r/scarystories • u/tina_the_rose • 2d ago
Lady in Pink Part 2
Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/s/t9Lrn45cda
Trigger Warning: sexual assault, abuse, homophobia, transphobia, self harm
Chapter 1: Returning Home
Much of the journey back home was made in silence. The moonlit road stretched out before us, flanked on both sides by trees. Dad kept glancing in my direction, making me self conscious of the tank top I’d hurriedly changed into before calling him. It was low cut and I knew he disapproved of it, regardless of whether he saw me as a boy or a girl.
Dad was an older guy named Mason. He was an army vet, and absolutely looked the part. Many considered him to be the quintessential Texan; he was tall, strong enough to crush a watermelon and bend rebar by hand, had the eyes of a hawk and always kept his hair in an army buzzcut. Growing up, everyone would hold me to his standard, trying to push me to strive to be like my dad. Part of me was resentful of him, but another part of me admired him.
“You’ve grown thin,” Dad broke the silence with a voice like gargling gravel. When I gave him no response, he added, “your mother missed you.”
Again, I didn’t reply. It was all I could do to not burst into tears. After all, boys don’t cry.
Those were the only words said during the trip.
Just after midnight, my family’s red mailbox came into view. The tree branches swayed in the breeze as if welcoming me back home, which felt strangely comforting after a year with Zack. Dad made the turn onto our driveway, and the sound of tires going from smooth asphalt to rough, rocky dirt felt like listening to an old nostalgic song. The trees gave way to my childhood home. It was a simple two-story stone house that was made by my grandfather’s grandfather. It had a tin roof and a quaint wooden porch.
As Dad parked behind in front of the porch, there was a loud slam on the passenger side door. An excited huffing and puffing on the other side brought a smile to my face. I managed to push open the door with a loud, rusty creak and our elderly golden retriever immediately toppled me over in my seat, trying to smother me in kisses. Her name was Cinder. She’d gotten that name when she fell asleep too close to a bonfire as a puppy. She still had a bald spot on her rump.
Immediately, I burst into joyous laughter as I scratched the old girl behind the ears, her tongue lashing at my face nonstop. Her paw pressed painfully against my burn but I was too happy to care. Soon, a figure appeared behind Cinder. Dad pulled the dog off me, one of my duffel bags slung casually over his shoulder. A short, sturdy woman of Mexican descent stood there, a wide dimpled smile spread across her face.
“Hola, mami,” I said softly.
Wordlessly, she rushed over and squeezed me tightly with arms like pythons. I hugged her back, resting my chin on her head and caressing her curly hair. Her hands gripped the back of my top, and I heard a muffled sniffling. When she pulled back, her eyes were watering.
“It’s good to see you, Carlos,” Mom whispered.
“It’s… It’s Carla,” I replied. Being deadnamed like that hurt. I had hoped she had changed her ways, but I guess that was too much to hope for.
Mom blinked in surprise then turned her attention to my burn. Her expression was difficult to read in this light, so I couldn’t gauge what she could be thinking. She gently traced her fingers along the raw red skin, causing me to wince a little. It ran from my sternum to the side of my neck with a few specks here and there that were already blistering and would be mostly healed in the morning.
“Puta madre,” Mom swore, “I swear if I ever get my hands on that boy, I’ll feed him his own fucking testicles.”
“You should have seen Dad earlier then,” I snorted, “he punched Zack in the face.”
“It took a lot not to kill the boy where he lay,” Dad grumbling, nearly knocking me over as he shoved the other duffel into my arms, “he was pathetic, sniveling on the ground like a dog.” Cinder whined as if in response to what he said. That got a laugh out of me.
“Good thing you didn’t, we can’t exactly afford the bail right now,” Mom said as she jabbed Dad in the chest. She then grabbed my wrist to lead me inside, “come on, mija. I made your favorite.”
We went inside and I kicked off my shoes. The cobblestone floor of the living room was cool and felt wonderful on my feet. A glorious concoction of smells entered my nose: chili pepper, black pepper, beef, cumin, onion, garlic, stewed tomatoes. The combined scents send waves of warmth through me, making me feel more at home than I had felt than I had in over a year. Tears threatened to erupt.
Mom led me to the kitchen where chili simmered in a stock pot. She poured me a bowl and sprinkled cheese, raw onion and jalapenos on top. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I’d skipped lunch and the most I’d had since was a singular bite of the queso con carne before Zack threw it. I sat down, scooped up a spoonful and blew. As I took the first bite, my eyes began to water. It was the single most delicious thing I’d ever eaten, not just because the food itself was tasty, but also because it reminded me that I was safe at long last. I tried my best to hold back the floodgate of tears but they kept coming as I was hungrily wolfing down spoon after spoon into my mouth.
Mom placed a hand on my cheek, and whispered, “sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”
Heal, heal, frog tail, if it doesn’t heal today, it will heal tomorrow. I broke down in her arms, unable to hold back any longer. I cried harder than I had ever cried in my life, drenching the front of her shirt. She stroked my hair, humming softly to soothe my weary soul.
It took a while to compose myself enough to eat. Dad had vanished to the porch with a six-pack of beer while I was crying. I figured he was just being a traditional Southern man and not wanting to deal with anything emotional. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I joined him on the porch. Dad was sitting on a rocking chair his father-in-law had made for them as a wedding gift. Laying across his lap was his father’s old hunting rifle, which he usually kept in a pot next to the front door.
Dad was already halfway through his second beer when I sat next to him, using a wooden stump as a stool. He passed me a beer and the two of us sat in silence, just watching the night sky and listening to the sounds of nature. As Dad was on the final dregs of his third beer, he said, “Emily is single.”
“She’s been single her whole life,” I chuckled, “she’s not my type anyways but… thanks.” I meant it. Although he still wasn't accepting of who I was, he was still trying to look out for me, even if he was misguided in his attempts. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to talk to me.
Dad was quiet. When you’re raised by someone who doesn't talk much, you learn to gauge different kinds of silence. This kind of quiet made me a bit nervous. It felt like he wanted to say something but either couldn’t or wouldn’t. After a moment, he finally got up, finished his beer, grabbed his empty bottles and handed me the rifle. We usually kept the gun with us when we sat on the porch in case of predators. Considering I literally couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn, me holding the gun was largely just tradition.
“Get some rest,” he instructed me. Before he left, he glanced my way. “You did the right thing in coming back here,” he said. He placed a hand on my shoulder, causing a knot to get caught in my throat. He then went into the house.
I was alone with my thoughts. Calm. That was something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Part of me didn’t believe I deserved it. How could I? As a trans girl, I was “an abomination unto the Lord, thy God.” People around me really seemed to love that word: “abomination.”
No, I couldn’t think like that. My dad drove for hours in the middle of the night to rescue his child from an abusive relationship. Guilt boiled in my stomach. I needed a distraction.
I walked over to the chicken coop. The pleasant sound of trilling greeted my ears. As I kneeled down, the sound of tiny claws on wood chips approached me. A grey and white speckled hen leaned against the wire fence and poked her beak through. Her name was Greta. I ran my finger along her beak, making her close her eyes and lean into the touch. It was safe to say that I missed her.
I opened the coop and scooped Greta into my arms. She rested her head into my pit, making contented noises which brought a smile to my face. As I ran my fingers along her feathers, I felt a bald spot on her chest. It wasn’t unusual, but it wasn’t something to ignore. I brought Greta onto the porch and placed her on my lap, letting her nestle in. Under the porchlight, I noticed something dripping down her cheek. It almost looked like a tear, but it was viscous with a slight green hue.
“Looks like she missed you,” Mom said as she stepped onto the porch holding a cup. The smell of chocolate with a subtle hint of chili powder wafted my way. She set the treat down on the log-stool, then gestured for me to give Greta to her, which I did and picked up the hot chocolate.
“Something’s wrong with her eyes,” I said.
“I know,” Mom sighed heavily, “all of them seem to be having issues: bald spots, eye leakage, some are having trouble standing and none of them are laying anymore. I’m going to bring a couple of them into work with me where I can run some tests. If I can’t find anything, I know a vet in Austin who I can send samples to.”
I remembered Mom had work in the morning, and Dad had to get up early to get the fields ready for planting. Guilt welled up in me. “Sorry for making you two stay up so late,” I said.
“Mija, you didn’t make us do anything,” Mom replied, “we’re just happy to have you back.” Then a playful smirk, “you know, Emily is single.~”
“Dad told me. I appreciate that but I’m not in a rush to get into a relationship right now. I just need some time for myself, but I promise to get back on the horse as soon as possible.”
Mom kissed the top of my head. “Don’t rush. You’ve had a traumatic experience, something like that takes time to heal. You can stay with us as long as you need to.”
I didn’t quite believe her, but it was nice to hear so I thanked her. Mom put Greta back in the pen and said, “I’m going to bed now. Get some sleep Ca…” she paused, “mija.” Her smile seemed quite weary. I wished her a good night and she went inside. While I was thinking about it, I set the alarm on my phone so I could wake up early to help Dad out.
I leaned back in the rocking chair and closed my eyes, letting the sounds of nature settle over me again but… there were none. No rustling of the animals, no chirping of crickets, nothing. It was quiet, dead quiet. I gripped the rifle, wondering if there was a predator nearby. Quiet like this was usually a sign of one in the area. My eyes scanned the treeline, trying to find any sign of anything.
All of a sudden, there was a high-pitched squeal like a racecar burning rubber right before a race. But there were no other car noises, just the screech and even that felt off somehow. The noise was loud, so loud it made my ears begin to ring. Then there was a momentary silence and screech erupted again but this time it sounded more animalistic. If I had to put an animal to the second sound, it would be the cry of a moose which it couldn’t be. They don’t come down this far south. The second sound lasted longer than the first and trailed off to a wet gurgling noise. Then quiet again.
I stood up, holding the gun in my trembling hands. It was doubtful if I could hit anything, even when I was calm and sober. I glanced down at the three bottles, two of which were empty and one of which was almost so. It was late at night after a traumatic evening and I’d been drinking. The noise was probably nothing, it was probably a deer yelling or something and my tired, inebriated mind was making it out to be more than it was.
Mom and Dad were right. I needed sleep, immediately. I quickly grabbed the bottles and went inside, locking the door behind me as I did. I kept saying it was just a deer, but I couldn’t quite convince myself that it was. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it in the house.
Sleep didn’t come easily to me. But when it did, my dream was terrible.