Julkalender

“It's your mother,” Bert said. I looked at the phone. It was her calling.

“Does she believe you?” he asked. I shook my head.

“She said she didn't. Can you answer?” I replied nervously. My voice was still very irregular and unsharp and I hoped he could understand me. His voice still seemed very far away. I yawned and rolled over to the other side of the bed, and sat up on the edge.

It was noon and we had woken up because of my phone. He nodded and put the phone to his ears.

“Hello, this is Bert.. can...” he said but got interrupted. He listened and looked bitter and sad and worried.

“I understand,” he said. He turned the phone off and looked seriously at me.

“He has hit her again. Really bad,” he said. His eyes traced my face. I was ashamed that he could see the wound and the bruises, ashamed that my father had done it. I smiled halfhearted and stood up.

“Let's go,” I said, also with bitterness, and started putting my clothes on.

As we arrived at the house the door was unlocked and the car was gone. My mother was sitting on the sofa in the livingroom, quietly sobbing. We walked over to her and I put my arms around her.

“Hayley,” she said quiet. I nodded, but decided not to talk. I hugged her.

“Let's go to the hospital,” Bert said, and I had to try hard to hear him. My mother shook her head.

“I just need to lie down,” she said. Bert tried to argue but she wouldn't hear of it. We both looked sad at each other, but agreed to help her get to her bed so she could sleep.

“You have to leave him,” I signed to her, as Bert had left the room to make something for her to eat. She shook her head.

“I can't, it's not his fault and... I love him,” she signed. I let out a sound of frustration and took a pillow and threw it across the room. She looked surprised at me.

“You idiot,” I signed and cried. “He doesn't love you anymore and he doesn't deserve your love either. You have to leave him, because if you just let him hit you all the time he won't stop until you're dead!”

I left the room and almost ran into Bert, coming up the stairs with a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk.
“Give it to her, then we can leave,” I whispered. It hurt to speak. He nodded and I walked down the stairs and out in the garden. Soon later he joined me and we drove back to his place.