Creative Writing: I Call The Police Force

In order for one to understand why I did not call the police, one must first understand a bit of my background. I am a pale woman of South Carolina. Born and raised on a dusty farm until the age of 14. After my father died, my mother had to sell the farm, and we move in with my aunt, Joana, and uncle, Jesse. I always knew there was something strange about uncle Jesse; he was tall but always slouched and did not speak to Joana politely. I found out how awful he really was when I turned 15.
The night Kitty passed, I was 25, I had disheveled black curls, wide brown eyes, and a petite stature. Although it was dusty and wall paper was peeling, I was very lucky to live in my Austin street apartment with Cindy, my roommate, whom I shared the bills

I dreamt of Jesse again. I heard his grunting, and the echo of my own neglected, yet piercing, shrieks. I was in a dark room, 15 again, he had forced me down, and I would yell, “HELP, SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP,” even though I was screaming to the top of my lungs, “OH MY GOD, HE’S HURTING ME! PLEASE! WHY ISN’T ANYONE HELPING?”, the screams were so loud, so vivid; it was as if I was there all over again.
3:40 am, I woke up abruptly. My feet were cold, my shoulders were cold. I had walked to the window sill in my sleep again. When I looked down I saw blood and froze; it was Kitty, she let out another scream and then I realized it was her voice screaming, this was no longer just a dream. My head told me to run to the phone but my body froze, I was weak from shock by both my own past and Kitty’s body. An entire minute went by before I was able to unfreeze and run to the telephone. I stared at it and remembered that Cindy had left the money for the phone bill on the table before she had left. It had been there for a week since I had been procrastinating to pay it. With Kitty’s screams still resonating through the streets and into my corridor, I tried figure out another plan. I stared at my own hands for a moment and then ran out into the hallway of the apartment. I must have banged on every single door on my floor; I heard whispers and foot-steps but no one came out to help. No one ever answered me because they knew I had night terrors. I ran back to my apartment