Valentina POV
I was so exhausted that night. School in the morning , then shift at the convenience store in the evening, plus homework. My body aches as I lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling above me. The house was quiet for once. My momma wasn't shouting or breaking glasses.
My thoughts were all over the place which caused me to fall asleep almost instantly.
I could feel a hand brushing against me. At first, I thought it was all a dream. Then I shifted, half-asleep, trying to sink deeper into the mattress. But the hand came back, firmer this time.
My eyes snapped open immediately.
Rocco, my stepfather was standing beside my bed.
The glow from the lamp cast half his face in the shadow. He was smiling, it was the kind that never reached his eyes.
"Shhh," he whispered.
My heart began to pound so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
"What are you doing?" My voice came out hoarse.
"Relax," he said softly. "Let's not make this difficult, shall we."
The smell of alcohol clung to him. I felt nauseous that instant.
"If you touch me, I'll tell Momma," I said.
He laughed. "Between the two of us, girl, who do you think she'll believe?"
Him of course. Momma always believes everything he says
He reached for me. Something shifted inside me, fear turned into disgust.
I drove my knees upwards and hit him hard. He cursed and stumbled back, clutching himself. I jumped out of the bed and ran for the door.
I almost made it but his hand caught my arm and yanked me back, slamming me into the door. My head throbs and I could see stars. But I stayed on my feet.
I turned and punched him in the face as hard as I could. Pain shot through my knuckles. He swore, grabbing me again, stronger this time.
He threw me onto the bed with a force that made the bedstand creak.
"You stupid girl," he snapped. "You should've stayed quiet."
I felt lightheaded, but I refused to stop fighting. Weakly, I reached blindly across the nightstand and found the lamp. I grabbed it and crashed it hard again his head.
He groaned and staggered backward.
I took the opportunity and ran out of my room immediately.
My mother's bedroom door was close to mine. She would not wake up, even if I pounded on her door. Especially since she is on medication.
I reached the living room and quickly grabbed the telephone. My hands were shaking as I tried to dial.
Before I could press the first number, the phone was ripped from my hand.
He grabbed my hair and pulled me backward so hard I screamed. My scalp burned as he dragged me toward the kitchen.
"No one is coming," he growled.
I tried to hold on to the kitchen counter as he pulled me through, but it didn't work. Then my hands grabbed something cold and heavy.
My back was close to his chest. So I stopped struggling and raised my hand up backwards. Then I hit him with all my might.
There was a dull crack and his grip loosened instantly. Immediately I turned around to look at him. For a brief second confusion cross his face.
Then he fell with a thud and everything went silent.
I stood close to the counter, breathing hard. He wasn't moving. Blood began to spread slowly beneath his head.
The object slipped from my hand and hit the floor.
Just then my mother walked in.
She looked drowsy, her robe hangs loosely around her thin frame. She must have come to refill the water jug. She stopped when she saw him on the floor.
Her eyes moved to me and then she screamed.
The sound was high and broken.
I walked past her into the living room. My legs felt strange, like they didn't belong to me. I picked up the phone again.
"Hello," I said, my voice distant in my own ears. "Is this 911?"
My mother's sobs echoed behind me.
"I think I... killed someone."
The words felt unreal.
minutes later, red and blue lights flashed through the windows. The house was filled with strangers. Officers moved quickly. I was taken outside and asked some questions.
I answered them. Yes, he attacked me.Yes, I fought back and Yes, I killed him.
A female officer came and turned me around just as cold metal cuffs closed around my wrists. My mother was crying quietly in the kitchen. She did not look at me.
They led me outside. Neighbors had gathered, I could feel their stares. Some looked at me with pity, other looked with disgust.
The police car door opened. I stepped inside without resisting. Then the door shut closed.
At the station, they placed me in a small room under bright lights. An officer asked me to recount the incident, which I did.
The trial came faster than I expected. Because I was sixteen, it stayed in a juvenile court. That didn't make it easier.
The word self-defense and excessive force was used often.
They said I could have run, or locked myself in the bathroom. That I shouldn't have struck him that hard.
My mother testified. She cried on the stand. She said she never knew or saw any signs. She could not believe her daughter was capable of something like that.
My aunt Francesca sat in the front row every single day. Her hands were always folded tightly in her lap. She never looked away from me.
When the judge finally spoke, the courtroom felt suffocating.
"Given the defendant's age and the circumstances surrounding the case…"
I stared straight ahead.
"…this court sentences Valentina Russo to juvenile detention."
Aunt francesca closed her eyes, as tears came out.
I didn't cry as they escorted me out of the courtroom.
I was placed in a transport vehicle, then I looked up at the sky. It was bright and clear, like nothing had changed.