Date: Fri, 01 Mar 2002 17:58:14 -0500 From: Tom Cup Subject: Jenny Chapter 6 - Lesbian/Young Friends Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternality sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jenny By Tom Cup Chapter 6 The Dark Place It's strange to think that I begged to be beat. Mom came in and nailed my window shut. She then put thick black curtains over them. With the door to the hall closed, even when it was light outside, I could see nothing. She didn't speak to me. I tried to tell her I was sorry. I told her I'd do anything she said. She never answered. The only time I saw her was when the door opened for lunch or dinner, and for my two bathroom breaks. I got no breakfast. At first I was defiant. When I realized that she was making me a prisoner in the dark, silent, dungeon of my room, I promised myself that I wouldn't break. I ate what she gave me and tried to wait her out. As time went by, I began to long for her company, long for her voice, long for anything. It became too painful to be so alone. I cried and screamed for Mom to please say something, to beat me for being bad. Mom smiled but remained silent. I received no lunch for two days for the outburst. I fell silent after that. I waited for Mom to tell me what to do. I waited for the day of my release. "Get up," Mom said. My body was sore from the long hours of bondage. My mind was in shock. Mom untied my feet. Hands still tied, I was led to the bathroom. Mom held a wooden handle in her hand. I couldn't raise my head. Tears began flowing from my eyes. My hands were freed. "Strip." I did as I was told. Mom allowed me to bathe for the first time since my return home. I wept as I rinsed the grunge away. I simply couldn't bear being back in the dark. Mom stood watching as I bathed, tapping the stick in her hand. My shower finished, I dried myself and waited with pleading eyes to be told what to do next. When Mom told me to hold out my hands, so they could be retied, I fell to my knees, clung to her and wept bitterly. "Please Mommy, please. No," I cried, "I'll be good Mommy please. I'm so alone. Please don't make me go back in there. Please Mommy, please." I wept at Mom's feet, clinging to them. When had the feel of the bathroom floor and Mom's feet become a comfort to me, an anchor against the storm? Mom had beaten me into submission many times. I was prepared for that. Maybe she knew it. Maybe she was just being inventively cruel. It didn't matter because it worked. I was hers. She knelt beside me and held me. I clung to her begging her to forgive me. She shushed me and told me everything was going to be fine. Mom gave me the clothes I was to wear. I was allowed to do my chores. Although the whole ordeal lasted only three weeks, for me it seemed an eternity. When night fell and it was time for bed, fear and dread filled me. I stood at the door of the darkened room weeping. Mom smiled and asked if I wanted to sleep with her in her bedroom. I hugged her in gratitude. My room that once had been my escape from Mom and her cruelties was now a place of torment. I slept clinging to Mom through the night. ***** The next day Mom gave me my homeschooling assignments. I sat at the kitchen table after breakfast and worked until lunch. After lunch I did more lessons until 3:00. I then did my chores, including making dinner. Because I had missed three weeks of studies, I had to study for an additional three weeks after dinner also. Time moved quickly. Mom kept reminding me that I had to do well on the district test. She would be upset with me if I didn't. The dark place, as I now referred to it, scared me not only because I hated it so much but also because it showed that Mom didn't have to beat me to hurt me. I never spoke unless Mom asked me a question. I raised my hand, as if in school, if I needed to ask a question or go to the bathroom. I did nothing without Mom's permission. Mom seemed pleased at her new power over me. As the days passed, I realized the cruel irony of my situation. When my Dad died, I was almost five. Dad was an alcoholic and a beater too. He didn't beat me. He beat Mom. Then Mom would beat me. Mostly we were beat because I made a mess or too much noise or I was just in the way. "Can't you control that brat!" was Dad's favorite refrain, "If you can't control her then by God I will!" I don't think Mom wanted to punish me back then but I think somewhere along the line it became habit. He beat her. She beat me. We were so relieved when he was killed in the automobile accident. We even had a couple of good years afterwards. But what was ironic was that as much as my Dad was a violent and oppressive man in life, he also provided the means for Mom being able to stay home, become more of a drunk and more abusive to me. Mom was thrilled with excitement when she learned that the old drunken insurance sales man had triple policies that would allow her to avoid the job market. I was also. Back then, anything that made Mom happy made me happy. I simply didn't understand why things didn't remain happy between us. ***** Summer came and there were outside chores to be done. Mom stressed that being allowed to do outside chores was a special privilege that she would take away if I started to misbehave. I had no intentions of misbehaving. Intentions, however, are noble desires not yet given the breathe of life. My intentions died when, a week after I began my outdoor chores, I saw the purplish-blue Dodge twin cab Dakota start slowly down our street. My heart began pumping rapidly. Thoughts of Sara had been pushed so far out of consciousness that they were practically forgotten. The truck didn't stop but Chad looked directly at me. Sara bent over and waved at me through the window. I glanced quickly at the house, not seeing Mom, I waved quickly and returned to my work. In the dark place I had come to believe that I was alone and forgotten. I believed that Mom might one day not open the door. I believed that I might die there and no one would know or care that I was gone. The slow passing wave of purplish-blue reminded me that darkness fades in tribute to friendship shared. Sara had not forgotten me. The next day, as I was weeding the shrubs around the front of the house I found an envelope. Inside was a note from Sara. "Hi, I know this might get you in trouble but I have been so worried about you. If you don't want me to leave you any more notes, leave this one here. I'll understand. I know this is crazy but I can't get you out of my mind. We've been driving by almost twice a week looking for some sign of you. I am just so happy to see you again. I really love you and am sorry I made things worse. Please forgive me. Sara" I was filled with joy and terror at the same time. Sara said that she loved me. If Mom found out I was in contact with Sara I couldn't imagine what she would do to me. The shadow of the dark place fell on me. Yet sunrise rose from Sara's message. She wanted me to forgive her. Again, I had a choice. I could tempt Mom's wrath or I could remain a tortured slave. I began to cry. I didn't know what to do. I was weeping when I heard the door to the house open. I looked up as Mom rounded the corner. "What are you doing?" Mom asked. "I'm sorry Mommy," I answered through teary eyes. "Get in here." I rose slowly. I walked pass Mom and into the house. Mom went and investigated my work. She told me I had done a good job and to stop crying. I wasn't going to be punished. That night while getting ready for bed I found the note. I had absentmindedly slipped it in my pocket when the door opened. ****** "Hi again! I am so happy. I thought that you would hate me. The next note will be in three days under the leaves in the back near that tree by the lounge. If you can, please write to me. If you can't, I'll understand. I can't imagine what's happening to you. I hope you are OK. When I found out that your Mom took you out of school I was so terrified. I do still care about you. I wish we could be together again. Anyway, Tina and Chad say hi too. Your girlfriend forever, Sara" We had found a way to communicate. I wrote to Sara, whenever I got a chance, telling her what was happening to me. I looked forward to each letter from her and yet I was beginning to feel that there was little hope left for me. Some times I was able to respond. Most times I could not. But still I was able to tell my story. When I wrote, I told as much as I could about what had happened in the past. I talked a lot about the dark place. I talked a lot about how afraid I was. I told Sara that I had been thinking about killing myself. She wrote back telling me how much she loved me. She promised that she would get me out. I wanted so much to believe her but it was hard. A few minutes of hope framed by days of servitude to Mom wasn't enough to strengthen me. The tide was on Mom's side. I was slipping deeper and deeper into despair. Sara's notes though encouraging reminded me of what I had lost. They reminded me that there was a world to which I never belonged. I was an outcast no matter which way I turned. I loved Sara but the notes served to convince me that our love was not meant to be. "What the fuck is this!" I didn't have time to answer before feeling the blow. I went reeling to the floor. I looked over my shoulder at Mom. She was standing above me waving one of Sara's notes. I couldn't understand how she had gotten it. I had destroyed all them after reading them. The next note wasn't due for two days. I had destroyed all of the notes, all of them except the first one. She had found it. "I said what is this you little cunt!" Mom grabbed me by the hair. She began dragging me toward my room. She cursed me and said she knew she couldn't trust me. She said she was going to beat me and then lock me away forever. I was screaming in terror. I could feel the dark place closing in on me, suffocating me, and becoming my tomb. "No, Mommy please!" "Shut up! What you and this girl been screwing each other? You some kind of dike on top of everything else? You make me sick!" I couldn't stand the thought of being in the dark place again. When we got to the door and Mom released my hair to tie me, I pushed her and ran. I heard her screaming my name and ordering me to get back to my room. I ran and kept running. I didn't know where I was going. I just couldn't stand it anymore. My pain and despair streaked my face with salty wetness as I ran. My loneliness and fear heaved in my chest. I found myself leaning against the wall of the 7-11. That was when I thought of Sara. I didn't have any money. I was so frantic that my reasoning abilities came slowly. "What'd I do? What'd I do?" I cried to myself. I picked up the phone and dialed the operator. I made the call collect. "Oh please be there. Please be there." "Hello?" It was Sara's voice. The operator answered, "I have a collect call from a Ms. Jenny Davis. Will^Å." "Yes, yes, operator we'll accept the call! Jenny!" "Sara, Sara you got to help me. She found the note." "Oh my God, where are you? Chad and Tina aren't here." "Oh no, oh no. What am I going to do?" "Where are you, Jenny? Jenny? Jenny?" I let the phone drop, hearing the car pull up behind me. It was over. Chad and Tina weren't there. Mom sat in the car glaring at me. I closed my eyes to finish my tears. I walked to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and slid in. Some times in life you have to realize when the deck is stacked against you, when you've played your best hand and are out of chips. I had reached such a point in my life. Mom would have her fun with me. But in my mind it would be the last time. I would win in the end. Mom loved to make me suffer but the dead feel no pain. So beat me Mommy. Lock me in the dark place or whatever you think I deserve. I'm not staying in a life that lets people do to little girls what you do to me. And God, I hate you. I hate you for showing me what love could be like and then taking it away. I hate you for baptizing me to the point that I desire drowning. I hate you because light never truly defeats darkness. I hate you most of all because I believed you would one day help me. But you won't. So I hate you God. Do you hear me? I hate you. ***** "Aren't you going to punish me?" "No," Mom answered calmly. "Why?" I knew the answer. She needed to wait. She wanted to know what I had written to Sara. I told her. I confessed to Mom all my evil deeds. I told her about touching myself. I told her about sneaking out and making love to Sara. I told her how much I hated her. I poured out my confession like the condemned prisoner on the way to execution that I was. I knew this would not be a swift trial, judgment and execution of punishment. Mom would wait to see what damage was done by my letters. I would not. While I was free to act I would act. "Can I take a bath now?" "Sure. Whatever you want." Mom sang. I ran the tub and slipped into the heated water. The water was so soothing. The pain of my release was little compared to the pain I had already endured. I closed my eyes. The room and the house began to drift away. I saw Mom looking up at me with a puzzled expression. "Where are you going Jenny?" she asked. "Anywhere," I answered, "Anywhere where you're not." I could almost hear the angels, a great cacophony of noise and the melodic voice of God calling my name. And Sara was there. Sara. Yes, I was in heaven. So there was a God and a heaven. I couldn't have wished for anything more than to be with Sara, forever, in heaven. Don't cry Sara. Why are you crying? Everything will be all right now. Darkness took me. ************************************************************************ Send comments to comments@tomcup.com ************************************************************************ News: Name Change: Beginning March 1, 2002 access to the Tom Cup Library can be gained by going to http://www.tomcup.com. Access to the site will also remain available through http://tomcup.iscool.net. Calvin in Paperback We are pleased to announce the pre-ordering sale of Tom Cup's Calvin. This is one of the fans of Tom Cup's writing favorite stories. Being released in paperback, this story has been newly edited with new additions to the story. For more details visit http://tomcup.iscool.net or http://www.tomcup.com Youth initiative: Tom Cup and friends have launched Alternative Lifestyles of Youth as the flagship of the Anysexuality For Youth Initiative(AFYI). We are currently seeking donated legal advice for the formation of the AFYI Foundation (Name tenative) and other sevices. For a copy of the previous board minutes, please contact Tom Cup at tom_cup@hotmail.com New sites, New Stories, Old Favorites added to the Tom Cup Library: If you haven't visited the Tom Cup Library in a while, you're in for a treat. Calvin - Book 2 is in production, Kevin is back (as well as Antonio) in Kevin Part 3 - Donna, along with other new stories and sites. Check it out! All my best, Tom Cup "Why is it that the words we write for ourselves are so much better than the words we write for others?" Sean Connery as William Forrester in the film "Finding Forrester."