Read Online Aftermath by Rachel Trautmiller - Free Book Online
Authors: Rachel Trautmiller
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move. Couldn’t have if she tried, even though every muscle vibrated with the strain.
She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t like Robbie and Amanda. Couldn’t face danger and spit in its face.
A siren split the air. Tall man gripped the fence as he turned toward the sound. Bright red rimmed his fingernails. All except one. His pinky finger was missing a nail, the area a pink piece of flesh.
The chain links rattled as he withdrew his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
The sound of retreating shoes echoed in the ravine. Rivaled by sirens. Her fingers scraped down the wall as she tried to find purchase.
CHAPTER SIX
Journal Entry #82
Age: 13
THIS JOURNAL WAS given to me at a young age.
The proof lies in my indiscernible chicken scratch and the basic compilation of details held in those early pages. I don’t remember who gave me the hard-covered book with hundreds of pages at my disposal.
It’s not important, really.
Maybe someone had no idea what to get me that year for Christmas, knew I was of writing age and picked this baby up last minute.
In any event, this journal was most likely given in an attempt to provide a place for storage of secret thoughts. A place I am supposed to be myself without fear of judgment. I guess I never had that, because when I look back at the tattered pages filled with scribbles slowly growing into loopy swirls with boys’ names and friendships changed, I see half-truths. Details best left under the rug and standard worries for a standard seeming girl.
When you read this—because you will; no journal is ever safe—I wonder what you will think of me. Maybe you will see a normal teen on the cusp of womanhood, but lacking the knowledge it requires to actually be a woman.
Thirteen isn’t a brilliant age. What naivety that remains is product of careful choices or good parenting and maybe a combination of both. And, perhaps, it is none of those things, but luck. Regardless, I think I know enough to survive, if needed.
I have survived this far.
___
WHEN ROBINSON FOUND the men responsible for this, they were going to wish all sorts of things. Maybe even pray for a swift arrest and the safety being behind bars would assimilate.
The fear etched on his niece’s face would likely never be rivaled. Or erased. And the only thing that had stopped him from chasing after men who were long gone was the way Ariana clung to Amanda.
Scratches ran down the length of her arms. A large gash was visible on her cheek. Her clothes were full of mud and she’d lost her yellow backpack somewhere.
She wouldn’t even let them buckle her in a rear seat on the way to the hospital. Hung on as if life depended on it, barely blinking.
So, Amanda had strapped them both in the back seat, Ariana in her lap. Whispered incoherent words as he managed to drive them to the hospital without getting into a wreck.
Got them settled in the ER, where they took an X-Ray of her left arm. The one he’d not noticed was hanging funny. Because he’d been busy concentrating on her uneven breathing.
Gone was the giggling and non-stop talk. In its place hung a blank stare and pale skin.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to anyone. Ever. Certainly not his niece.
“She has a cut on her face. They said it would need a few stitches.” Robinson swallowed back a heavy dose of bile. Stepped aside to let his sister precede him into the ER.
Lilly didn’t say anything.
Nothing new, there.
She pressed her lips together and scanned the crowd of people in the waiting room. Readjusted the colorful scarf that hid a scar, courtesy of a car accident, which had almost taken her life. The cloth looked more like a headband and held back jet-black hair. It matched her Capri pants and flowing shirt.
“Ariana was pretty shaken up. She’s going to need you.”
As if he’d told her she’d be manning a rocket to Mars, a hint of panic bloomed in her eyes. She tucked her bottom lip inward.
Did she understand
She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t like Robbie and Amanda. Couldn’t face danger and spit in its face.
A siren split the air. Tall man gripped the fence as he turned toward the sound. Bright red rimmed his fingernails. All except one. His pinky finger was missing a nail, the area a pink piece of flesh.
The chain links rattled as he withdrew his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
The sound of retreating shoes echoed in the ravine. Rivaled by sirens. Her fingers scraped down the wall as she tried to find purchase.
CHAPTER SIX
Journal Entry #82
Age: 13
THIS JOURNAL WAS given to me at a young age.
The proof lies in my indiscernible chicken scratch and the basic compilation of details held in those early pages. I don’t remember who gave me the hard-covered book with hundreds of pages at my disposal.
It’s not important, really.
Maybe someone had no idea what to get me that year for Christmas, knew I was of writing age and picked this baby up last minute.
In any event, this journal was most likely given in an attempt to provide a place for storage of secret thoughts. A place I am supposed to be myself without fear of judgment. I guess I never had that, because when I look back at the tattered pages filled with scribbles slowly growing into loopy swirls with boys’ names and friendships changed, I see half-truths. Details best left under the rug and standard worries for a standard seeming girl.
When you read this—because you will; no journal is ever safe—I wonder what you will think of me. Maybe you will see a normal teen on the cusp of womanhood, but lacking the knowledge it requires to actually be a woman.
Thirteen isn’t a brilliant age. What naivety that remains is product of careful choices or good parenting and maybe a combination of both. And, perhaps, it is none of those things, but luck. Regardless, I think I know enough to survive, if needed.
I have survived this far.
___
WHEN ROBINSON FOUND the men responsible for this, they were going to wish all sorts of things. Maybe even pray for a swift arrest and the safety being behind bars would assimilate.
The fear etched on his niece’s face would likely never be rivaled. Or erased. And the only thing that had stopped him from chasing after men who were long gone was the way Ariana clung to Amanda.
Scratches ran down the length of her arms. A large gash was visible on her cheek. Her clothes were full of mud and she’d lost her yellow backpack somewhere.
She wouldn’t even let them buckle her in a rear seat on the way to the hospital. Hung on as if life depended on it, barely blinking.
So, Amanda had strapped them both in the back seat, Ariana in her lap. Whispered incoherent words as he managed to drive them to the hospital without getting into a wreck.
Got them settled in the ER, where they took an X-Ray of her left arm. The one he’d not noticed was hanging funny. Because he’d been busy concentrating on her uneven breathing.
Gone was the giggling and non-stop talk. In its place hung a blank stare and pale skin.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to anyone. Ever. Certainly not his niece.
“She has a cut on her face. They said it would need a few stitches.” Robinson swallowed back a heavy dose of bile. Stepped aside to let his sister precede him into the ER.
Lilly didn’t say anything.
Nothing new, there.
She pressed her lips together and scanned the crowd of people in the waiting room. Readjusted the colorful scarf that hid a scar, courtesy of a car accident, which had almost taken her life. The cloth looked more like a headband and held back jet-black hair. It matched her Capri pants and flowing shirt.
“Ariana was pretty shaken up. She’s going to need you.”
As if he’d told her she’d be manning a rocket to Mars, a hint of panic bloomed in her eyes. She tucked her bottom lip inward.
Did she understand
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