Free Coming Back by Emma South Page A

Christie trembled as she struggled for a moment to keep it all together.  “ Less than I used to be.  I don’t want to see all that pity, all that… everything.  I don’t know where I fit in anymore, I don’t know who I am anymore.”
    “Hey, Christie.  Look at me.”  I waited until she did so.  “I remember you.  I know who you are.  Believe it, OK?”
    Christie didn’t answer, instead absentmindedly stealing my turn to throw for King.  I watched him go and felt, as much as saw out of the corner of my eye, her studying my face, maybe looking for some sign that I was just saying what she might want to hear.
    King brought the ball halfway back and lay down, panting.  It seemed that enough exercise had been had.  Christie turned towards the sun, low in the sky but not turning the blue to red and gold just yet, and closed her eyes.  I watched her as a puff of wind rustled her hair and listened as it did the same to the leaves in the trees on all sides.
    Without opening her eyes, she took a breath so deep she must have been close to bursting and held it for a few seconds.  When she let the air out, it looked like she was beginning to let something else go with it, some poisonous memory, some pain.  Something.
    After a while she looked at me again.
    “Thanks for listening,” she said quietly, as if she was almost embarrassed.  “Thanks for bringing me here.  It’s beautiful.”
    I didn’t answer, but I thought this field, this forest, this world was a lot more beautiful with her in it.

Chap ter 13
    November 2012 (Before)
    Christie
    Something was wrong.  That was an understatement, everything was wrong, but in the next room over he sounded like he was ready to start World War Three.  If that was the case, I bet I knew who the first casualty would be.
    Up till now he’d always been so calm and self-assured, but whoever he was screaming at on the phone in the other room had found a way under his skin.  This might be the day he forgot about his policy of keeping the beatings to open-palmed slaps.  Closed fists did too much lasting damage, and he didn’t want to lower my value, he said.
    It didn’t sound like the man in the next room cared much about that though.  This, at long last, might be the day I died.  It might finally be over.  Part of me fought against the vague sense of relief that idea brought, mustering up all the hate it could for fuel and directing it at him .  The rest of me cowered in terror, more so every time the sound of his boots got close to the door before stomping off again.
    My heart almost stopped when the shouting did, only to be jolted back into a panicked beat when, with one last unintelligible scream of rage, I heard his cell phone smash into a million pieces against the door.  I backed into the corner on the opposite side of the room, pressing myself against the walls and wishing I could just melt into them as I heard the locks being undone, one by one.
    There was nowhere to hide.  My room had a bed, an exercise bike, and a treadmill, the bare minimum to keep me alive and healthy, to make sure I was in good shape to command the highest price.  That’s all I was to him.  Stock.
    He saw me straight away and stalked to the center of the room, looking like a wild animal.  My reaction was visceral, I was almost overwhelmed with mind-numbing terror.  The devil walked the earth, and he was right here.  Nobody was coming to help me.
    “Come here .” He pointed at the ground right in front of him.
    My jaw muscles cramped my mouth closed so tight I thought my teeth might start to crack apart, my lips pulled back in a grimace of revulsion, fear, and that spark of hatred.  I shook my head silently as the tears blurred my vision and pushed myself into the corner even harder.
    “Come.  The fuck.  Here.   You uppity bitch.”
    I trembled against the walls, fighting against that dangerous fire in me that wanted to charge him and fight it out, the consequences be