Chapter 7

The next couple weeks David was fine. He went back to the sweet guy that I fell in love with. I didn't think I would ever see David's 'bad' side again. I figured maybe he just had a bad week or something. It happens to all of us. He was so romantic and a great charmer. We went out on a date every night for a long time. Of course it interfered with my schoolwork, but of course, I didn't care. When I was with David, I felt different. I felt like I was a princess, an angel up in Heaven. He was that sweet. Every time he would smile, I would fall in love with him all over. David had a way of letting me forget all my troubles. When I was with him, nothing else mattered, no one else existed. It was just us two- together. Forever.

After David and I had been going out for about a month, he gained this type of control over me. It was weird. It was as if I couldn't do anything on my own. Nothing. I couldn't talk, think, or do anything on my own. He would order me around constantly. He had more 'rules' for me than my parents did. I didn't realize it at the time, but I really was living in constant fear. When I was around David, I felt like I was walking on eggshells. He yelled at me a lot. If I didn't do something correctly.

There's one time I remember really well. It was a Friday and we were at his house, his parents were out of town like usual. They never stayed home. He just always told me they were away on business, I think they just didn't like their son. David and I were in his bedroom, it was huge. His bedroom was bigger than our whole house! His house was almost big enough to be a mansion. Anyways, we were sitting on his bed, just talking and laughing like we usually do. He wanted some water. He asked me to go downstairs and get him a glass of water with ice cubes while he finds a CD for us to listen to. So I obeyed, more out of fear than anything. When I came back up and I gave him his water, he flipped out on me! I forgot his ice cubes. He got that same look in his eyes he had that day he hit me at school. I was so scared. I didn't show it, though. I would never give him that satisfaction. He threw the glass up against the wall, water flying everywhere. I got soaked, when the glass shattered, a few pieces hit my arm. They cut my arm and it started to bleed a little. David didn't notice. He grabbed that arm and pinned it to the wall, above my head. He drove the pieces of glass deeper into my arm. I thought he was going to kill me, with all that rage that was passing through his body. I remember him yelling, and lots of it. I just don't remember what he was yelling about. I suppose it was about I didn't listen to him fully.

I was in a lot of pain. I had about five pieces of glass drove into my right arm, and David had a death grip over them. I didn't wince, or yell, or try to escape though. I couldn't. There's no doubt in my mind that he would have me out his window, or maybe down his 20 stairs. I remember after he yelled at me for about 5 minutes or so, was my first beating. With his free hand he slapped my face twice and punched my arm an endless amount. I didn't want to cry, or let him know I was in pain. Then he would have enjoyed it too much. I don't really remember how I got away. I don't think I ever got the guts to kick him or something. I think he just let go of my arm, and I ran as fast and far away from his home as I could.

That was my first trip to the hospital. I got over 30 stitches in my right arm from the glass. I didn't want to go to the hospital. I remember I ran home and Jason was the only one there. He saw me and told me he's taking me to the hospital. I know I put up a fight because I can remember Jason carrying me out to his car. He never asked me what happened. I don't know why. Maybe he didn't care. Or maybe he knew. When he called mom and told her that we are going to be late for dinner because he needed to take me to hospital, she naturally panicked and rushed over. I guess she thought I was on my deathbed or something.

Everyone asked me what happened. My mom, my dad, the nurses. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to squeal on David. To this day, I still don't know why. Maybe it was fear, maybe guilt, or maybe it was just pure embarrassment. Embarrassed that I had such bad taste in men, embarrassed that I would let someone do this to me. Plus I had my pride, you know? It was like if I didn't admit that David beat me up, it didn't really happen. It was just a bad dream.

It was quite obvious that I got beat up, though. I had a hand print on my cheek, and big o' bruises on my arm, that only looked like got there by a fist. Plus the way the glass was embedded into my arm, only a person could do that. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I remember just sitting on that hospital bed, bandages over my stitches, with these beatings all over me, with 3 sets of eyes just staring down at me - waiting for me to give the name of my abuser. But it didn't come. I opened my mouth plenty of times to attempt to tell on David, but it never came. I just said that I fell down while I was running home, and my arm went through a window. So, it was a really bad lie, and no one believed me, but that's what I stuck to.

I didn't like the thought that this really did mean I was an abuse victim. Me. Kelly Clarkson, an abuse victim. It sounded weird. Every time that thought ran threw my mind, it gave me the chills. I didn't want to believe it. I denied it to myself, but deep down, I knew the truth. The awful nightmarish truth. I felt different from that day on. I think it was my broken sprit. I didn't look at my self the same after that first time. I couldn't. It was like I gave in to everything I stood for. It was like all over my body announced to the world my private life. Whenever someone would look at me and whisper, I knew what they where saying. "Look, that Kelly girl must be weak, she gave in to her abuser. She didn't walk before it was to late."

My parents let me stay home from school for a week. They said it was so my arm could heal better, but I knew the truth. My parents had their pride as well. They couldn't let the rest of the world know that their middle child is an abuse victim. Besides, it might make them look bad, you know? I didn't mind staying home from school, though. I stayed in my room all day and cried. I felt better after. I wish now that I would have faced the world sooner, though. Because even now when ever I get hurt, and I just feel I can't go on, I don't. I will put my life on hold, just as my parents made me do so. I wish they would have given me that extra push to move on with my life.

When my friends noticed I wasn't at school on Monday, they got worried. Mostly Jessica, though. She could tell how David was to me. I remember she called me during lunch. She snuck into the girls' bathroom and called me on her cell phone, since we weren't allowed to have phones at school. When the phone rang that time, it sounded different. The ring, it sounded friendly. I could just tell it was Jessica. I picked it up and said "hey Jebbie!" as if nothing was wrong. As if I wasn't an abuse victim. She asked me, all worried, why I wasn't at school. That was when the water works started. Big, ugly tears just came running down my cheeks. I told her everything. about how David asked me to get his water, how he threw the glass up to the wall, how he beat me. I even told her how I had huge bruises on my arm, the red mark on my check, and about my stitches. Jessica started to cry as well. She was scared for me because she knew I wasn't strong enough emotionally to go through this. She was right. She came over to see me that night after school. After she gave me her big "you can never see David again" lecture, we talked like there was no tomorrow. It was so great, and exactly what I needed at that point. It was almost as if my life was normal again - I never met David, and we could just talk for hours. Why do all good things have to come to an end?