Eighth grade english assignment the prompt was "letting go" tell me what u think thanks!
|Lifeless. Pained. Scathed.
Those are the things that came to mind as I looked at my face in the mirror. Trembling, my hand reached up to touch the fresh bruise on my forehead. I shuddered as I remembered the incident that put it there.
His right hand coming around with great speed. No time to dodge it. The impact, the thudding noise when it hit my head. The throbbing pain. Him holding me, loving me. Like nothing happened. I did nothing wrong . . .nothing. . .
“Dusty!” My Mom’s voice broke me out of my day terror.
“Yeah?” I called down the stairs back to her.
“You have a phone call. It’s Johnny. Pick up the phone up in your room. But Dusty? Please don’t talk too long. It’s already eleven at night.”
“Okay.” I padded the short walk from the bathroom to my blue-walled bedroom, and picked up the telephone against my better judgment.
“Hello?” I asked, my heart fleeting.
“Dusty? Hey! It’s Johnny,” the voice at the other end of the phone said.
“Yeah, I know. So why’d you call?”
“Babe, I just wanted to hear your voice.”
I couldn’t keep the color from rushing to my cheeks. Tingles coursed through my body. Half of me wanted to fall for his love, and the other half of me was screaming to put down the phone and force Johnny out of my life for good.
“Awww,” I finally said.
“Well that and I was wondering if you wanted to hook up with me tomorrow. Whataya think about catching a movie at seven? There’s a new one out. I think it’s called Undo the Things of Yesterday. It’s supposed to be really good.”
Don’t do it, Dusty. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it. “Sure,” I found myself saying.
“Great! I’ll pick you up at six thirty. See you then.”
“Y-yeah, sure, bye.”
“Wait. Dusty?” Johnny said sweetly.
“Yeah sweetie?” Like putty in his hands, I gave into his sincere tone.
“I love you.”
Shivers ran up and down my spine. The way he spoke those words made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. And the sound of his voice was enough to make me melt like chocolate in the sun. He was so easy to like; everything seemed perfect about him. Almost.
“I love you, too.” I said, warmth finding its way into my voice.
“Okay, see you tomorrow. Bye!” And with that Johnny hung up the phone.
After I put the phone back on the receiver, I hopped into bed, hoping that I could somehow take a break from my life and find refuge in my dreams. Pulling my soft, pink blanket up over my head, I desperately tried to doze off. But it took two hours for sleep to come, and when it finally did, it was a shallow, disturbed sleep, during which I had multiple dreams. Dreams about Johnny lashing out at me. Dreams about him holding me. Dreams about me disappearing. Well, they really weren’t exactly dreams. Instead, they were nightmares. The kind that you wake up from screaming, only to realize none of it was real.
After the third nightmare, I woke up sweating. Groaning, I rolled over and checked my alarm clock. It was only seven in the morning. Usually, this would be excuse enough for me to go back to sleep, but truthfully, I had no desire to continue my slumber. So, I slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom, where I peeled off my now wet clothes. Even though I tried my best not to, I accidentally caught glimpse of myself in the mirror. I turned my head away quickly, but ended up staring at my reflection anyways.
The first thing I noticed was the pallor of my skin, and the wide variety of bruises and cuts all over my body. I also couldn’t help but see how much weight I’d lost recently. The frame of my 15-year-old body was all bony. My cheekbones were sunken in, and there were dark circles under my eyes. The girl in the mirror looked nothing like the Dusty I remembered. At least I hadn’t completely disappeared yet, though.
When I was finished analyzing myself, I shimmied into new, dry lounge clothes and spent the rest of the day watching reruns of Family Feud and Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader. Ten hours later, I jumped in the shower, gingerly examining the damage Johnny had done just a few days previously. After I was cleaned, dried, and dressed, I called goodbye to my Mom and Dad, and ran outside just in time to meet Johnny at the end of the driveway.
Please don’t get physical tonight, I silently prayed to God.
“Hey!” he called out, rolling down the window of his Ford convertible. He was 17, two years older than me, so he had his license; and his parents were very wealthy, which explains why he had such an expensive car.
“Hi,” I replied anxiously, focusing on his wild blond hair blowing in the wind.
“Come on, baby. Why so skittish?”
Are you kidding me? You know perfectly well why I’m like this. “I’m skittish? What are you talking about?” I tried my best to flash him a perfect smile.
“Forget about it. Just get in.” He gestured to the passenger’s seat.
I walked around the car and as I got in, he turned the radio station to one that only plays heavy metal. Did I mention I hate heavy metal with a burning passion? So I turned the station to a different one. Johnny gave me a sideways glanced and pressed the seek button until he found the other radio station. I laughed, sure that he was just playing with me, and turned back to the pop music station. He glared at me, burning an imaginary hole through my forehead, and went to the metal station once more.
“Alright, Johnny boy,” I laughed nervously, imitating his mother.
All of a sudden, something flashed in his eyes. I recognized the anger and uncontrollable monstrosity in his expression.
“No one calls me Johnny boy but my mother!” he cried through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I sobbed, terrified.
“Dang right, you’re sorry!” His fingers clenched into a fist and he swung his arm at me, hitting me square on the nose. I felt the blood dripping from my nostrils as he geared up again. This time he smacked me across the arm, where I already had a bruise from him from a few weeks earlier. I cowered in the corner of the car, trembling and in pain. I realized that if Johnny really tried, he could probably kill me.
Just then, something in him seemed to turn off, and the bully part of him was gone, just like all the other times he’s assailed me. He was back to being sweet, caring, gentle Johnny. I let him reach over across the seat and take me in his arms. He held me and cooed to me and promised me his love. I sat silent through all of it. When he was done, he held my hand and kissed me gently on the forehead.
“Don’t let go of me,” he whispered in my ear.
Dusty, you can do it. End this now. Make him stop. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, as I pulled away from his grasp and walked out of the car.
Sometimes, even though it may be painful, letting go of someone is the right thing to do.