A piece of tooth dripped from her mouth; it wasn't a big deal, but very few remained in that place; with all her strength she tried to retain it; she sucked; some saliva and blood returned to her mouth, but that piece ended up on the floor; there was no point in picking it up; she was exposed; it wasn't a luxury she could afford.
Everything will be fine
Everything will be fine
Everything will be fine
It was a fool's comfort, she knew it; the last phrase her mother shared with her. It didn't change anything; it mattered little in the grand scheme of things, but she could still hear it. It first sounded when she arrived breathless at home; when she arrived, she knocked on the door; she used her feet; she couldn't use her hands; they hurt; where she protected her body, they suffered the punishment; by a miracle she kept her eyes but no nails; her nose could still inhale; her fingers no longer moved; arms, knees, back, everything was a living sore, but one that stayed alive until the police arrived; while the hate was contained, before the authorities discovered that someone had already died, she fled, hid, with her gaze wavering between blackness and a line of salvation; she ran to the only refuge she understood in that state: her house, the mother who had always protected her, the father who was never there but made sure nothing was lacking; there was her refuge.
When she opened the door, her mother didn't reproach her; the phrase escaped several times, like a prayer of salvation; she cleaned her and recovered something of what was lost; from being a human misery to a wounded, bandaged human; she performed first aid while listening to her girl; there was nothing to hide; there wasn't much left to do either; so, after notifying the father, armed with some changes of clothes and what they had saved in the emergency tin, they fled from their house, under the cover of night.
The escape was confusing; she got on transports to sleep; she got off in some lost town at night to eat what her mouth could swallow; painful days, hours loaded with fear; there was no return. The only figure accompanying her pained being comforted her; she talked about the land of hamburgers, where everything would get better; she joked as much as she could, but the girl saw it clearly in her eyes: they were in a desperate race.
They hid in a run-down town; far behind were the comfort of safe streets and people who didn't seem to want to make you disappear around every corner; after much searching for paid help, there was no alternative; they launched themselves alone to swim. On the moonless night, a few meters from the quarrelsome river, hope vanished; they couldn't enter legally; no coyote responded to them; so they didn't know where it was safe; in an instant the only thing visible was the black ink that threatened to swallow them, while offering the sweet whisper of escape; the next, a blinding light found them; patrols began to sound, approaching; the circle had closed. The impulse, product of madness, flooded her body; they ran to the river, where the water began to devour them, like many others, only they couldn't advance; the lights of their judgment pursued them; black eyes made them get off a nomadic tire; useless asylum; her barely healed wounds opened, leaving their red mark; they met the border land; the race was over.
It'll be fine
The phrase still resonated in what remained of her consciousness; the trial was quick; no one present wanted to see her, destroyed, not out of hate, but because they hated her less each time and didn't wish to extinguish her desire for revenge.
They presented her before the public prosecutor's office bandaged on arms and legs, a few bruises, and dressed in something resembling spring clothes... asking for clemency... they denied it and returned her behind bars.
After several days, the evidence was presented, accompanied by the same girl, now with new marks, long clothes hiding her limbs, her purple lips still releasing blood; there appeared the photos, the videos, conversations, all very documented on a phone she recognized; it was hers; her mother tried to save her, to show they were just girls; what was seen there didn't help at all; after her return to the cells, the injuries increased.
The media saw her with the presentation of witnesses; they scared her; many still looked like ink stains; she didn't identify any specifically, but those shadows weren't strangers; she recognized the feet, the hands, where each of them had hit her; the same ones who, at that moment, declared, horrified, her past crimes and her inhuman way of being; her side of the trial remained silent; there was no plea left in her voice, nor in her mother's.
The arguments and cross-examinations were omitted, so she couldn't breathe free air; the rest of the trial until the resolution and sentencing she spent lying down; she was on a stretcher with a fractured orbit and a couple of ribs dangerously close to her left lung; she didn't see who they were, but the screams and the blows in the detention center were real.
The sentence she received using only one eye; the other still had a patch and it was still hard to breathe; the lawyer, who claimed to work for her from day one, just shrugged; he had drawn a bad card and it was clear they wouldn't win; he had given up some time ago; he only asked that the sentence cover only the period when she was a minor... he failed.
fine
Her life in the juvenile detention center was relatively simple; she received a couple of beatings and spent weeks in the medical area. Solitude helped her not to think about the pains; she had a couple of pins paid for by the State, placed in her arm by people without much appreciation for work or for her person; there, while poorly administered anesthesia made the surgery a world of pain, although she was unconscious, in that poorly disinfected place, she began to hear:
... come on, dude
The voice was small, as if afraid to reveal itself, even with a demand; accompanying this hallucination, a small black lump at the edge of her field of vision appeared and hid; fearing she had messed up her head, she mentioned it to the doctor and the psychologist at the place; nothing happened.
...
When she reached adulthood, she saw no one; her mother disappeared from the visitor log; the father still worked to pay for the restitution of damages, as the judge called it; she didn't blame them, nor did she want to see them; her entire being was broken, repulsive as could be; pieces of wire, metals, bandages, and other measures to keep her alive showed that the uttered phrase was a cruel mockery; but she didn't give up... It was easy; the opportunity existed: a rusty pipe, a sheet, perhaps in the infirmary a careful fall; she couldn't; every time she tried, the voice kept telling her, denying her rest.
what did I do to you?
When the penitentiary received her, she trembled a little more than usual; she could no longer walk well; her farewell from the juvenile prison was a blow to her back; she didn't even bother to find out who did it; it didn't matter; she lost consciousness in a deluge of saliva spat out with a hate that darkened everything.
Inside, the inmates didn't hit her for revenge. The one who knocked out her tooth was explicit:
"You're not special, girl; don't bother anyone here and no one will break your face."
"But I hadn't done anything to you."
"That, you little idiot, was your welcome."
This was followed by other beatings, none out of spite; she was, for lack of a better expression, an easy target. She couldn't move much and no one had sympathy for her. Only a few looked at her with something resembling understanding; all of them had shadows; hers was now the size of a ball.
I promise not to be a nuisance!
She went to the psychologist again. They sent her to control her anger... they still said she inflicted all that pain on herself; there was nothing to control; her nerves had a reason to exist; she just wanted to stop the shadows; they looked at her and continued in greater number, all murmuring, always close to her. When she told the therapist, she mentioned it could be guilt, which made sense to the young woman until she saw several in a corner; none were looking at her; they were all stretching their things toward the doctor. She was sure she could hear them.
... I believed in you.
...why did you abuse.
...I just wanted comfort.
...I died because of you.
When she wanted to ask if the specialist had any fear, she closed everything around her. The doors and locks of her mind were clear in the cold explanation she received. They didn't give her counseling again; she missed human touch, even that horrible woman's.
Did you think it was a joke, right?
The shadows increased in number; with them came her first friend, an elderly woman, quite pleasant; she gave her a ragged but clean cloth with which she dried the traces of the last person who had taken it out on her. She introduced herself without names, accompanied her to the infirmary that time and the following times; finally one day, desperate, she asked about the shadows.
"Do you see them?"
"Yes."
"Mine?"
She didn't dare answer; the pleasant image was dark around her, full of shadows that ran through her; there was no timidity in their actions; the voices were bold; their content was terrible: children, grandchildren, husband, lovers, so many voices screaming at the same time; she could only concentrate on the old woman's eyes, dull; the mouths drowned much of what she said; they were in an uninterrupted scream.
"You know what they are, even if you don't sense it."
"Will they go away?"
"No, they'll get bigger as they gain confidence; the more you fall into despair, the less attachment to life you'll have with them."
"..."
"I know I'm going to die; I have cancer, and it's the painful kind; I haven't told the doctors; I prefer to pay with that; when I tell them, the idea seems to amuse them."
Indeed, the shadows celebrated for a moment and then resumed the harassment.
"Is there a way out?"
"I don't recommend it, girl; the act of hearing yours is a sign that you really regret it."
"But no one believes me."
"Nor will they; there's no turning back now."
"So the alternative?"
"You want it so much; come, we'll go so you can see it."
The section they arrived at is rarely visited, dark in lighting, in people, in good feelings. The isolated ones, characters no one wants to see, violent or dangerously passive, capable of receiving all the damage or causing it; there were various insects there; they didn't seem frightened by the faltering steps. The last cell even had remains of things: waste, graffiti, garbage; unlike the bars, here only a door let in a flickering light.
"These two you see are the alternative, faithful followers of an ideology, united after one's divorce; they began to torture a child; they carried it into their movements; there it was noticeable that he was poorly cared for, but it didn't matter to anyone. Actually, blind to their actions, years later, they fought fierce battles to retain the son; he was taken on several occasions to the doctor, who also didn't want to delve into the injuries; in the end, they took him to the emergency room dead, mutilated, and after everything they lived through, very similar to your situation; they ended up here. Observe, this is the easy way out; the one you've been taking until now, I believe, is the correct one; that line you shouldn't have crossed."
She entered.
After a few minutes, the cell opened silently; it spat her out; As the old woman said, the shadows began to double; at the moment she could still see what surrounded her; she didn't know how much longer. Soon they would be dozens; they would drown her constantly in recriminations, about what she did. When there are many, perhaps death will be a comfort; even so, with clenched fists she will receive them; nothing in the world would make her take the other way out.
You let an old man abuse me!
She still saw them as she closed her eyes: two very thin women, beaten and still bleeding in some areas; behind them, an enormous shadow; a small child watched them, then tried to touch everything that had been damaged on him; there was no recrimination; he just wanted them to see him; but they were embracing, one to the other, on the infected floor, while they talked to each other; from their mouths came insects, each entering the other's eyes, ears, smiling madly while they inhabited them, traveling through each of the cavities, devouring them while their chants could still be heard.
"We did nothing wrong."
"He deserved it."
"No one can judge us."
"As long as we're together, nothing can defeat us."
"He deserved to die."
The other shadows screamed at them, denying each of their justifications, torn, growing, waiting to finally crush them with the truth, but they seemed determined to lie to themselves, until the end.