“NO!” Jean screamed without thinking at all, and she could tell she surprised Michael with how fast he got to his feet and rounded the table to come stand in front of her.
“Have you gone mad?” He asked, and it wasn’t from a place of care.
Jean shook her head violently.
“We… I can’t… I can’t go back there.” Michael let out a scoff as though she was nothing more than a little girl throwing a tantrum.
“I understand that you’ve run away from home for a few years, but we’ll go whether you like it or not.” Jean continued the violent shaking of her head.
“You don’t understand.
Look, I… I’ll do anything you want, anything at all, just don’t take me back there, please.” She said, tears falling from her eyes.
“One more thing you’ll learn as my wife is that I am an organized man, a determined one.
Once I’ve set my sights on something, I make it my sole purpose to see it through.
We’ll go see your guardians, and that is all we’ll discuss on this topic.” “Please,” Jean whispered, the tears flowing more freely, but Michael was already making his way back to his desk, completely ignoring her.
Jean felt her heart jump to her throat when the realization hit her that she was going to go back to the place she’d grown up, the prison she had escaped.
She would be going back to her aunt Margaret and her husband, Pete Sanders.
Jean felt like throwing up.
She didn’t want to go back there.
She could not.
* * * * * Jean did not remember falling asleep, but she had a dream.
It wasn’t a dream, Jean realized; it was a memory.
She had been just fifteen at the time and had just returned from school to find that her aunt had left a note saying she was visiting a friend in the city and would be back by night.
Jean had helped herself to the remaining lasagna and was halfway into her homework in the kitchen when she heard the crashing of the front door.
She did not bother to go look, because she knew it was none other than Pete.
Everybody around called him Drunk Pete, because he was always drunk.
He had no job and spent all his time gambling and drinking and living off her father’s money.
More often than not, Jean found herself wondering how sweet, gentle, and intelligent Aunt Margaret had ended up marrying a loser like Pete, but she had never been brave enough to ask.
“Where’s my fucking wife?” Pete slurred as he came stumbling into the kitchen, bottle of beer in his right hand.
“Went to the city, said she was meeting a friend and would be back later,” Jean responded without taking her eyes off her homework.
He smashed the bottle in his hand on the ground and let out a sharp cry when he stepped on a broken glass.
“That stupid bitch, I’ll kill her.” Pete cursed under his breath.
“I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill her.” Jean, pleased that he had injured himself, smiled as she moved to fetch a rag to pick up the glass.
She crouched and was almost done when she felt Pete’s hand come up to her ass.
Jean had shot up to her feet as though she’d been hit by lightning.
She turned to glare at a drunk Pete who was standing too close to her.
He reeked of alcohol, and the smell made Jean dizzy.
With her back pinned to the counter, Jean had nowhere to go.
“Come now, I seen the way you look at me, wearing those make up and walking around the house with them short skirts.
Well, your aunt ain’t here now,” Pete said, and then he was groping her breasts.
Jean was scared to death, and she had managed to land a slap across Pete’s face just as he was about to unbutton her denim skirt.
Thankfully, the lust in Pete’s eyes was replaced by anger, and that day he had beaten her to within an inch of her life.
Aunt Margaret returned that night to find her bloodied, beaten, and unconscious, and had taken care of her.
That wasn’t the last time such a thing would happen, and every time it did, all Aunt Margaret could do was weep as she administered treatment, whispering to Jean how sorry she was that she could not do anything.
* * * * * When Jeaned opened her eyes, she could tell she was in a car, and that was thanks to the powerful roaring of the engine.
Her eyes, slow to adjust to her surroundings, could not see much from the window her head rested on.
“Good, you’re awake.
I thought you’d died.” She heard Michael’s voice from her left, and when she raised her head to sit upright, her eyes adjusted just in time to read the sign board they just drove past.
Welcome to Fredericksburg, Virginia.
“We’re going to see your guardians, as I told you we will.
We’ve been on the road for about five hours, so you were out for seven hours if you care to know.” Michael rambled on, but Jean could not hear him.
The only thing she could hear was the pumping of blood in her ears and the racing of her heart.
He’ll kill me.