Hold to Marta

***Before we get this party started, I have to explain a bit.

This story is something I entered for a writing competition at thesims3.com. Of course, we couldn't just write anything for this special contest. We had to include this paragraph:

As the seconds ticked by my heart raced faster and faster. I had no hope left; my last hope was shattered into a million pieces a minute ago; there's nothing left for me. The door creaked open to reveal what I've been afraid to see. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it...right there...carefully watching my every move...

I've bolded it so that you can tell the difference between my writing and the paragraph given to us.***

I tossed the weathered baseball to my sister. Marta rose her arm and jumped up, catching the ball with both hands. She ran to me and gave me a hug.

Marta, my near-perfect sister, was the only thing that I loved in my life. My mother ended up cheating, and ran away from us to be with some man on the Internet. My father, Rick, was completely torn apart by that. I learned then that he was a recovering alcoholic. Now, he blows all of our money for beer and boxed wines.

I let Marta back down to the ground. “Come on,” I said with a smile. “Let’s get you some food.” My sister smiled up at me, her ocean-blue eyes twinkling. I weakly smiled down at her. We quietly tiptoed up the worn, red stairs to our porch. I held the brass doorknob in my hand, turning it to the right. The hinges squeaked as I pushed it open. Marta and I instinctively cringed, then paused to make sure our father didn’t hear.

We stepped inside, walking slowly.  I could see from the hall into the family room-- Rick was passed out on the couch. I was relieved beyond words. Whenever he had too much alcohol, he would pass out for the rest of the day. I remembered he had been on the couch since midnight, yesterday. That meant me and Marta were safe until noon.

I walked over to the kitchen, with no need to be quiet. My sister, noticing why I suddenly dropped all caution, ran to the counter and got out some plates. “What are we going to eat, Lynn?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I replied, my good mood sinking a bit. I opened our old refrigerator, bracing myself. I hesitantly looked inside. It was empty, not counting the various beer bottles. I opened a drawer, and noticed some chicken drumsticks. I grinned, taking it out to thaw it in the microwave.

“Hey,” I said, checking the clock, “can you fry the chicken when the oil gets hot? I need to run an errand.” I grabbed some money I stowed in the back of the cupboard. I drew back my hand, with only five dollars and a mouse. I cursed in shock, throwing the filthy thing out the window. I sighed. Half of our money was nibbled or crapped on.

Marta shrugged. She was forever fearful of the stove, since when she was five, and Rick held her wrist to a hot burner.

I groaned inwardly. As much as I wanted her to do it, and as much as she wanted to do it, the last thing I needed was hot oil when my father woke up. “I’ll do it when I get home, okay?” I ran over and gave her a kiss on her forehead. I shut off the stove and put the oil aside.

I hopped on my bike, riding on the lonely road, until I met the nearest cornerstore. I rode inside on my bike.

“No riding,” a chubby man told me from a card table.
“Very funny, Al,” I retorted, referring to the tempermental owner. I was the only one to give him business, so I naturally exploited the privelage, whether it was riding in the shop or snagging a deal on the groceries.

“I mean it,” he snarled, flicking his hat out of his eyes. “Next week they’re opening that condo thing across the street, and I can’t have the likes of you ruining business.”

“Whatever,” I said. “Your store sucks anyway.”

Furious, Al rose from his chair and pushed me from my bike. “I said I MEAN it. Now OUT!”

I crashed into the drink cooler, slamming my head on the hard, plastic edge. “Who cares?” I cried as I hopped up from the spot. “Downtown doesn’t smell like a goat’s ***.”

I rode the extra half-mile to downtown Southdale. The back of my head began to ache, but it honestly just felt like a Sunday night with Rick.

Parking my old bike at the stairwell of the grocery store, I went in. It was tiled, air-conditioned, and had all the food you could want. Every time I came, I wondered why I resorted to Al’s cornerstore. I hunted around for the drink coolers, picking up one and a half gallons of milk.

Setting the drinks on the conveyor belt at the register, I handed the cashier the five dollars I had. I breathed when she handed me back fifty cents of change. The quarters clicked together in my pocket, picking up my mood a notch.

I dropped the two cartons in the basket of my bike and rode off. The sun was high in the sky. Oh no, I thought as I realized what was happening. No, no, no, no no no no no!

Passing the clock tower as I raced through the streets, I swore under my breath-- it was one o’clock.

I pedaled furiously through the emptying roads, which became more and more remote. I passed the town common, the condo complex, and finally the sign for Thatcher Lane. I was at least five minutes from home. Tears and sweat ran down my face as I raced through the narrow asphalt.

Finally, finally, finally, I saw the field where I played catch with Marta not so long ago. I ditched the bike in the yard and ran to the house, carrying the milk and pounding up the stairs I had been so careful with a minute ago.

I burst through the door and saw a wineglass on the floor, cracked, spilling purple fluid all over the linoleum at the table.

Too late.

Rick had woken up. He had no food, because I stopped Marta from frying the chicken. Did I? I wondered momentarily. I could smell something burning. You have bigger things to worry about, stupid! I thought to myself. I rushed into the kitchen doors.

There, on the floor, was Marta. And Rick, in a drunken rage, was screaming and kicking her knees.

The door slammed behind me, and he turned from yelling at Marta. “And you!” he shouted, pointing at my face. “You left your sister alone! And you weren’t watching her.”

I nodded solemnly. I told Marta not to cook the chicken, but I couldn’t rat her out now.

“And now,” my father slurred, “I’m hungry, and I don’t have any food ’cause of you brats. So now you’re going to get it, you stupid kids.”

He took his hand, and slapped Marta across the face. She cried out, rubbing the harsh mark across her face.

“What’s wrong? Does that hurt you?” He said, in a falsely apologetic tone. He turned his hand to a fist and slammed it to her nose. “Does that hurt, too?” He screamed at her. Marta stayed still, cupping her hands around her bloody nose.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I hit him upside his head with one of the plastic plates left on the counter. “Leave her alone!” I screamed, punching his stomach.

“Why? Does it bother you?” Rick shouted, kicking my stomach. “Does it bother widdle Lynnie that her baby sissy is being hurt by her daddy?”

I was sent backward into the cutlery drawer, which bounced back open as I fell forward. I reached back for a knife, pretending I was just holding it for balance.

He wound up to hit me across my face, but I whipped out the knife, cutting into his knuckles.

“You little--!” Rick yelled, clutching his hand as he backed into the stove. Losing what little balance he fought for in his drunk state, he fell back, tipping over the oil. Half dripped onto his hand and his foot, but the other half spilled over the counter, burning Marta’s arm.

Given what little head start I had, I grabbed my sister and ran up the stairs. I locked every door I came to, until we had finally found refuge in the attic.

“This is bad,” I said, listening to Rick’s howling and shouting downstairs. Marta nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Let me see,” I said, gesturing for her arm.

As she reluctantly let me hold her arm, I felt my finger along the welts from long-ago fights. I ran my nail over scrapes from the recent rage. Finally, about at her elbow, her skin was red, and raised with blisters. I winced from looking at it. “This is really bad,” I muttered. “I have to get the phone. We need an ambulance.”

Marta looked at me with wide eyes. “The phone is in the living room.”

I sighed. She was right. We were trapped up here. But there was no way I was going to let her arm go without a visit to the hospital. I quickly blessed myself and ran out the attic.

I ran downstairs and grabbed the phone from the coffee table, and I raced back up them. I thanked God for stalling Rick in the precious moments it took to grab the phone.

I made it to my bedroom, and from there it was a clear run to the attic. I ran to Marta’s side and hugged her. She started crying. “Lynn, it burns,” she said, tears streaming down her face.

“I know, sweetie,” I whispered, “that’s why we call a doctor, so they can help you.”

I dialed 9-1-1, and heard an operator pick up on the other line. “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

Suddenly, I could hear footsteps closer to the closet. Rick was getting closer-- I held Marta tight to me. “Me and my sister live in Southdale on Thatcher Lane, and she got burned by some oil-- please help us!” I cried.

I waited for a response, but the woman only said, “I am calling for an ambulance now, please hold tight!”

As the seconds ticked by my heart raced faster and faster. I had no hope left; my last hope was shattered into a million pieces a minute ago; there's nothing left for me. The door creaked open to reveal what I've been afraid to see. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it...right there...carefully watching my every move...

Rick found us.

Now was the only time I could make my move-- I threw the phone I had been holding in my hands. It broke the glass, with scattered throughout the room. I kept my hold of Marta and ran the few feet left between me and the window.

And I jumped.

○  ○  ○

As soon as I woke up, I heard beeping noises and saw bright lights. My arm was stiff, and held into place. I bent over to see what happened-- it was molded into a yellow cast. I realized I couldn't move my foot, either. My head was pounding, and I remembered why. I looked around, and suddenly discovered I was in a hospital.

I leaned over to tell Marta something, but she wasn't there. Nobody was in my lonely cubicle. I pulled myself off of the cot and reached for the end table to steady myself. I hobbled across the room and pushed through the door.

As soon as I stepped out, a nurse ran over to me. "Lynn!" She exclaimed, "please go rest. You are very hurt and you really shouldn't be walking around."

"I need to see Marta," I said, stepping past her.

"Please sit--"

"I need to see my sister!" I shouted. "Where is Marta?"

"Lynn, I will have Marta see you in a second, please just sit--"

I shrieked. I didn't seem to have any control of what I did, but all I knew was I had to visit my sister.

The nurse took her fingers out of her ears, and in a defeated voice, she mumbled, "Marta is in room two-thirteen."

"Thank you," I spat, waddling off.

Finally I had found Marta's room. I pushed open the door and found her blonde head poking out from under the blanket. "Lynn?" She said, tentatively.

I opened my arms and she ran to me, sobbing. "It's okay," I whispered to her, "everything is going to be okay."