.
I used to send her off every morning, watching her get into her car every time she went for work. But that day, I didn't. That day, I overslept.
And that day, I lost her. I couldn't see her anymore. For the rest of my life.

My pillow is now soaking wet with my tears. I can't bear living with Tuck anymore.
I can't even count how many bruises he has created on my body.
But what am I going to do out there ? Where will I live ?
How am I going to afford a living ? I'm just a teenager who is still finishing high school.
How will such a little money I gain from my part-time job be able to help me own a shelter ?
I grip my pillow, my chest tightening as I remember that Mom had been working hard her entire life to save money for my future, including my college.
If only I knew where she kept it.
Tuck has been trying to find it too. He has used violence against me to make me speak, but how can I tell him when I don't even know about it either ?
I've made a vow to myself that when that day finally comes, when I find it, I will disappear from his sight. I'll be gone from here.


The morning sun comes through my bedroom window as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Just like any other day, I'm getting ready for school.
Most of my friends hate Monday, but I can't wait for it. School is the place where I can escape from Tuck and this house.
I glance at my wristwatch. The class won't start until two and a half hours later, but I can't wait that long. The earlier, the better.
A sigh leaves my lips as I put the final touch for my look. My glasses. The initial reason why I'm wearing it is to avoid Tuck's rage, to make the effect of these sky blue eyes less dramatic for him, but then it becomes a habit.
I don't know when it started, but my glasses and I have become inseparable.
With my bangs hanging low above my eyebrows, my unstylish brown hair falling on my shoulder, and these thick glasses, I look nothing less like a bookworm. I actually am, and that's why I chose to work part-time in a book store.
Please, Monday. Be good to me today.
I can't help but utter that pray silently in my heart, hoping to encounter something good today. I'm already fed up with my messed-up life.

I wait at the bus stop, holding the straps of my backpack. When it finally arrives, people start to hop in, and I follow them.
The bus is quite packed today, as usual. But since I come earlier, it's not as bad as it will be an hour later.
Making my way through the bus corridor, I find out that all the seats are already taken. I have no choice but to keep standing, holding onto the handle.
It's when I look outside the window that something catches my attention.
A familiar figure walks into this bus. I immediately recognize him because he attends the same school. And he's very popular.
Jake Spencer. The football team's captain. The guy that most of the girls in my high school drool over.
I've seen him plenty of times, most often at lunch break, during which he usually sits at the popular table with his football buddies and some girls from the cheer team.
It's not like I'm purposely looking for him, but his picture-perfect existence is just too eyecatching for my eyes to avoid.
Now, even as I watch him hopping into the bus from such a distance, I can see how his masculinity can intimidate other guys and how his messy blonde hair fits his dark blue eyes perfectly.
I quickly look away when the bus starts to move. Damn. I doubt that he recognizes me, so it will be awkward if he catches me gawking at him.
While I'm staring outside the bus window, I can't help but wonder why Jake Spencer is even taking this bus.
Isn't he like...super rich ?
Why didn't he bring his car to school as usual ? I've noticed it before that he has a shiny toy. I don't know about cars, but his is just as intimidating as the owner.
The sound of cellphone ringing echoes, and when I hear him pick it up, I can sense that he's standing not so far away from me even though my back is facing him.
« Shit. Coach is going to yell at me, isn't he ? » he groans, speaking on the phone. « My car is broken, dammit. I'll be there in no time, Matt. » With that said, he hangs up.
Oh. So, he's coming early for football practice. And there's a problem with his car.
It's funny how I could get my answer just like that. Like magic. It's not like I'm in a fiction book or Korean drama.
I sigh, involuntary wondering when I'll ever get my own car.
If I had one and Mom were still here, I would take her to various places. Fun places. A sad smile tugs at my lips as I think about that.
The ride to school continues with nothing unusual happening. Right. I'm sure of that, until I feel something weird is happening.
My heart beats twice as I feel a hand caressing my thigh. I shudder. I can also feel the heavy breath of the middle-aged man standing behind me.
Pervert.
Geez. Doesn't this shameful human being have anything else to do other than targeting young girls to molest ?
I start to hate myself for wearing this skirt today – I just want to start my Monday by wearing something pretty.
And it's not like I'm wearing a mini skirt. It's knee-length, and from the way it looks, I doubt that it can even arouse any of the guys in my high school.
A lot of other girls wear something way prettier and sexier.
Closing my eyes in frustration, I hold my breath as I feel the man's rough skin continues caressing my thigh. A gasp almost escapes from my mouth when his hand goes up higher under my skirt.
Quickly, I move away, but there's not much space for me to escape him, and he easily traps me again. Oh, God, has no other single soul in this bus noticed what's happening ?
No, they clearly haven't, have they ? All of them are too occupied in their morning routines.
The man suddenly grabs my ass fully with his hands, making me yelp. I suddenly decide to just scream for help, but before I can do so, I hear the man groaning in pain.
What ?