Exposure Read online

  Exposure © 2018 by Kolleen Fraser

  Cover © 2017 RMGraphX

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Exposure is a work of fiction.

  All names, characters and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Editing: Amanda L. Pederick

  Formatting: RMGraphX

  Cover Design: RMGraphX

  ISBN (Paperback Edition): 978-1979208253

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ALSO BY KOLLEEN FRASER

  DEMIGODS DUET

  Phoenyx Rising

  Titan Elite

  SHORT STORY

  Crazy

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue...

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  To my true love... you light up my darkest nights.

  Chapter One

  I stare at the phone booth in front of me, with its dirty, graffi tied walls and foul stench. I could call. No one is watching as I nervously glance left to right, expecting someone to stop me. No one ever watches me. The helpline number I hastily wrote on my hand during study hall burns with possibility. I wonder what would happen if I called? Would the police come crashing through the door like knights in shining armor, ready to save the poor damsel? Or would they send a caseworker to look down on us and tear me and my brother apart?

  I used to wonder why kids were taken away from their families. My family is a hot mess of dysfunction, but I always thought, if I kept my head down I would be okay.

  But standing here now, a tattered sundress weighing heavily in my backpack, I understand why kids need protection, why I have every reason to call for help. But in my experience, no one cares if a child is broken. I walk past the phone booth, leaving any hopes of a new life behind me as I reluctantly trudge home.

  I have a roof over my head and manage to eat at least one meal a day; I am surviving just fine. I never used to daydream about running away; now, I choke back tears at the very thought of stepping foot in our apartment. I can’t go home. I collapse against the side of a building in the throes of another panic attack. They’ve been happening a lot lately. Gasping like a fish out of water, I reach for the one thing that will make it all stop. Ripping the pin off my bag— the “No Means No” written in bold mocking me—I open it and drag the sharp metal across my forearm, once, then again. I watch as the two angry red lines dot with blood. As the world slows and my heart beats loudly in my ears, I let out a calming breath, and my whole body relaxes against the building. A group of teens passing stare at me in disgust, calling me a freak. They aren’t wrong.

  I don’t know when cutting became my release. I like the way it makes me feel. In control; it calms me in a way nothing else can.

  I could stay with friends, if I had any, to avoid going home. But even if I wasn’t a social outcast, I’d still have to go home sometime.

  I’ve stopped trying to fit in at school. Mostly because I prefer to be invisible. And then there is the fact that I don’t have a cell phone, a car, a promising future or parents who give a shit at home.

  After spending a few nights sleeping in phone booths and bathroom stalls, you’d think someone would have come looking for me. The truth is, no one notices when I reluctantly drag myself back through the door.

  I find the apartment exactly as I left it: beer cans on the floor, and dirty dishes stacked and rotting in the sink. Home sweet home. Puke-yellow shag carpeting has seen better decades, and the green appliances have sat unused and filthy since we moved in a few years ago. The couch— ripped to within an inch of its life—smells of piss and puke. This apartment hasn’t been updated since the seventies, I guarantee it. It’s filthy and I don’t mean the dust bunnies and moldy dishes.

  I can't seem to see past these four dirty walls. I used to daydream about escaping to some wonderful existence, now I don’t bother trying to grab at something that will always be out of reach. Outside these filthy walls is a filthy apartment building, surrounded by a filthy neighborhood.

  There’s no end to it.

  A wave of nausea runs over me as I stand in the doorway. I should have called the help line. Sure, they’d take me away from this hell but then they’d put me in foster care, and I can’t leave my older brother, Matty.

  We survived our childhood by having each other’s backs. He’s stood in front of me and taken a beating more times than I can remember.

  My mother, who demands we call her Erica, has an attraction to a certain kind of man. If my father was anything like the parade of angry losers that she hooks up with, I’m happy I never met him. Ron is the worst one so far.

  Whenever he’s in the apartment, I walk on eggshells, trying to be invisible, to not wake up his dark side or draw his eyes to me. Erica gets mad as a snake when she catches him watching me and usually it is just a quick slap across the face.

  That, I can take.

  The last time it happened, she beat me unconscious, screaming something about whoring myself in front of him. I try to avoid the apartment when the two of them are here, especially if they’re drinking or high, which is pretty much all the time.

  I thought I was home alone that day—the one when he walked in on me in the bathroom. I was admiring how pretty the yellow dress was; I’d stolen it out of the lost and found box at school. Turning side to side, like I was six, not sixteen, I watched the dress swirl around me. I’d never felt so beautiful.

  The moment his predatory gaze caught mine in the mirror’s reflection, I knew he wasn’t going to let me walk away.

  ***

  Today the walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I don’t want to be here, but there’s nowhere else to go. Erica doesn't usually wake up before noon, so I have a few hours before she’s conscious. As a child, I remember curling myself behind her still body. That was as motherly as Erica Young ever got. A poor, unloved child clinging to her comatose mother until her heart stopped aching with loneliness. Now she rarely speaks to me. If I try to talk to her, she snaps at me, asking where Matthew is.

  Someday I’ll see the world outside this shitty apartment. Dip my toes into the ocean's clear blue water, rinsing the filth imbedded in my soul. The closest thing I’ve got to a savior is my brother, Matty. He watches out for me, and I watch out for him, as much as he’ll let me; he’s so protective of me.

  I step over another discarded beer bottle on my way to my bedroom. From the hall, I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror and flinch. How can I appear the same on the outside, when I feel completely different inside? My body has healed but nothing will change the ugliness that has now tainted me.

  All because of a dress as bright as the sun. When I saw it in the lost and found at school, I couldn’t stop myself from taking it. It made me feel carefree. It wasn’t dirty or s
tained; it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

  I’m posing in front of the sink, admiring myself in the mirror when I see the reflection of him standing there, watching me.

  “I'm all done,” I say as I rush past him, but his dry, calloused fingers reach out, wrapping around my arm.

  “Let me look at you. You’re such a pretty little thing.”

  I back away from him until I hit the sink. I turn around to avoid his eyes but see them in the mirror. He presses himself into my back, making me cringe away from his hardness.

  “You like that, don't you, baby girl?” His breath stinks of cigarettes and whisky.

  A whimper escapes me. “Don’t touch me!” Anger raging through me, I slam my elbow back, trying to hit him, but I’m not strong enough. I resort to begging him to let me go.

  “Shut up. You asked for this, you want it.” His hand squeezing my throat turns my pleas into hoarse choking. My lungs feel like they’re going to burst. I claw at his arm and beg—him, God, anyone—please don't let this happen.

  I fight him and scream for help, but nothing stops his hand from slipping under my dress, touching me in ways that will scar me forever. My eyes stay locked on the poor girl in the mirror, watching the tears stream from her scared eyes onto her attacker’s choking hand. I hate her. I love her. I wish I knew how to save her.

  Mother comes barreling in the room, screaming like a banshee, arms flailing madly. His assault stops abruptly as he takes a beating from Erica. Relief rushes through me at the thought of what could have happened.

  My relief is stunted as pain erupts across my scalp. Erica drags me by the hair out of the bathroom; I don’t see where Ron ran off to. I hold onto her hand, trying in vain to lessen the pull on my scalp.

  “You little slut, I knew it was only a matter of time before this happened,” she curses, tossing me to the floor.

  “I... I didn't do anything. He... he hurt me.” I barely choke out the horrible words over the sobs coming out of me. She stands silent, just staring at me. Her eyes are glossed over, but the glare is piercing. Her slap has such force I'm shaken, my legs give out and I crumple to the floor.

  “You little whore, you think you're so grown up you can take my man? I’m done with both of you. You have held me back my whole life, ruined every good thing I ever had,” she screams at me before storming into her room. She comes out with a bag over her shoulder. “I should have aborted you when I had the chance, you’re both useless weights dragging me down. Well, not anymore. I’m gone.” She walks out, the door slamming behind her. She can’t mean it. She’s just mad, she’ll be back. I curl into a ball, cradling my burning cheek. My new summer dress is now ripped and stained with blood.

  The dress I still carry in my backpack.

  The bruises are still prominent on my arm. His fingers dug so deep I thought I would bleed. The sounds of that day still echo through this small, dingy room. I shake my head, trying to erase the memory.

  Placing my bag on my bed, I glance across the room at Matty’s empty bed. Sharing a bedroom with my brother would be awkward if he were ever here. He avoids this place as much as I do, but I appreciate the lock he installed on our bedroom door for my protection. I can’t bear the thought of telling him what happened. I can still feel where Ron put his hands on me. His unwanted touch has changed me from the innocent girl I was just a week ago. Matty’ll blame himself for leaving me unprotected, I know it. Or worse, he’ll blame me, like Erica did. I wonder if she would ever really leave us?

  I carry myself on auto-pilot to my room, blindly locating my beloved pins off my bag. Sitting on the floor, I drag the pin slowly across my skin, leaving a satisfying pink line trailing across my forearm. Right next to the others but not as deep this time; a ladder of angry lines all at different stages of healing. Proof of my weakness, proof of what I do to survive, the high price of my sanity. I should press a little harder, find something sharper and end it all. I wouldn’t have to face Ron when he and Erica come back; if they come back. Droplets of blood decorate the thin line sporadically. I crave this release like a drug.

  I’ve never tried to hide my cutting. I’m not suffering in silence; I’m screaming at the top of my lungs for someone to see me. To see the marks and take me away from this place, make me whole. I'm sure people see the bruises, scars, and cuts marring my too-skinny frame, my messy brown hair rarely washed, and sad dark eyes. I suppose I might be considered pretty if I put a little effort in, wash my hair, and wear clean clothes, but being beautiful seems like a curse; it draws unwanted attention. I want to be invisible. I never want a man to look at me and think he can touch me without permission. I want to feel safe, to be stronger than I am.

  Honestly, I don't know what I would say if someone offered help. In this moment, when my whole body hums and relaxes with this new pain, they could offer refuge, but I would choose my pain over their solutions. This is the only way I feel alive. If I can control my pain, they can’t control me.

  The front door slamming shut wakes me and I cringe at who it could be. Steps approach and I'm lifted off the ground by familiar arms. Matty has hold of me. “What happened, Lex?” he asks as he lays me on my bed and brushes my hair away from the injured side of my face.

  “I just wanted it to stop. I thought she would make him leave so he wouldn’t hurt me again. She didn't believe me... she called me a whore, Matty.” I give in to the uncontrollable sobs. My brother’s warm, comforting arms envelop me; this is the only safe place in my whole world.

  “What are you talking about? Where have you been, Alexa? Who hurt you?” he asks as I cling to him, too terrified to speak.

  “I couldn’t stay here, Matty. He cornered me in the bathroom, he... touched me,” I whisper, afraid he too will hate me for it.

  His body goes rigid and he pulls away from me. “What? I’ll fucking kill him!” Tortured eyes on mine, he searches for answers.

  “I'm so sorry, Matty. I begged him to stop, I tried to fight, but I couldn't. Then Mom came home, and she made him stop, but she was so mad. I think she left us, I'm so sorry.” I grab at his shirt as he gets up and starts pacing.

  “Fuck! I hate this fucking place!” he screams to the universe.

  I walk over to him, begging, “I'm sorry, please don't be mad at me!”

  He stops pacing and takes me in his arms and squeezes me so tight. “You did nothing wrong, Lexi.” He pulls back and meets my eyes. “You hear me? None of this is your fault. I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you.” Tears form in his eyes as he hugs me again. “She’s not going anywhere, Lex. I swear to you, I’ll kill them both if she lets him back in the door.” I hold him close; I can never lose him. He’s the only good thing I have left in the whole miserable world.

  Chapter Two

  Erica isn't home when I get home from school, which means she’s probably left us for good. Her bed is empty. I ignore the dread building in the pit of my stomach and check her closet and dresser. Both empty; she took everything. I run from her room through the house, searching for anything that belongs to her. It’s all gone. She’s really left us this time. My whole world is crumbling to dust. I slip to the ground, blankly staring at the front door. Everything keeps piling up on me—the hatred, the anger—the whole world has fi nally succeeded at breaking me. I’ve been through a lot in my life and come out kicking, but this is too much. What are we going to do?

  This life is too raw, too painful. Just breathing in and out is too hard. Fuck this life, fuck this white trash black hole of an existence I was handed. I start screaming. Smashing everything that will break. Fuck it all.

  Matty comes home late at night. I haven’t moved; I haven’t eaten—not that the barren cupboards have food anyway. He has blood on his shirt; he’s been fighting again. I overheard some neighborhood kids saying he fights for money. His eyes are dark and filled with pain when they land on me.

  “What the fuck happened here? Where’s Erica?” he asks, surveying the carnage.

  “She c
ame and took all her stuff while I was at school. She left. I don’t think she's coming back this time.” The words make it all too real and I collapse and cry into my hands. He disappears into her room, I hear him cursing as he discovers her things gone. I just sit here, staring off, completely lost. What will happen to us now?

  “She picked him over us and it’s my fault. I’m sorry,” I sob as he walks back to me.

  “Stop crying. Don’t you shed one tear for either of those lowlifes.”

  “She might come back.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Lex. She isn’t coming back. We have to leave.”

  “Leave? Where?”

  “She’s a couple months behind in rent and we can’t pay. So, we’ve got to get out of here before they come collecting. They’ll bring CPS with them and separate us, we’ll end up in foster care.”

  “You don’t know that, maybe they won’t separate us.”

  “Of course, they will. But I’m almost eighteen, I can take care of us.”

  A shiver runs through my body. I try to lock my fear away, to see this as a blessing. That she’ll never hurt me again.

  We pack our meager belongings and run through the back streets in the shadows away from the apartment. This is it, we’re on our own now. The full moon lights up the desert with a silvery glow. Everything is happening so fast.

  “Where are we supposed go, Matty?” Fresh tears stream down my cold cheeks. “What are we going to do for money?” I finally ask. “How long can we keep running? We are just kids, where will we live?”

  “Jesus, enough questions. I'm sorry, Lex. But this is the only way we can stay together.”

  I start shaking my head, pleading with him. “Please, Matty, maybe it won’t be so bad if we just go home,” I croak, lip quivering, fists clutching his coat.

  His words come hard and with an edge. “There’s no home to go back to. Do you want to never see me again? You want to end up in some foster home that’ll be just like living with Mom? I can take care of us better than she ever could.” His strong voice penetrates to my bones. My eyes fill with tears.