When No One's Watching - Chapter Two

Chapter 2

Wake up When Dreaming

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Charlie inquired in her thoughts, pressing the welts down already forming against her pale skin. Her stepfather had just returned from "work", which translated into "stripper bar". He was angry, again, and from this thought the same sequence replayed itself that had always taken place on weekdays. "What the fuck is wrong with you Charlie?" Would begin Drake, the man her mother married for money. His tall lean figure conflicting with the beer belly protruding from his work shirt, his messy brown hair spreading oil over his dark, hollow eyes. "Stop eating so damn much, you’re fatter than your lazy ass momma." At this point Charlie would be retreating to her bedroom before she said something she knew she would regret. "You won’t ever be good for anything except laying on your back." That’s when Charlie began to run for the safety of her bathroom. The one room she had that she could lock and they would not try and break in. Her anger came so quickly to her she had no choice but to hurt something, to throw, to slap, even to claw. But she could not do it with any object, for she would have to explain it to her "parents" later. There in her only alternative was to hurt herself. She would never cut herself, pain was not what she needed, it was causing pain that made all the stress go away. She had tried different techniques her high school knowledge had taught her, but none of them released her pent up anger like what she practiced at home. Charlie was not depressed, she was only surviving. She hated it when students or teachers asked her where she lived. She would always counter the question in her mind with, "I do not live, but survive as long as I can." But of course, she gave them what they really wanted to know. What else could she do but answer them with what they had wanted to hear. People never want to know the truth about something, only what they expect to hear before they ask the question. And there Charlie sat, her face in her hands, her tears burning her skin, reminding her of the red marks streaking down her face. "What am I going to do?" Charlie caressed her forehead, already a headache beginning to form. She had had this conversation with herself many times before. What if she ran away? To where would she run? What if she threatened to call child welfare? She would probably be sent off to another foster parent who might treat her worse. Charlie reached to the scar emerging under the hair growth just to the left corner of her forehead. It still ached even after the two weeks that had gone by since that day. She had never caused herself to bleed before. It was a surprise even to her. "Thank goodness mom never noticed it." She sighed. Then again, mom hadn’t really noticed a lot of things that happened with Charlie’s life, so why should Charlie worry that she would notice a questionable scar? She shook slightly, again having that feeling that had plagued her for those two weeks. Charlie raised her head and looked around the restroom, a thing she had grown quite used to. She always had a strange feeling that someone was watching her that she couldn’t see or didn’t notice, some strange premonition that something bad was happening or was going to happen. Charlie scoffed at her superstitions. "God Charlie, control that imagination." All the same, she still felt it, a chill that seemed like a presence. She was never one to believe in ghosts, even as a child in kindergarten she would smirk at the other children’s fear of dark attics and boogey men. She had known then that these things were not real, for they were only in dreams, and she more than anyone knew that HER dreams would not come true. She shook off the feeling of dread and attempted to stop her thoughts of ghosts or presences with a recollection of the school day. Again Mr. Brooks had commented on her research paper’s lack of description. He had asked her once again to participate with him after school in a sort of tutorials. Charlie had respectfully declined, never having liked the man anyways. He reminded her of a character in a novel. That unsuspected man who seemed so nice with his beady eyes, too small suits, short, stubby legs, and balding head that always seemed to be the mastermind in the end. Charlie smiled, "He is only a teacher." She had bad impressions of all of them, this man was no different. Charlie stopped her thoughts, her hands shaking she reached for the doorknob knowing that she still had paperwork to get done for Chemistry. Her breathing became short and out of time, becoming gasps instead of inhaling and exhaling correctly. "I shouldn’t be so afraid of this. It’s only a few steps to the bedroom." She had made it to the back of the house before he saw her every night for the last two weeks. It was only luck that had saved her since then. He knew her schedule, going to the restroom to cry and then retreating to bed. He would always catch her somehow and make her even more upset than what she had been when she had first began to cry. Under the pressure of her hand, the door opened slightly, revealing a dark hall leading towards her room and his. Charlie pulled on her socks, thinking that the cloth would muffle the sound of her tiptoeing, for hopefully he was already within his bedroom and asleep. She began her tread, left, right, left, right, pause at the first creak and begin again. She hated these walks along the hall; always feeling that someone was walking just behind her, waiting to push her over at the last minute and awaken the beast with the noise she made falling. Such a thing never happened, but she couldn’t help picturing it when the thought of ghosts kept popping into her head. She reached out her hand for the knob of her bedroom door, thankful that it was one of the only ones that didn’t creak in the house. Her eyes closed tight, her teeth pinching her bottom lip in; she silently crept into the room and shut the door with a slight click. She backed against the wall, slowly sliding down to a sitting position, sighing and finally breathing evenly. "How much longer can you keep this up?" She pleaded with herself, tears forming once again within the welts of her eyes. "How long will it be before he truly gets carried away and really hurts you?" She didn’t like being scared; it was one of the many things she hated herself for. She knew that what happened in this house, at this point in her life would control her until the day she died. Something else useful she had learned in her health class. But what could she do? She was alone in this and knew it; no one would take care of her for they would first want to take care of themselves. Charlie was tired of taking care of herself, she hated that she was the only one that cared when she didn’t eat. She dreaded when she saw other kids with their parents at awards assemblies and listened to them ask where hers were. What could she say to that? "Oh, you mean the people I live with? They’re my parents? Oh my god, that is a surprise to you and me both." Her tears welling once more, she smiled as best she could, lightening her own mood, the one she had created for herself. She slowly pushed herself up, rubbing at her knees having been sitting on them all the while. "Damn that chemistry class." She muttered. Why could Mrs. May not have the same philosophy of teaching as Ms. B? ‘Homework kills the brain cells you should use for school work.’ And of course every student learning Spanish loved her for it. School had become harder the last few years of her life, being that she was now a junior, and high school teachers did not understand the fact that she couldn’t worry about schoolwork when she hadn’t had anything to eat in weeks. Charlie believed that her priorities were straight, but not Mr. Brooks, another thing that he had wanted to discuss over tutorials. He had stated it as, "I want to pry open your mind and figure out what you really value in life." Charlie sat atop her bed; pulling out the extra credit work he had allowed her to make up for failing grades. "He should definitely leave pep talks to the counselor, then again, she doesn’t do such a swell job either." Charlie sighed, realizing she still wore her casual wear sweater and blue jeans. She replaced the book on her bed and made her way to the dresser. Even after reaching the safety of her bedroom she tiptoed, she could not take the chance of Drake hearing her now. Charlie subtly opened the dresser and pulled out her sleepwear. A green tank top and black shorts. She had nothing else but that scrap clothing. She would not risk wearing some of her nicer clothes to bed, for she was afraid she would run out of things to wear in public when the time came. Still facing her dresser, having the strange feeling of eyes upon her back, she removed her clothes as quickly as she could without making enough noise to scare her sense of security. Even faster than that she pulled her sleepwear on. She would not take a chance of Drake waking up and walking in on her changing, another thing she feared about this life she supposedly "lived". Now satisfied that she was not being spied upon, she returned to her place on the bed, going once again over a line she must have read a hundred times out of her English book. She could not shake the feeling that someone was there, watching her silently like a sniper. And if she wasn’t as crazy as she already thought she was, she believed she heard breathing. Charlie wanted to slap herself, but did not for risk of noise. She knew she was getting ever more paranoid, that being the result of her "childhood trauma" still progressing. She shook the feeling off once again, dismissing it as another figment of her imagination. "If I have such a big imagination, why can’t I use it for these dumb ass English papers?" She tapped her fingers along the binding of the book, looking at the words but not seeing them. "Will I make it out of here?" How ironic she had asked herself that question when it was the very line she could not seem to comprehend from the open pages of her textbook. Charlie’s eyes began to widen, her skin began to tingle, and her hands stiffened as what felt like fingertips brushed the lining of her shoulder very slightly. She turned quickly, hoping to grasp at anything that might tell her that she wasn’t driving herself into an insanely paranoid state of mind. It couldn’t be just a figment anymore. She had felt something, though her eyes may not have seen it, her skin had sure as hell felt it. Whatever it was it was driving her into panic. Her mind reeling with thoughts, she could not turn it back to her work, if she was ever working at all. Charlie wished not to go to sleep, for fear of what awaited her in the dark. She now remembered all those times she scoffed at children’s fear of ghosts. Now how she regretted it, more than how she regretted not having the cake that boy had offered her at lunch. She did not know what to do, should she pray? Ask for forgiveness? Maybe it was possibly a sign from god telling her to wake the hell up and stop sinning like a goddamn atheist. Or maybe it was even just a dream. "Of course," Charlie thought, "It’s only a part of that big imagination of yours Charlie. You’re only dreaming this shit up." Still afraid to sleep nonetheless, Charlie silently pushed the books from her bed, reached to turn off the overhead light, and covered her body until it reached to her neck, something she hadn’t done since she was in Elementary school. "You’ll wake up." She chided, knowing that more than likely there was nothing to wake up from. Or did she mean that she wanted to survive the night? Of course SHE did not even know the answer to these questions. Maybe if she did wake up everything would be all right. Someone would care about her and want to take care of her, and she would begin living instead of just surviving. "Ha…" she replied to her own wish, "Keep dreaming babe."