Title: Hidden in the Dark
Author: Carina Scott
Rating: FRM
Classification: Gen
Content Warning: Mentions of child molestation.
Spoilers: Internal Affairs
Character: Maxine Valera
Challenge Word: #12, Broken
Summary: A horrible past provides strength for the present.
Disclaimer: I don't own, please don't sue.
Original Author’s Note: I am taking great liberties with Valera's past history, as we really know nothing about her. This is my take on what might have gone through Valera's mind as Nick accosted her in his home.
New Author’s Note: Written a few years back, for a challenge over @ the MiamiFicTalk Yahoo Group. Enjoy!

~*~

It's there, in his eyes. I'd sworn to myself long ago that I'd never be in a situation to see that look again, but here I am. In mere seconds I feel like I'm ten years old again, at my stepfather's mercy.

The room was semi dark, the glow of the moon providing an eerie light. I had the blankets bundled around me, tighter than necessary, but still I felt a chill. My mom had stopped by my door ten minutes ago to wish me good night. She was getting ready for her Friday night late shift at the local hospital. I hated when she worked late, but I knew she did it for me. Always said she was saving up for me to get into a great college.

Anyway, on these nights I found myself lying in wait. Like a lion on the prowl, searching for the perfect prey. Only thing is, I was the prey and my stepfather, Charles, was the tiger. My mother had married him two years ago, and in the beginning it was great. Charlie was the dad I'd always wanted. But a year into the marriage things began to change. I didn't notice it until my mother miscarried for the second time and the doctor's told her she wouldn't be able to have more children. It might have started before then, but suddenly Charlie was angry all the time, snapping at my mother, hitting her on occasion. But he never hit me. I was his princess, his little angel. He never hurt me.

At least not until after my tenth birthday. The first time he touched me, I felt weird, but I brushed it off. He'd had too much to drink, so I was sure it was an accident. By the time I realized it wasn't I was too afraid to say anything. Some of my fear was because I didn't think anyone would believe me, but mostly it was the threats he made against my mother. She was all I had; there was no way I was going to risk losing her.

So on the nights my mother went to work late, I lay in the darkness of my room, listening for signs that I might get a reprieve. But they never came. Like clockwork, I would hear soft footsteps on the hardwood floor, followed too quickly by the sound of a doorknob being turned. A soft light from the hall would drift into my room, and I would squeeze my eyes shut tightly, praying that he would leave me alone if I was asleep.

He didn't fall for it though. I'd hear the shuffle of clothing, the sound of a zipper, and then I'd fade away to my own world. With my eyes closed tightly, I'd strain to listen to the various noises outside my window. I'd learned long ago that he was rougher if I fought, so it was easier for me to just lie still and ignore him as best I could. I'd hold on to the sounds of the crickets chirping, the horn honking repeatedly down the street, or the rustle of the trees. I would imagine that I was a young adult, hanging out on the fire escape on these nights, just like the young couple that lived above us often did on Friday nights.

Afterwards, I would wrap the blankets around me once again, and cry quietly to myself, listening as the door closed behind him. Midway through the night, I would walk quietly down the hall to the bathroom. I'd shower in the scalding hot water, and dress in sweats and a t-shirt. Hair still wet, I would crawl back into my bed, pulling my knees to my chest. Rocking back and forth, I would sit like that until my mom came home from work. I never greeted her, she never knew I was awake on those nights, but I couldn't sleep until I knew she was in the house. Until I knew she was safe, that I was safe.

As I stood there against the wall, Nick trying to kiss me and convince me to stay, I knew I wasn't safe. The look in his eyes was the same look I had seen in my stepfather's eyes when I refused him. I was fourteen, and I had just miscarried. I didn't even know I was pregnant, but I knew who the father was. Vowing never to bring a child of his into the world, I stood up to him. He beat me that day, but I went to the police the next morning, when I was supposed to be in school. They called my mother from her job, and in an interrogation room, I finally told her the truth. To my great relief she believed me without question, and the officers arrested him that evening.

As soon as I said no, I knew Nick wasn't used to hearing it, that fact was evident in by the fury in his eyes, in his voice. With all the strength I could muster, I shoved him off of me. Even as I saw him fall, heard the sickening thud as his body hit the floor, I couldn't feel anything but relief. As I ran to my car, I held on to that feeling, knowing that it might not last. People like Nick and my stepfather, abusers; they don't like to lose. Their MO is to hurt and hurt until they break. Charles hadn't broken me, and neither would Nick.

If my past has taught me nothing else it taught me that I am strong. I may have my weak spots; I might not be the most perfect piece of china in the cabinet; but I'm still whole. I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm definitely not broken.

THE END