Reason For Being (Self-posting thread **Trigger Warning**)

[Emily Suddenfield]

Emily scrubbed for the better part of a school period, her hands raw with the frantic scouring of her fingernails, knuckles and palms. The blood just wouldn't wash off. The bar of soap in her grip slipped out of her hands and into the tub, frustrating the School Captain into punching the mirror with a growl. The glass shattered around her fist as though it were made of paper, the pieces falling around the counter top to reflect the dimming lights above her. She gripped the edges of the sink, staring down into the water with mixed anger and confusion. Like a cocktail of emotion stirred with a purpose. She looked up into the mirror, at the image of herself in what little pieces of shattered reflection remained.

"Why bother?"

She stuck her soapy hands back under the water and rinsed them dry, shaking the drops of water loose before reaching for some of the paper towels at the bottom of the dispensary. Why did this seem familiar-

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"Emily."

Someone snapped in her direction.

"Emily, your mother is here to see you."

She turned around from the dispenser and noticed her third grade teacher, Mrs. Crabtree, standing in the doorway. She glanced back at the paper towels and snatched them from their repository, giving a little smile as she turned back.

"Okidokie. I'll be right out!"

The teacher closed the door, and Emily turned back to the mirror. It was whole. Clean. Her image showed a tiny little girl in a maroon colored dress, a small rose on the left hand shoulder. He had a scuff of dirt on her chin, and she remembered now why she came in to the bathroom. Some girls had pushed her down in the dirt at lunch, all of them kicking dirt and dust onto her. It wasn't because she was pretty, she didn't think. Was it because of her clothes? How did either of those affect their lives anyway? She ran the paper towel under water and washed some of the dirt away but, knowing if she took too long her mother would be coming in after her more than a little irate, she tossed the towel out and paused, looking at her hand. Wasn't there....some soap, or something? She had been scrubbing.....

Was that just a daydream?

No time to think about it now- She grabbed her pack from the counter and rushed out the door, the edge of her dress billowing after opening the door and heading for the car. Her dad was probably still at work- he was always there late. It wasn't all bad- mom was usually on her phone or rushing around trying to prepare for some event. She was a wedding planner or something- to Emily, she only ever saw people coming over in dresses or talking to her about locations. Though very few of those dresses were for brides. Emily always remembered them- she thought they were really pretty.

After she hopped in the car, she turned to look back at the school and wave at the boy there- small, red hair. He was missing his left front tooth and had freckles all over. Still, he grinned wide and waved big to make sure she could see him. As they passed the office on the drive out, one thing stood out to her. The calendar in the office window.

February 9.

The day her father died. T-the day her- what?

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Tossing away the paper towel, Emily paused. She looked around herself for a moment, slightly confused. Hadn't she....? She could still feed the wind around her legs, her hand on the....purse? Duffle? What was it she was doing here, gazing off like some brainless dolt? Shaking herself out of it, she moved for the door and pulled it open.

PE was about to end, which meant testosterone.

Testosterone meant fights.

Her day was far from over.

[Emily Suddenfield]

"There is very little left for you here, little Suddenfield."

Emily stood at the end of the driveway, staring up at her house. Police tape was still wrapped in front of the door, barring those who would seek photographs of her family heirlooms or the crusty red blood stain on the carpet from entry. Gone was her little dress, for now. She wore a white T-shirt with blue sleeves, and small blue jeans. On her back was a small pack stuffed with what little belongings she could force inside it. Her eyes were half lidded as she stared at the house, the gentle hand of the man from child services resting on her shoulder. How was she supposed to react? Did she shrug? Did she smile brightly and pretend the future was full of excitement? How would a normal person act here?

"Your mother is gone, the house has been sold. I'm sorry, Emily, but we'll find you a good home."

Emily believed him.

It wasn't long before the first slap came. Her new stepfather got paid six hundred dollars a month for keeping her in that home. She'd been there four months- long enough for daily checkups to turn from weekly into monthly. It made it easy for him- after a check up, he got his licks in. Time covered the bruises, and Emily rarely spoke as it was. She didn't see a reason to- she had no proof. No way to call out or talk to anyone. Almost a year in, one of his girlfriends sat and tried to talk to her. Try and make friends.

"You can trust me. It'll be our little secret- like sisters, right?"

Emily believed her.

The beating when the woman told him what Emily had said was the worst she'd had up to that point. He had to have a doctor come and see her at home. She was almost thirteen, at the time. The doctor was told some comforting lie, she was sure. Something he just laughed about with her foster-father and gave him a pat on the shoulder for. She watched them with quiet vigilance. Watched how they moved and acted toward each other. Did her father used to act that way? Was he as morally corrupt, painted with the face of masquerade, laughing and smiling and hugging her simply to make her believe nothing could ever go wrong? She'd suspected such action from her mother. Leaving a child on her own to grieve because you couldn't handle the pain of loss. Emily, laying in bed, reached behind the desk with a wince and a small grunt. She withdrew her family album, glancing at the door to make sure the man in the living room was talking in depth with the physician. Cracking it open, her eyes looked over the pictures. Some had torn strips of paper beside them, or were Polaroids with writing on the bottom.

She was fighting with her father, a big grin on her face. Wearing her gear, her dad holding those hand covers. Written at the bottom- "Will. Honor. Strength. Our hands our weapons, use them wisely." Another, of them at the park, playing. "Love you, munchkin!" was the writing at the bottom of that one. She stared at that one for a long, long time. Then, she snapped the book closed. She put it back behind the dresser, unable to open her left eye. She was conflicted about the book, some tears welling up in her eyes. Unsure how to feel. Perhaps that training....she should see if there were any lessons at school. At the very least, she'd get a little stronger....

"What are you doing?"

Emily had rolled from her side onto her back, her stepfather standing in the doorway of her room. He was giving her a little smile.

"N-nothing, papa."

That word was like poison on her lips. She had to struggle to keep from shuddering.

"You know I didn't mean to, right? It's just....you make me so angry sometimes, telling my friends lies like that. You have to behave more, okay? Maybe, if you're good, you and I can play that little game I've been promising you for a while later, okay?"

She looked at his hand- half a bottle of whiskey. Was she out in her own little world for so long? She wasn't innocent enough anymore to not know what he was talking about. How he touched himself when he talked about their "game". When she felt daring and decided to wear a dress again, he tore it off off her before he slipped and passed out on the floor. "A tease", he'd called her. She wore jeans exclusively now. Kept covered. She turned her eyes away from him, looking up at the ceiling. The classes. But what was she going to do...about him? Tell the police? He lied so well. Tell the doctor? They seemed like best friends. Emily's fists, under the blankets, curled into balls. Her eyes closed, and the images of her fathers twisted head, slid throat...wide.....dead eyes. They hovered in her vision. She slowly opened them.

"Games sound nice."

Emily would string him along as best she could, all the while teaching herself how to hurt people like him.

She'd take those classes. Yes....the classes...

And plan.

Plan to do what needed to be done so she could be free.

Plan to kill her foster father.

[Emily Suddenfield]

OOC: Sorry for posting twice today- this one is to cover the week i missed.

She shut the door quietly and stood there several moments. Normally, she did this so that her step father wouldn’t hear her. Wouldn’t call out and tell her to “Git in ere'” in that slurred speech he used every hour of every day. Today was different. Emily’s trial that day had been far more harrowing. She’d recovered over the last year. Her time in bed lasted a couple weeks, and she’d been able to repeatedly put off spending any prolonged period of time around him. Then, last night he said he was tired of her ducking out. He slapped her, kicked her in the stomach. Told her she needed to be on time tonight so they could have their fun. The thought almost made her vomit. Running away sounded like an option but she…had to speak to someone first.

Now, today…Emily wasn’t sure how to go about broaching things.

You see, she herself was drunk. Over the last two months, she’d been spending a lot of time with one of the pitchers at school. Ralph. A baseball star, one might call him. He was sweet. Spoke to her softly. Left flowers in her locker with little notes. Bugged her during a particularly boring class on western history…but not in a bad way. He’d go to the bathroom and leave a little origami bug or bird on her desk. It was very insightful- she had taken up origami herself, and loved looking through the flower books at school. That he had spent so much time investing in the things she invested in…she liked it. She gave him little smiles from time to time. She let him go running with her. She talked to him all the time- about her classes after school in martial arts. About her foster dad beating her. She had been struggling to broach so many things with so many people, that his investment in her felt worthy of reciprocation.

That night, she told him about her father.

They spoke for a few hours after class, about everything that went on with her seeing her father die. He listened for a moment before he took a small bottle of whiskey out of his pack- saying something about her needing it more than him. She went into further detail about her father- With being taken away, her mother fleeing responsibility for her daughter- all the while taking intermittent drinks- her head getting fuzzier and fuzzier. Her tears weren’t welcome, but he pulled her against him, held her gently, shushing her. She looked up after the tears stopped flowing, sitting on the bench inside the gym still waiting for the bus…and he kissed her. It was soft, unbidden but not…entirely unwelcome. Her eyes and hands had gone wide, at first….but she kissed him back. His lips were soft and warm, a heat of her own creeping along her neck. He smelled of Axe body spray and freshly cut grass- to her, at just over fourteen…his entire attitude and kindness was invigorating. A turn on. His hand was on her shoulder, pushing her back onto the bench. She went with little resistance, letting out a little moan at him pressed against her…but…then his hand…it…touched- She jumped, snatching his wrist and sliding away from him.

“N-no. Sorry. I don’t…I’m not ready for…for that.”

He sat back on his haunches and used the tips of his fingers to wipe his lips. He nodded slowly, pushing himself to his feet. She kept her eyes above his waist, not wanting to see….anything that was obviously there. He gave an easy but…strangely constrained smile.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I should…ah…probably head out anyway. The guys are waiting for me for practice. Give me a call later, okay?”

She nodded, offering a feeble and apologetic “Sorry….okay.” her hair hanging in front of her face to hide the blush that was covering it. He left and she stood, brushing herself off and heading out the door for the bus that had just pulled up. She planted her foot on the first step, her thoughts clouded and muddled. She looked up at the driver, eyes wide a moment.

“Sorry, i forgot my bag. I’ll be right back.”

The man nodded, planting a hand on his thigh in irritation but still willing to wait. She ran back inside the other double doors rather than the ones she came out of, seeing as those were now locked. As she passed by the gym, she heard Ralph’s voice talking to the others and slowed.

“Nah, fuck you guys. I’ve dedicated way too much time and energy into this bet. I’m bangin’ the emo girl before the end of the year, swear to god. I mean, she was practically all over me.”

She froze, listening to the muffled laughter and words.

“Dude- I’ve heard every sad sop story this bitch has to tell. You have no idea how big a pain in the ass it was to learn all the shit to butter her up. She’s got no friends, nobody I can dig into. Had to do solo research and shit. And you can bet your ass I’m one more shoulder cry and bottle of whiskey away from poppin’ that cherry, y’know what I mean haha-”

Blood ran from Emily’s palms, her fists being clenched that tight. She was white as a sheet, her eyes wide and stunned. Her bottom lip was quivering for a few solid seconds before her lids half closed and her hands relaxed. She turned and walked into the locker room.

“Yeah, and man could you tell I was the first guy she kissed. It was- what? Fuck you want ted, stop touching me- Oh. Hey Em- I thought you went home for the day? Did the teacher send you with our equipment? Then what are you doing with the bat-”

So, Emily stood in the doorway of her home. The low tones of the news could be heard in the background, barely carrying to her ears as she listened.

“-and the five students were taken via life flight downtown, to be serviced at Los Angeles General, Emergency. All five were in critical condition and, though expected to make a full physical recovery, will likely suffer from long term disabilities due to the sheer damage. Now, we’re not getting much information as to the cause of this violent destruction, Tom, but we do know that a weapon- a nearly busted but heavily bloody wooden bat was found at the scene. So far, this is the only promising lead they can offer us at this time. Tom, back to you.”

Emily stepped into the living room, her foster dad taking a long swig of his bottle. She didn’t acknowledge him, already mentally checking off the items she needed to pack before leaving again. As she walked by him, he turned in the chair, grabbing her ass as he spoke.

“H-hey…get that….hic…ass back here, we got…gotta talk about punishment for you b-bein’ so late…hoc…again….”

Emily clenched her fist, her hair falling forward as a cruel smile curved across her face. She whipped around, throwing one of her bloodied knuckles against his jaw, knocking out two teeth. His head whipped to the side, his entire body forced out of the chair and onto the floor, the Budweiser spilling across the already filthy blue carpet. He turned onto his rump, left hand planted as he brought a shaking hand up to his mouth to touch and bring it away covered in blood. His eyes were wide as he looked from his hand to her. She was facing him now, hands at her side, the grin still across her face. The glint from under the shadow her hairline caused indicated she was staring right at him.

“W-what the fuck are you doing?”

She reached up, grabbing an empty bottle on the shelf beside her by the neck and breaking it off on it’s edge. She held half the broken thing now as she spoke, clearly pleased.

“What I should have done a long time ago, papa.”

She started toward him, malice etched inside and out.

It was messy but….beggars couldn’t be choosers.

And boy, was he begging.

[Emily Suddenfield]

Theme

****RAP RAP****

“Your honor, we ask for leniency in regards to Ms. Suddenfield. She has evidence of severe physical and mental trauma, and no prior record.”

“What he’s really asking for, your honor, is to let a killer out on bail, and in the end give her a slap on the wrist. We recommend full penitentiary conviction as far down the line of the law as possible. She’s a flight risk, with zero reason to remain in the United States, let alone in California.”

“Your honor, life in prison is ludicrous for a child of her age with no-”

The judge held up a hand. Both the prosecutor and her public defense attorney went silent. The judge, who seemed a kindly older gentleman, was watching Emily.

The girl stood in an orange jumpsuit, hands in front of her. They were cuffed, a chain hooked at the center locking her feet together in shackles. Her hair was still long, her attorney getting the judge to allow her to keep it that way. It hung in front of her face as her head was bowed with eyes on the ground. He was silent for a very long time. She didn’t look up…she didn’t want to give anything away. Whatever punishment or guilt he decided for her…she wouldn’t argue against. The things she had done-

“Emily…I’m going to ask you some very pointed questions now, and I want you to answer them.”

Her attorney leaned in to advise, but Em leaned away from him indicating she didn’t want to hear it. The Attorney pursed her lips and sat. Emily nodded at the judge.

“What happened in the locker room?”

--Emily felt the weight of the bat in her hands. She kicked Ralph in the crotch and, using his head like a baseball on a Tee when he doubled over from it, swung. The left side of his skull was separated from his head and he was out cold. She kicked him backward toward the lockers, his body slamming into them limply and sliding down. She stepped forward and kicked him in the head, embedding his cranium and neck clean into the metal. She planned to do more to his seemingly lifeless body but she was dragged backward. Running with the one who held her, she slammed his body into the wall, causing him to cry out. Lifting her feet she kicked at two who ran toward her, then stepped forward and used her free hand to flip the one behind her over her shoulder and onto his back in front of her. She stomped on his face, feeling his nose snap and teeth bend inward. She swung the bat down, hitting a little left of his sternum. It fractured, as did some ribs. At least, that's what she got from the sound.

There was so much blood, she just kept swinging. The entire time, her vision was blurred- not from alcohol, but from tears.--

“Ralph was someone I cared about. I probably loved him, I don’t know. I confided everything into him, about my father and my abuse. I went inside to get my bags and he was talking about how he pretty much hated me, but couldn’t wait to take my virginity. He made fun of me and his friends laughed. They were alone and in the locker room, and they didn't know i heard. I snapped.”

The judge nodded.

“And when you heard that he’ll live the rest of his life taking a special bus everywhere he goes, that he’ll have severe mental retardation and physical disfigurement….were you sorry?”

Em’s brow furrowed.

“I’m not sorry I hurt him. I am sorry he ended up that way- but anyone who would use someone’s heart and soul in such a cruel fashion deserved punishment. His family has money and success- I’m sure he would have gone his entire life breaking little girls like me and never being made to understand the consequences of it on someone. So while yes, I’m sorry he ended up that way…I’d call it premature justice for every person who will now never know the pain I felt.”

She heard a sob from his mom behind her, refusing to turn and look. Instead, she continued to stare at the ground. The judge was writing something before he continued.

“What happened to your foster father? We found him dead, tied to a chair, mostly, with his wrists cut. One arm was free as though he struggled but…he was severely beaten. Torture seems a little…planned out, wouldn’t you say?”

--Emily kicked her foster father in the ribs, sending him rolling over. She still clasped the bottle in her hands, her teeth bared. She straddled him at the waist and punched him repeatedly, his face cutting and bruising and swelling. He was missing several teeth and was crying. She smelled piss, but didn’t look back. Gripping the front of his hair, she pressed the bottle to his neck.

“What’s wrong, papa? I thought you WANTED me to ‘take a ride on you’ tonight!? Right?”

She punched him, and he sobbed, blood and snot leaking out of his nose.

“P-please….I’m….im so-orry….”

Emily’s teeth ground and she screamed.

“SORRY!? SORRY YOU NEARLY KILLED ME!? SORRY YOU BEAT ME SENSELESS DAY IN AND DAY OUT!? SORRY YOU WANTED TO RAPE A CHILD!? I SHOULD FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD! I HATE YOU, YOU PIG!”

He cried, his hands coming up to his face.

“P-please….please forgive m-me….God….don't k-kill me....”

She brought the bottle up, screaming and stabbing it into the carpet next to his head. She cried, tears dropping onto his arms. Pushing herself off the floor, she ran into the bedroom and started packing quickly, stuffing things into her bag as she sobbed.--

“I don’t know what happened to Mr. Bulltucci. Why he died. I thought I had to kill him, when he put me in a hospital bed after beating me nearly to death. But instead, I decided to run away. After I got home…from the…the locker room incident, I went for my room to pack and leave. He reached out and grabbed my butt and…I started hitting him. I took a broken bottle and was going to do it, but ended up stabbing the bottle into the carpet. I packed and left right after.”

The judge read some notes.

“It says here your fingerprints were on the bottle that was considered the murder weapon, and alcohol was in your bloodstream by your own testimony.”

Em nodded.

“I know. I did hold it, and Ralph gave me something to drink to make me more pliable. I broke the bottle on a desk. I just didn’t kill him with it.”

The prosecutor scoffed. The judge wrote some more notes before turning his attention back to her.

“Okay Ms. Suddenfield, last question. Do you think I should lock you up forever? If you had a chance to determine the terms of your own sentence, what would you decide for someone like you?”

Emily thought frantically. Was this a trick….? She didn’t know how to answer so….she decided to go with the truth.

“I nearly killed five students. I nearly killed my foster father. I openly admit I’m not ashamed, and state that I don’t regret doing it. I’m a danger to society and to others…or at least, that’s what I would think if I were you. I’m someone who has malice in her heart with intent and desire to severely hurt those who have hurt me. If…if I met someone like that, then yes, I would lock them up forever.”

The judge leaned back.

“I see. Look at me.”

Emily brought her blue eyes up to the judges gentle brown ones, revealing to the light the tear streaked face she had kept hidden. She wasn’t really crying, as she kept a calm and cool demeanor she just…felt passionately about those memories. She stared unabashedly into the eyes of the judge, who seemed to be weighing her. He clasped his hands in front of him as the media snapped pictures in a frenzy.

“This case has lasted for too long, and we’ve heard from many witnesses- so I'm going to progress to judgement and sentence now. Doctors, lawyers, child service associates and even the defendant has stood to openly be quizzed before a judge. While I do agree that you have malice inside you, I do not believe it was born out of desire, but out of necessity. You’ve been beaten by men you were told to trust. You’ve been betrayed by people who told you they were safe. And you’ve been robbed of those who loved you and destroyed by those you loved. I think you have a big heart, Ms. Suddenfield. I think you care too much about those you invest in, and so every time you decide to let curtains open so that the daylight can touch your face, someone comes and burns down the house. And every time you’re rebuked and desolated…it feels as though your father has been killed all over again. I pity you, Ms. Suddenfield, and I want to see you helped.”

She grabbed some papers.

“Along with that, though, we cannot turn a blind eye to your actions, or the fact that you ran for several months before being captured. I find the defendant guilty of all charges, and deny her bail. However, I will not be sentencing you to maximum security at special holding or make you wait for retrial until you are an adult. One go through is enough for us all, i think. Nor will I see such possibility as what is in your eyes and mind to be snuffed out by an eternity behind bars. You’ll spend one year at the juvenile corrections center, take intensive anger management classes, and for the remainder of your learning years will attend Public High school 259, a school with great teachers and advancement opportunities while also facilitating as a correctional institute for the problem children of society with sentence to be carried out immediately. Case closed, court adjourned.”

****RAP RAP**** 

went the gavil.

Emily was taken and led away shocked, listening to the outrage coming from the crowd. She stared at the judge, who watched her go with caring eyes.

‘But……why did…’

She was led through a door, down a long hall toward a truck.

‘….why did he look at me like that? Why would someone...help me?’

For the first time since talking to Ralph, she was reminded of her father.