Scarlet's Torment (1)

  KRIHSTIN ZINK

  First published as an Ebook and Paperback in both the USA and the United Kingdom in 2015

  Scarlet’s Torment

  Copyright © Krihstin Zink

  Artwork © 2015 Justin Temporado of Ready, Set, Edit

  Edited and Formatted by Wendi Temporado of Ready, Set, Edit

  All rights reserved

  Krihstin Zink asserts the moral right to be identified as the Author of the Work

  Conditions of Sale

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover that that in which it is published and without a similar condition including being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A record of the Liberty of Congress serial number can be acquired from the publisher.

  Manufactured in the United States

  To my family,

  For without you…I would be lost and lonely.

  “Dr. Sanders is ready to see you, Miss Rodrick.” My therapist’s receptionist, Lila Kross, is diligent and work-focused. She isn’t one to waste time social-networking while on the job.

  Today, smiling and nodding at Lila is all I can muster up. Until two weeks ago, I thought all was well. I didn’t think of my mother abandoning me, or of ever finding out why she had done so. I had come to terms with the fact that my biological mother had no place for me in her heart or life. I had developed a mental wall, subduing all my bad memories and emotions—until the moment I misread Clara Hill on a work correspondence.

  At first, my therapy sessions were difficult. I thought I had left all the mental torment and suffering of my childhood in this office. I’m not exactly thrilled to be a twenty-four-year-old rekindling my client-therapist relationship.

  Walking into Dr. Sanders’ office provides a calm wave of trust, a familiar sentiment from my childhood sessions. I identify this place as one allowing me to confide my troubles, without raising judgment.

  “Hello, Scarlet. Please, have a seat,” Dr. Sanders instructs as she glances at me briefly before returning to her paperwork. I make myself comfortable in my usual chair. During my last session, we agreed to try memory regression hypnosis.

  I’m not excited to recollect what my mother did. I hated that after fifteen years of training myself not to love Clara anymore, here I am, hurt and questioning what I did for her to abandon me. She left me alone without so much as an explanation. I was only nine-years-old. Clara barely looked after me as it was. I could have continued in the disaster that was her life. Instead, she apathetically tossed me aside without considering the emotional torment she would cause me.

  “So, now that we’re in our sixth session, I believe it’s an ideal opportunity for us to revisit the moments preceding your first encounter with your adoptive family.” Dr. Sanders smiles as she waits for my response.

  “You continuously portray my abandonment as my fortunate introduction to my family, instead of what it is: my abandonment,” I reply critically as I relocate to a lounging chair where she directs me into memory regressive hypnosis.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Who is it now?” Henry barks from my mother’s room. Henry is my mother’s current boyfriend. I know he doesn’t like me, and the way he always fights with my mother makes me think he doesn’t like her much either.

  We live in Bonita Springs, Florida. I’d rather live in a duplex like Mindy, my math partner, or a house like Josh, the kid I tutor on Mondays. But here we are; my mother, Henry, and me all living in a two-bedroom trailer in Southern Pines Mobile Home Park.

  “Yeah, she’s in her room,” my mother snaps. A moment later, Amber, my best friend since we were in daycare, peeks into my room. Amber gives me a long look; she’s such a worrywart. I know that hearing my mother and Henry yelling, before getting close enough to knock on our front door, would cause anyone to get antsy.

  “Hey, Amber! How are ya? How’s Grandma Lucy?” I ask sweetly as I try to calm her worrying. I guess I’d be that way too if my parents left me with my grandmother one day and never came back.

  “You wanna play at my house?” she asks softly. Amber knows I want to get out of my trailer, so she waits in the hallway.

  My room is basic. Unlike Amber, I barely have any toys. I only have a hula-hoop and a jump rope; cheap and durable. My mother always says that books are more useful than toys and will last longer. I’ve had the same daybed with pink sheets since I was three. My bed is up against one wall, directly facing the door. Then there’s a nightstand with a small reading lamp next to a window. Near another window there’s a desk where I do my homework. Sometimes I keep myself busy with art. Well, I call it art, but it’s really just sketches of buildings on school paper instead of fancy art paper.

  Amber jumps as Henry and my mother start yelling from the other side of the trailer. She stares at me with worry in her eyes and rubs her arm. I grab my backpack and follow her into the living room. Our living room is a tad more decorated than my dull bedroom. We have a sofa and a recliner facing a radio and small television. After the living room is our small kitchen with a small table. “Mom?” I whisper from the kitchen.

  “What?” she snaps from her bedroom door. They always stay in my mother’s room, so I always stay in my room. I hate hearing them.

  “I'm gonna play at Amber’s,” I say then wait for her to say no.

  Instead, she says, “You’re not staying the night. We’re going to Naples tomorrow.” My mother knows how much I love Naples, but we don’t get to go as much now that she’s with Henry. All he ever wants to do is be in my mom’s room. Hearing that we’re going to Naples makes me happy, but, then again, it doesn’t take much to make me happy.

  Amber and Grandma Lucy’s trailer is nicer than mine, and it always smells like cookies. Their bigger trailer makes staying over fun. Grandma Lucy is Cuban, but I rarely hear her speak Spanish. Her house is bright, and has lots of family pictures and religious stuff all over the place.

  When I’m not in school, I’m with Amber and Grandma Lucy, or in my room reading library books. Amber and Grandma Lucy have treated me more like family than my own mother ever has.

  “Hey, Grandma!” I holler as I see her and wrap her into a big hug.

  “Hello, Scarlet. How is your mother?” Grandma Lucy asks.

  She doesn’t really want to know, but she’s being nice, so I say, “She’s with Henry, so, you know…”

  We laugh then make a snack of grapes and peanut butter-covered celery sticks—my favorite. I only get to eat fresh fruits and vegetables at Grandma Lucy’s. I thank her then help clean the table. I even wash the dishes.

  After playing with Amber for a while, I thank Grandma Lucy for having me over. I give her a big hug, smile, and wave goodbye to everyone before I walk home alone. As I walk into the living room, Henry storms into the kitchen from my mother’s room.

  He barks over his shoulder, “Take care of it!”

  He’s being mean, and I don’t want to get in trouble, so I let my mom know I’m home then walk to my room. The front door slams right as my mom enters my bedroom.

  “Did you eat dinner?” she asks with a smile. She’s being nice, and that’s not normal.

  “No,” I say quickly, staring at my hands.

  “Come on, I’ll make you a PB&J,” she offers. I jump up to walk, but slow down, because my head starts to spin. My snack at Grandma Lucy’s was the only meal I had all day. I eat my PB& J with water, but I eat it too fast, and this mak
es my mother angry.

  “Why do you eat like I never feed you?” Her eyebrows are bunched up over her mean eyes. I’m taking a sip of water right as she yells at me, so I end up spilling some on my shirt. She clenches her fist at me and makes a mean face like a guard dog would. I put my cup down and stare at my hands. I don’t talk back. I just sit quietly.

  She rarely hits me, but she does take away the few things I love, and I didn’t want to lose staying the night at Grandma Lucy’s. One time I forgot to wake her up from a nap—she grounded me for a whole month; I was lucky she even let me read my books. I sure did miss Grandma Lucy and Amber.

  My mother closes her eyes before taking a deep breath. Through her teeth she tells me to wash up and go to bed. “We have a long day tomorrow. Good night, Scarlet.” My mother wishing me a good night is weird but nice. I fall asleep thinking about all the shops I’ll walk in, and all the clothes I’ll one day own—after I graduate from college and become an architect, that is.

  My mother didn’t graduate from college. She told me I was born during her freshman year which made it impossible to finish. I guess that’s why she never loved me. When I disappoint her, she reminds me of how my birth stopped her from completing college, and that I prevented her from getting a good career.

  I wake up to my mother shaking my shoulders. My head feels as if someone punched it. Through the pain, I get up to dress myself in my cute blue sundress and white sandals. I’m tall for nine, but my social worker says I’m underweight.

  As I leave my room, my bedroom door creaks loudly. I’m scared because of how quiet the trailer is. Not hearing Henry and my mother fight makes me wary. I walk to her room and, as I get close, I hear her whispering, “I’m not sure this is a good idea. She’s old enough to remember me.” I knock softly then open her door. My mother quickly ends her phone call.

  “Good morning, Scarlet. You ready to go to Naples?” Her eyes are mean, but her lips are smiling. My mother is never this nice to me. This makes my stomach bubble as a pain starts in my side. I look at my feet and tell her I’m ready.

  Even though the trip is short, I like getting out of Bonita Springs. Time away from my mother and Henry’s fighting is nice. I track our travel time by glancing at my wrist-watch—my only gift from last Christmas; I love it so much.

  Waterside Shops just opened about three years ago. My mother would bring me, on a good weekend, to the mall, and then we would spend some time at the beach before making the thirty-minute drive home.

  Today’s different. My mother didn’t pack anything for the beach, not even our lunch. Usually, we had our swimsuits for after our walk around the shops. We’d never buy anything; we just enjoyed a packed lunch then I’d play at the beach until it got dark. I’d be so tired after all the fun that I’d usually fall asleep on the ride home.

  Our drive is quiet. My mother parks her car in an almost empty parking lot. We walk straight to the food court. I’m so glad because we left without eating. There’s a short wait at Starbucks. I sit down and eat my egg, ham, and cheese breakfast sandwich with a fancy Dasani water. My mother didn’t buy anything for herself. She’s being so creepy. Maybe Henry broke up with her? Maybe she is thinking about letting me go to summer book camp?

  Eating alone with my mother not talking or looking at me makes the knot in my stomach grow bigger. I shift in my seat; this makes my mother look at me. Her eyes are brimming with tears.

  “You full?” She combs her hair back slowly.

  “Yep. Where are we gonna go first?”

  “To the ladies’ room,” she mumbles. I follow her as fast as I can, but my stomach is achy and my chest is tight. What’s going on? Why is she being so nice?

  Walking into Waterside Shops’ bathroom puts a smile on my face; it’s always clean and has lots of toilet paper and hand soap. Sometimes we didn’t have the money for these things.

  Before heading into separate stalls, my mother stares at me then says, “Wait for me. I might be a while.” She hugs me. I’m unsure what to do. Honestly, I could count on one hand the times my mother has hugged me. I nod to what she asked then go inside my stall. I can’t see or hear my mom at all.

  I finish up, wash my hands, and wait. Glancing at my watch, I notice we’ve been at Waterside for almost an hour. My mother’s taking too long in the stall. I knock on her door. No answer. I knock again then wiggle the handle, it’s locked. I hear someone say, “One minute,” as the door opens. But, it’s not my mother. A tall, tan lady with beautiful blonde hair looks down at me.

  “Excuse me.” She smiles as she passes me. My face drops, and I feel as if I might throw up. My mother was in there, I was sure of it. I step out of the lady’s way. My mother was in that stall, or so she told me she would be. I’m scared and run to knock on the other five stalls. The lady leaves, and now I’m all alone.

  My chest gets tighter, and I can’t catch my breath. My left eye twitches as I try to calm my mind. Maybe she ran out to the car and she’ll be right back? I try to be strong and not cry. She told me to wait for her, and I’m sure she wouldn’t just leave me, right? I glance at my watch, 1:33 P.M. I start to cry as a group of beautiful women walk into the bathroom.

  “What’s wrong, little girl?” A woman with shiny black hair comes close to me.

  “My mother is gone,” I cry out as I grab my chest; it gets tighter with every sob. Some of the women gasp then glance at each other before looking back at me.

  “Oh, honey. We’ll find her—don’t cry. Everything will be just fine, you’ll see. My name is Violet Belka.” She’s closer now.

  “And I’m Elizabeth Belka. What’s your name, sweetie?” an older, finely-dressed woman says.

  “Sca-rrr-let Rod…rick. I…I’m nine, and my mother’s name is Clara Hill,” I mumble through swollen lips.

  “Where in Naples do you live, Scarlet?” Violet asks as she takes a step closer.

  “I don’t live in Naples, Miss Belka. We live in Bonita Springs,” I tell her as I look at my toes.

  Someone gasps then two of Violet’s friends start to whisper. I cry harder as my chest aches; it’s making it so hard to breathe. This is the worst I have ever felt in my whole life. This is what Henry and my mother were planning. I’m so hurt; I thought I was a good daughter.

  Violet and Elizabeth try to hug me, but I back away. The last time a person hugged me I was left in a restroom. I’m scared so I back away.

  By the time I let them hug me, I know my mother is never coming back. The restroom is packed, and there are many women watching us. Elizabeth takes my hand to leave the restroom in search for help. The mall is crowded, and it’s too hard to breathe.

  I make myself stop crying, and then tell myself to never cry for Clara again. She always puts her boyfriends first. So many times I went to bed hungry, because she was too busy in her room with them.

  After searching the mall, we finally find a mall security guard. Elizabeth says something to the man. He looks down at me then stares at me like a confused dog. I don’t think many children get lost in such a nice area. He asks if I’m all right.

  I stare down at my hands and whisper, “She left me.”

  “Scarlet, dear, when I count to three, you will wake up from your hypnosis. One. Two. Three.” I open my eyes and see Dr. Sanders making notes. She glances at me briefly then smiles right before returning to her notes. I remember everything from my memory regressive hypnosis. It’s indescribable, but my astonishment fades as my chest tightens from the memory of my mother’s face.

  “Scarlet, that’ll be enough for today. We have surpassed your session time, and I’m pretty sure my next client is furious with his meeting time being reduced.” She follows me out of her office. I glance back to see her next client fuming as he glares at me.

  For ten years I built a wall to block my past, but after seeing a correspondence from someone I thought was Clara Hill—the letter was actually from Claire Hills—I was unable to focus on work. Once again, I became depressed. Now I’m constantly
plagued by dreams that I’m chasing after my mother. I’ll dream that I’m so close to reaching her, but right as I’m about to touch her, I wake up.

  My education and then my career have provided vital distractions that have kept me from ruminating. I make myself too tired to think, and for years I’ve lived like this: Completing an endless to-do list so that I don’t think about or even remember her.

  During my time in Clara’s home, my teachers praised my advanced skills. My reading, mathematics, comprehension, and writing were always at a higher grade level. Honestly, when you have no father figure and a mother who barely notices you, what else is there to do besides schoolwork?

  Violet Belka and Clara Hill are as opposite as night and day. Violet, a member of Quail West Country Club, is accustomed to Saturday brunches followed by shopping excursions to Naples’ Waterside Shops. Clara, I remember, did most of her shopping at the Dollar Store. A luxury for Clara would have been a Saturday shopping trip to Target.

  Before becoming part of the Belka family, it was always Clara, whatever boyfriend she picked up while working at the 7-Eleven, and me. After I confided that I longed for a large family to love, Grandma Lucy and Amber claimed me as their family. My abandonment was difficult to overcome, and honestly, what Clara did will always torment me.

  “Are you hungry?” Violet questions as she focuses on the traffic surrounding us.

  “No,” I snap without meaning to.

  “What’s wrong, love?” she questions with concern. She briefly glances in my direction then returns her attention to Naples’ five o’clock race home. I stare out of Violet’s Cadillac ATS as I consider what’s truly bothering me.

  It’s been fifteen years since my biological mother ditched me at Waterside Shops. I’m lucky Violet and Elizabeth found me. Children’s Network of Southwest Florida tried to locate Clara, but they would have had better luck solving a Naples’ unsolved mystery. When my social worker allowed me to collect some of my belongings, I noticed our trailer hadn’t changed since the day we left for Naples.