Unspoken – Chapter 3

Chapter 3

   It was but a couple days before the phone calls started. I could hear the crying through the wall of my bedroom or through the door down the hallway as I sit in the kitchen. It wasn’t over and began to realize it never would be. Hope leaked out of my pores, a slow and apprehensive drip. My heart was tearing, stitch by stitch. When I heard the pleas in her voice as she spoke to him, I felt less and less like a daughter. Where was the mother I had known? The one that unapologetically kept no secrets; whom was brutally honest. Where was my best friend? It was her and I against the world once. I couldn’t even look her in the eye now without sorrow drowning my body.

   Time past and he was out of prison again. He did not continue living with us but he was still constantly around. I remember there was a moment in the kitchen, just him and I. I tried to avoid him, act like he didn’t exist. He was not happy about that. He turned to me and asking with a hint of exasperated disbelief, “So what? Now you’re scared of me?”.

  I looked at him in shock, not expecting the acknowledgment. He had never said anything referring to the incidents. He was always pretending as if everything was fine and dandy. My refusal of his presence had gotten to him. I felt courage and power in this. “Don’t talk to me. Leave me alone.” Stern in my reply, I turned and left it at that, not waiting for his reaction. I didn’t need it. I needed to be left alone.

   I hated him. I never knew what hate was until now. He took everything from me. My whole life now seemed like a facade. Everything I thought I had, a family who loved me and would protect me no matter what, was never real. I blamed him for showing me the truth. For taking my family and my innocence. He could die and I would smile. Hate was bittersweet on my breath.

  I was alone and I now accepted that. There was nothing I could say or do to make my family care for me. I had to do this alone. I had to protect myself and man the fuck up. I asked for a video camera from my school friend. I would record him coming into my room. I noticed long black hair on my bed and knew he was visiting it when I was gone. I would catch him in the act. I would have proof. I would leverage it for freedom. He would no longer be allowed in my house.

   The friend refused and I couldn’t get my hands an a camcorder. I would have to do something else. I had his phone number so I texted him. Told him I wanted to talk. He was happy. He would leave me a written letter under my pillow. This was perfect. Almost better than a video. But the letter never came.

I have two brothers, both older. Billy and Will. Will is the eldest and moved with my birth father when my parents separated. I was barely a year old. They moved all the way to Virginia on the opposite side of the country. I didn’t know either of them. I met Will when he moved in with us while I was in 4th grade. He stayed for a couple years and then moved back to Virginia. For the last couple months Will had been staying with us again.

   Every year my grandmother, on my mom’s side hosts a Memorial Day Barbecue. We travel an hour and a half out to see her and enjoy what is always my favorite day of the year. It was here that I would see my father for what seemed like the first time. Apparently he was coming down to stay. I didn’t know what this meant for me. I was scared and confused. You see, I was told he was coming down a few days before by Will. I was also told by Will not to tell my father, George, about Marco. Will knew the truth about Marco because I had confided in him when he had returned. He cared no more than the others, regularly going to play golf or to  the movies with Marco. But he seemed to believe that George would care, otherwise why would he tell me to keep it a secret. I puzzled at this and nodded as if understanding. Was this my next move? If I told him, would he be the one to protect me? The only family member that I never knew, would be the only true one.

  I had two goals the morning of the party. First, to decide if I were going to confide in a stranger. Second, to catch the devil. For the past couple years, Marco had attended these parties. When we arrived everyone questioned his absence. The truth, I told my mother he was not allowed to come. This place was my sanctuary and I would not give it up. The lie, he had work. Then there he was, my father. He looked like the pictures, skinny, mid-height with dark black hair and a thick mustache. And I felt nothing. Why would I? I had never known him, never missed him. A stranger he was and a stranger he is. A part of me thought I would will feel something. It was then I knew I wouldn’t tell him. Fuck Will, fuck them all. I had myself.

  I sent the text. My first goal was a loss. I would succeed in the second. I learned Marco’s motives. He never laid a hand on me. He was smart. He knew if he did, he would go back to prison and he would never see me again. He cared about me. I wasn’t a one time thing. He was infatuated. And I realized my silence had made him believe I was receptive. He thought I liked him the way he liked me. It was twisted but with this understanding I knew I was smarter. I was no longer at his whim. I could control my life.

   In a previous text exchange, only a couple days prior, Marco asked me “Did you and  Rachel like what you saw?”. He was referring to that first night in the livingroom and also to a night(s) I never knew about. Guilt consumed me for allowing my best friend to stay the night so many times. How careless I was to bring her into this. When I showed her the message she said she never saw anything, so atleast it was unknown? I replied saying I didn’t know what he meant. It was only half a lie.

  Now I asked him about the shower incident. What had really happened. He told me the truth and that my mom knew the truth as well. I had the ammunition. All the days I had thought I was crazy; That I must be crazy because my family would never betray me. Those days were done. I had concrete proof that no one would be able to deny. Today, I had won.

Coming of Age – Part 1

Delilah woke with the strangest feeling. She knew there would be nerves, a little fear, even some excitement. It was a wonder she was able to fall asleep at all. But this feeling in her stomach was different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it and decidedly pushed it aside.

She had a lot to do today and didn’t have time to dwell on odd feelings. There were more important things, like deciding which outfit she was going to wear. She held up the two she narrowed down the night before. One was a long, green velvet dress. It pinched at her waist, accentuating her booty. Her sister’s choice of words not hers. If it was up to Lily, she would be wearing a too short, red dress that was skin tight. Lily had no mind for modesty. The second dress was beautiful in it’s simplicity. Black silk that flowed to the ground, not sharing much of what would be underneath it. She had never worn an off-the-shoulder anything and that made her uncomfortable. But she had never felt as beautiful wearing anything else. Delilah placed the black dress down on her bed. Today was not a day to live in fear. She would wear the taffeta, she decided.

She grabbed the green dress, walked out of her room and down the hall.

“Ariel, you have nothing to worry about! You are prepared for this!” Lily’s voice rang out as Delilah entered her room. They made eye contact and simultaneously rolled them. Ariel was always worrying about everything.

It wasn’t as if the worry was misplaced in this situation. Delilah was worried too but Ariel had a tendency of being too dramatic.

“Here, you talk to her. I need to take a shower.” Lily said as she handed her the phone. “Wait, your not wearing the green one?”

Ariel’s voice echoed through the phone in shock. She clearly thought Delilah was going to choose the green dress as well.

“No, you can have it back. Thank you.” She gave Lily the dress while placing the phone on her ear.

“Delilah?”

“Yes, Ariel?”

“I’m scared.” Worry exuted her voice.

With a sigh, Lily walked back to her room.
“We are prepared for this, just like Lily said. And look, Lily is fine. So is Adam. They went through the same ceremony two years ago.”

“But what if I do it wrong and end up a soulless creature? Or what if I’m meant to have black magick and I turn evil? What if I don’t get any Magick at all?!” The words seem to shot through the phone right into Delilah, breaking down a wall and exposing that feeling she had this morning. She swallowed it, demanding it to be nothing.

“Ariel, we are going to be fine, I’m telling you. Now stop worrying, go take a shower and then meet me downstairs for breakfast.” Delilah waited a beat. “Okay?”

A reluctant “Okay.” was answered back. Delilah threw her sister’s phone on her bed and her body as well. Ariel had got to her, that was all. There was no truth in her words about black magick. Even as she said the words in her head, goosebumps twisted around her arms. No truth.

Unspoken – Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It is another fear entirely; that of worry for your own child. My daughter is now a year old and a day never passes that I agonize her latent adversity. It is my most important job to protect her from harm but harm is most definitely inevitable. That fear of inevitably is a cancer in my bones. A cancer I can not allow to be overbearing. I must teach her to risk, to dare but not in a foolhardy manner. I am to teach not to demand and when she does fall, I am to be not just the helping hand that lifts her back up but the demonstrator of how to do it on her own.

I wonder of the guilt she must feel, my mother. To be the cause of my suffering. To have allowed and even progressed it. Odd that I pity her; that I still wish to ease her self inflicted torment. She had the chance-many chances-to protect me. Too many times, she choose herself instead.

It was a couple days after the incident in the shower. My brother and I eavesdropped while she called her coworker, Robby. My mother had met Marco at work. Her job employeed convicts and both Marco and Robby were apart of that group. She had hoped he would be able to provide some insight on his conviction. She told him she only wanted to know if her children were in danger. As I held the second handset in between us, Billy and I listened as Robby told my mom that Marco was convicted for indecent exposure to a minor. She thanked him for his honesty and hung up the phone. Quickly my brother and I dispersed, pretending like we hadn’t overheard.

For the second time, unfortunately not the last, I believed it was finally over. She had proof and she would protect me just like she told Robby she would. She may not have believed me, but she had to believe him.

Nothing changed, and for close to a year he continued to live in my home. He did not come every night but it was normal when he did. I had become accustomed but I did not make it easy for him. My door knob had no lock, so I requested one. Unfortunately, it was not my mother who bought it. Marco choose a door knob with a basic lock. Just a small hole that would be easy to penetrate. I made them return it and get me another, one that needed a unique key to unlock. This did the trick for a little while. It was only a credit card or a butter knife needed to enter my bedroom now which my brother demonstrated upon my request. Anyone looking would see the carved wood in the doorframe indicating the common infiltration.

I began sleeping on the top bunk. He would watch me still, peeking over the ladder at my feet. I always slept with my glasses on, so that I wouldn’t also be blind. It was when I decided to never turn my bedroom light off at night that his appreances became less common.

One night I caught him. I gained the courage and when I heard his hand touch my doorknob, I silently rushed and opened the door. With his back to me, he went into Billy’s room, straight across from mine. I closed my door and the next day I told my mom about it. She needed more proof I told myself and maybe this would make her see. She came back with a story similar to one I had heard before. Marco watched over both Billy and I, so I need not worry. It was a parental thing, she said. He was just checking in on us to make sure we were fine.

The third time I thought it was over, his parole officer had discovered that Marco was living with us. We lived in a court across from our elementary school. You could easily see it from our house. This was a violation of his parole and he was sent back to prison. I was safe. He couldn’t hurt me. I cried to my mom, telling her about the fear I had lived in and about the first night in the living room. She cried with me and apologized. Told me that she would never allow him to come back into our lives. She believed me. She finally believed me! She told me about why he was a convicted pedophile. She told me the story he fed her. He had stayed the night at his sister’s house. When he was using the restroom, his little niece had walked by the bathroom and saw him holding his junk. And that was it. That was the story. His wife divorced him, he went to prison, and then he met my mom. My mom was not a druggy or an alcoholic. She didn’t have any obvious mental diseases. There was no transparent reason why she trusted these stories so undoubtedly. It wasn’t like they were any good. Knowing there was more to the tale didn’t seem to matter anymore so I let it go. He was gone and I had my mom back. That was all that mattered. 

Unspoken

Prologue

I remember the first time I seriously contemplated whether life was worth living. I can picture it perfectly, like a moment stamped in my mind. Time felt like it stopped. There was no sound, no air brushing my skin. The splinters beneath my fingertips as I pressed my forehead against a fence were no longer rough. With my eyes closed, there was nothing around me. I was in a void as dark as my heart seemed. Time had stopped and I considered that my life should too.

I don’t know how long I spent between that fence and shed and though I can never physically return to that spot, every once and awhile it is as though I am there all over again.

Chapter 1

After 3 hours of pushing, my baby girl was finally in my arms. I had hoped for this moment since I was a little girl. She is more beautiful than hope, I thought, looking down at her. I was exhausted and overwhelmed. Above all, I was relieved and amazed. I knew, when I had reached down and felt the top of her head, that she was worth it. She was worth everything I had ever endured. All the pain that I can still feel deep inside, didn’t matter in comparison to her. It’s an ironic feeling really. I later wondered if my mother had felt this too and had she just forgotten. Or is this something some moms never experience?

People like to remind me that my mother loves me and I can’t say I disagree. Love is not black and white. There is no clear definition or example. People also like to say that “love is enough”. But with no one having the same perimeters between like and love, how can this be true? I wish love were enough. Enough to choose to protect your child over your man. You can love one more than the other but choose the latter or atleast she could.

  Staring into my babies eyes and I know with all my being that I could never choose a man over her. Especially one with the known intentions of harming her. I knew this before I had ever met her or even known she would exist. I knew this when I was that little 12 year old girl.

The first time I felt real fear, paralyzing fear, I was laying on the couch in my home. I had awoken with a sudden knowledge that something was off and someone was near. It took but half a second to discover what was wrong. I was not alone, infact my mother’s boyfriend had his male member centimeters from my face and it was the only thing I saw as I opened my eyes. In a meer second, my mind was able to simultaneously skim through every movie with sexual abuse that I had ever seen. I quickly concluded that something very bad was about to happen and all I could do was close my eyes again, hoping he hadn’t noticed I opened them. My body was frozen and my ears more alert than they had ever been. If a spider had crawled near, I would’ve heard all eight legs as they pattered across the carpet. Looking back now, I know without a doubt he had known I was awake. Unlike every movie I had seen, he turned around and walked towards the window. I opened my eyes long enough to see the motion of him zipping up his pants. He soon preceeded to leave the living room and return to my mother’s room. As a 12 year old, it was this day I first feared for my life and it was the last day I was truly a little girl.

I never slept on the couch again. He wouldn’t dare come into my bedroom, I was sure of it. Life would go on and I would forget what had happened. I liked him. He was fun and smart. He was talented. He could cook, play guitar and draw. Best of all, he loved to play board games. Every day after school, he would be there and would spend his time entertaining me.

I didn’t have a dad, he was off in some state and I had only met him once or twice. My mother divorced my step dad a couple years back, when I was in fourth grade. He kind’ve disappeared after that. Mom didn’t really take over the parenting thing when he left. We were able to do as we pleased, my brother and I. We weren’t bad kids, so it was easy for her to let us be. So when she got with Marco, I finally had an adult that paid a lot of attention to me. He spoiled me with money and gifts, how could I not like him?

Enough time had past since the incident in the living room that I began to believe it hadn’t even happened. Unfortunately, I was only able to deny the event for a couple weeks. Turned out my bedroom was not a fortress. I had once again awoken with the sense that I was no longer alone. There he was, a tall silhouette in my dark room, standing above me as I lay in the bottom bunk of my bed. Fear swam through me and turned me into ice. With my eyes shut and ears open, I heard him walk out the room and gently close the door. What was just still, my heart began to beat with fervent speed. My body shook as my mind began to realize that my life would not go back to normal.

Would he hurt me if he found out I was aware of his behavior? Surely he would hurt me. I didn’t want to be hurt. The new normal became these nightly occurrences. I never awoke to his male member again though his dark shadow still looms in my mind a decade and a half later. I am not sure how long this went on, but it must’ve been a month or so. I had not said anything to my mother in fear that he would find out I told her. In my mind, I believed my life was at risk and his knowledge of my knowing meant my life could be over. I kept his secret for as long as I could.

As a child, you adapt easily, even to unfortunate circumstances. I was use to him coming into my bedroom at night. The sound of my doorknob turning and the creak of the door, were all I needed to be startled from sleep. I would pretend to sleep as he stood in my room and wait for him to leave, hoping this wasn’t the night he decided to do more. Little had I known it would not be night time when he did.

It was early morning but my mother had already left to work. It must’ve been the weekend because I did not have to go to school. I decided to take a shower.

My house had 3 bedrooms and 2 baths. The main bathroom had only a tub and I hated taking baths. So I would use my mother’s bathroom to shower. This meant walking through her bedroom to get the bathroom.

I was not in the shower for long when I heard the door open. Instantly I realized my mistake. How could I be so reckless? “I’m in here!” I say sternly through the steamy air, trying to see through foggy glass. I make out that familiar shape and say louder “I’m in here!”

“Hello, I’m in here!” I repeat again as my naked body begins to tremble. I see movement and look up. The camera on his phone is staring down at me, above the shower door. I wrap my arms around my body and scream for him to leave. The phone rushes away and the door opens and closes. I sink to the bottom of the shower and cry and when I have enough courage to move again, I run and lock the door. Wet, I put on my clothes and then sit on the bathroom floor, still crying. I can not leave the bathroom and enter that bedroom. He must be waiting for me and I do not know what he will do.

Time passes and I realize my only hope is to leave the room and get to a phone to call my mom. I open the door very slow and peek out. I see the shape of his body under blankets on the bed. I do not hesitate and I rush out of the bedroom. I do not go further down the hall to my bedroom and instead go straight to the living room. I find my brother, Billy, and his friend Alex. With tears rushing down my cheeks, they look at me with confusion.

“I need to call mom.” my voice stutters as I grab the phone and dial her number.

“Mom!” I blubber through tears that had instantly gotten stronger at the sound of her “Hey, baby girl.”

“What’s wrong?!” Worry coats her voice like a fine fitting jacket.

“I was in the shower and Marco came in. He knew I was in there and he wouldn’t leave. He took pictures of me! Mom I’m scared!” Words flow out quickly and I long for my mother’s comfort more than anything in the world.

“I’m on my way. I will be right there! Where is he?”

“He is in your room. I’m in the living room with Billy and Alex.”

“Okay, stay there. I will be right there!” The phone hangs up and I finally sit down. I look at Billy and Alex, tears still streaming down my face though I already feel better knowing my mother is on her way.

“Why would anyone ever want to look at you naked?” My brother says this, looking at me in disbelief. As a boy in his early teens, he can not see why someone, let alone an adult, would look at a lanky, flat chested girl with a unibrow in a sexual way. Though I can understand it was a naive comment from a child himself, it has always stuck with me and I have never forgotten it.

I look over at Alex, hoping he believes me. A blank stare is returned and I make nothing of it. I sit there in silence waiting for my mom knowing it will all finally be over soon; All the restless nights of fear and anxiety. I will finally be free of this man and my childhood, just inches from my grasp will be mine again. What started as the worst morning of my life, looked like it could be a great one. He would be gone and it was all I wanted.

The front door opens and I rush into my mom’s arms, the tears coming back. She kisses me on the top of my head and sends me back to the couch. She tells me to stay and that she will be back. She is going to go talk to him.

The worst morning of my life became the worst day of my life. My mother did not come back and tell me he was leaving. She told me I was wrong. That I had misunderstood what had happened. He woke up and he had to pee. He did not hear the shower going or notice the steam filled bathroom. He did not realize the light was already on or that someone was in there taking a shower. And though the toilet seat was never lifted, he lifted it and began to pee. At this same time, he was turning on his phone and yawning. The kind of yawn that causes you to lift your arms up above your head and stretch your body. But he was peeing so it was just the one arm and that is why I saw his phone above the shower. He then finally heard that I was there and rushed out and because he had not flushed the toilet his pee had disappeared into thin air. He then went back to bed, because he had only awoken to go pee.

This is the story that he fed my mother and she so eagerly adopted. It is the story she pressed upon me with confidence. Her proof was that there were no pictures on his phone. The best part of the story was the end. It started with the dismissal of my account and ended as my fault for the whole thing. I left the door unlocked. Of course, I feel stupid and reckless for that, but for a mother to blame her daughter for leaving a door unlocked is… well I will let you choose a word.