Dirty Nails by Regina Bartley Page A

couldn’t manage to say the words. They replayed over and over in my mind.
                  I opened my eyes, and watched as Sketch’s black boots walked away. He didn’t stay.
                  Please don’t go.
                  “Ahhhh,” I yelled out when he picked my head up off the floor by my hair.
                  “You’re a worthless cunt. I needed you today. I fucking needed you. You’re useless. You want to sleep, then fucking sleep.”
                  One hard slam of my head to the ground was the last thing I remembered.

Twelve- Death do us part 
     
                  I wasn’t sure how long I was out, but when I woke up I was lying in Max’s bed. No one was there with me. I was alone. The lamp on the nightstand was on dim barely lighting the room. I could lift my head up off the pillow but it hurt. My head was swimming, and my stomach was achy but I could tell that my fever was gone.
                  As bad as I wanted to cry I couldn’t. It would hurt too much. That was the worst beating that I’d ever taken from Max. He’d hit me before, but never beat me while I was down. It was low even for him. I’d never felt so scared and hurt. He fucked up. He fucked up bad, but what could I do. This was his game. His rules. I was just the pawn. Right?
                  All of these years I’d put up with so much, and for what reason, just so that I could live? This didn’t feel like living. The punishments were always cruel, and I placed the blame on some sick past that he had. Or some twisted idea that he just needed control. I could let him hit me, if that was what he needed. But he went too far this time. I’m not sure I could forgive him. Then again I really didn’t have a choice. He’d just kill me. I was trapped.
                  When I lifted my shirt I could see the dark bruises on my skin. They would heal, but I’m not sure that my heart would.
                  The cool air touched my bare legs and sent a shiver over my body as I stood from the bed. I didn’t want to be here when he got back. I wanted to be asleep in my own bed. It wasn’t likely that I’d be able to sleep, but I needed to get out of there.
                  I walked over to his closet to find a robe or something to put over myself to keep me warm. I don’t know how long I was out for, but it was long enough to make me feel a little better. Outside of the stiff muscles and sore bones, I felt okay. My legs seemed a little unsteady, but nothing a little more rest wouldn’t fix. Unfortunately I wouldn’t be getting any, not if Max had anything to do with it.
                  Inside the closet I found Max’s robe. I slipped it on and just before I turned off the light I found a box. It was sitting on the floor towards the back. It wouldn’t have stuck out to me if hadn’t had the name Shay written in permanent marker across the front. I peeked over my shoulder to see if anyone was in here. Snooping in Max’s things would surely get me another beating. I pulled the door closed a bit and hurried to open the box as quietly as I could. It was crammed full of Polaroid’s. Each and every picture was of me. There was uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. There had to be two hundred or more photos stuffed inside this box. Almost all of them were of me sleeping. Most I had never seen. This was some kind of freaking fetish.
                  I put the lid back onto the box and put it back where I found it, careful not to leave anything out of place. Just as I was about to stand back up I noticed another box. It didn’t have a name on it. It sat a little farther back into the corner.
                  I was just about to open the lid, when I heard the bedroom door open. I stood up fast and pretended to be tightening the belt to the robe as I stepped out of the