Under The Bridge

Finalist in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

Things hadn’t always been this way. There had been a time when Jamie lived an ordinary life. School, annoying siblings, unremarkable pets, all that sort of thing. Just your everyday life in mainstream suburbia. Sometimes, on days like today, that old life almost seemed attractive.
For the first time in her life, Jamie felt alone. And it wasn’t the petty, teenage feeling of not belonging, either. It was the type of feeling that sunk deep into your bones; weighing you down and making you feel dead. It was the type of feeling that people would take their own lives just to avoid.
But Jamie would never do that. She was a strong girl.
She could survive on her own.
The concrete felt cold underneath Jamie’s cheek as she lay shivering under the moonlight. A poor excuse of a blanket barely covered her body. It was tattered and moth-eaten, something that she found in a dumpster over two days ago. Jamie shut her eyes tightly, ignoring the drunken laughter and shattering bottles that could be heard no more than 500 meters away.
Sleeping under the Flemington Bridge was her last resort. She had nowhere else to go.
Cold and miserable, with only 75 cents in her pocket, Jamie felt that she had hit rock bottom. Of course, she was wrong. There was a time when things were much, much worse.
Her mother had brought home a new boyfriend. His name was Bruce.
From the first time she saw him, she knew Bruce was something awful. He was tall and bulky, with giant muscles rippling along his tattooed arms. Jamie was 15 at the time, and even then she knew that the way he looked at her wasn’t right.
Jamie’s mother dated him for a year. He was nice and charming, always cracking jokes when appropriate. Making her suspect that he wasn’t a monster. He was friendly to Jamie’s little brothers too, who absolutely adored him.
When it came to Jamie, however, the façade disappeared.
It first happened while she was sleeping.
Jamie had always been a light sleeper. The slightest noise and the tiniest sliver of light could wake her up. So when she heard her bedroom door creak shut, her eyes snapped wide open. Footsteps made their way towards her, slow and heavy.
Thud, thud, thud…
His breathing was loud. It resonated in the air, smelling like grease and petrol. The closer he got, the faster Jamie’s heart raced.
Large, muscular hands slid onto her exposed thigh.
Jamie screamed, jolting wide-awake. Sweat, cold and sticky, covered her clothing, and she desperately clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from making any more noises. The dream still stuck with her consciousness, and the memory of his hands on her skin made her physically ill. She retched on the sidewalk, crying and shivering.
Despite how hard it got, despite how lonely she became, Jamie knew only one choice.
She could never go back to where she came from.

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