CRY OF THE WOUNDED SOLDIER
“Emily! What the hell is going on around here?”
Emily woke up with a start.
She laid on the couch, and someone had thrown a blanket over her.
Emily looked up, only to see her father looming over her.
He stared down at her. And, his stare proved all the more intimidating, because he still wore his Sheriff’s uniform.
“Hi daddy,” Emily said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“Don’t ‘Hi Daddy’ me, young lady,” her father snapped. “What were you and Martin Zall doing last night?”
“Nothing,” Emily said, quickly sitting up. “Just watching some movies.”
“And watching movies required Martin to have his pants open?”
Emily looked down and saw Martin slumped against the couch. It looked like he was still asleep, or maybe he was just playing possum.
Emily felt worried, though. She swore she could hear a very faint wheezing every time he breathed out.
“Would you care to explain that to me?” Her father growled.
“God! Nothing happened, alright!” Emily snapped, and almost added the word “unfortunately.” So much for her great plans and sly schemes.
Her father must have believed her, because she saw his features soften.
“Go upstairs and change,” he said, sounding defeated.
Emily started to protest, but stopped, when she looked down and saw that not only were her nipples poking through her shirt, but she suddenly realized just how the thin the fabric of her shirt appeared to be.
Her poor dad! Seeing his teenage daughter practically naked had probably traumatized him for life. She certainly felt embarrassed, and also embarrassed for him.
Emily grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around herself, and headed upstairs to her room.
“Martin,” she heard her dad say, “Get up. Time to go home.”
Upstairs, she threw on a long sleeved shirt. The shirt had a picture of a cartoon cat on it, and had been carefully chosen to remind her dad that she was still his little girl.
She tossed her shorts aside, and now put on a pair of old sweatpants, in order to de-emphasize her femininity.
The last thing she wanted was some lecture about sex from her dad, but knew she was probably going to get it regardless.
Her dad wasn’t a bad guy, but this was one of the few times she wished she had a mom to confide in.
“Emily!” Her dad shouted from downstairs.
Emily rolled her eyes.
“What?” She screamed.
“Emily!” Her dad shouted again. “Get down here!”
But, there was something about his voice that scared her.
She raced downstairs, but stopped dead when she reached the living room.
Martin wheezed. An awful, soul crushing wheeze that sounded worse with each breath.
“Slow breathes, Martin,” her dad said.
Then into his phone, he said, “I’m the officer on scene.”
Martin’s face had gone a deathly pale.
At the direction of the 911 operator, her dad had pulled up Martin’s shirt. And, Emily could see purplish, yellow bruising all along the left side of Martin’s chest.
“Oh god,” Emily cried, and immediately went to him.
Her dad now stood up, and walked outside, as he continued to talk on the phone with the 911 operator.
“You’re going to okay, Emily cried, although she didn’t sound very convincing, even to herself.
And, all the while, Emily thought she had killed him.
TO BE CONTINUED...