- Posted August 17, 2013 by
She was doing her algebra.
Her father inching closer on her unwrinkled white jersey cotton sheets.
"How was your day?"
“I’m doing my math.”
He smiled. Cheek-to-cheek.
She heard the thunder. Then he did it.
He grabbed her wrist and held her down.
She struggled, but it didn’t help. It made him hold harder.
Afterwards, she lay in her bed, cold, and her dad says with that predatory smile, “I love you.”
After he finishes, she lays there, counts to ten, goes to the bathroom, tries to clean everything away.
She wants to take a shower from the inside out.
I wish he’d at least use protection, she thought.
She felt dirty.
She felt sick.
B- in honors english
A- in journalism
“You’re fat and lazy! You can do better than this!” he yelled. She went up to her room, head down and she didn't cry, she couldn't cry.
I’m sorry he says. He inches closer. He smiles. He says you’re beautiful, I love you he says.
She look ups at the glow in the dark stars while he holds her down and tunes it all out, wondering how far away the moon is. Her glow in the dark moon seems to stare at her calmly from the ceiling. There it is.
He says again, those words, “I love you. You’re so beautiful.” And that smile. That ear to ear grin.
Again, bad grades
B- H. English
A- in journalism
She knew the drill by now; he’d been doing this since she was ten. He’d move closer.
Stop. That smile, he’d get closer, move his hand down her leg. It was always really warm. He’d grab between her legs and squeeze.
It left bruises.
She'd push him away, try, gently, but she didn't she didn't want to anger him.
He kissed her neck slowly, slid his hand up her shirt, and squeezed.
And he’d smile, that smile, that ear-to-ear grin.
Her heart pounded.
Can he hear it? she wondered as her body trembled and shook with fear.
He’d reach around her back, unclasp her bra, keeping her shirt on, then take her hand, slide it in between his hands.
The entire time it was silent.
He didn't say anything, just, “trust me” he said, and she wanted to say get away, but he took both hands, put them above her head, while the other hand, unbuttoned her jeans.
He took them off. Slowly
He took off her underwear, like he was enjoying it.
He'd take one finger, he'd move it back and forth, and it'd get slick and she didn't mean for it to...
It just happened.
She writhes and kicks, but he’s just so heavy.
He still reeks of Marlboros and sweat and thinks he can wear Abercrombie and Fitch cologne even though he's turning 48 at the end of the month.
She felt every zipper click, then his pants drop to the floor, and again that smile.
The bed was slightly creaky and that was all she could hear as he moved between her legs.
She looked at the stars just waiting for it to end, just no more.
He sped up, she could feel it deep inside and she could feel it happening.
I love you.
See you in the morning.
And that smile.
She pushed out what happened.
She thought she was crazy for thinking it happened.
It didn’t exist, and she thought she needed to punish herself.
Nothing but silence.
She had to be careful not to stain the sheets, but it wasn’t enough blood for her.
Push deeper. It caught. It tore. Hope it isn’t anything important.
If it was, she didn’t care. How deep was it? An inch? More?
The blood flowed down her arm like a river. She let the bad blood out and sent the memories downstream with it.
She just let it flow. Numb. She stared at her pink dream catcher hanging over her light and wondered, Can this be a dream? Can you catch it?
Annie tells her boyfriend four words
"My father raped me."
“That douchebag! I want to kill him! God, he’s sick.”
He tells the school counselor who calls Child Protective Services (CPS), and an hour later, she sees a black sedan, like an undercover cop car, pull up and two men get out. The actual worker wore khakkis, with a tucked in 100% cotton checkered blue shirt, and the other was a cop, black dress pants, leather belt, silver buckle, no tie, white shirt. She watched from her window as they knocked at the door because her dad broke the doorbell in a fit of anger trying to put in the new mechanism.
Hiding in her room, all she heard was whispers, then her name, “Annie, come down here, a man wants to talk to you.”
The ten minutes of whispers were years in her mind.
The CPS worker told dad to stay in kitchen, and they brought her into their garage, arms crossed, with soft pitying eyes.
It was disgusting.
How's your home life, they asked.
They tried to smile.
It's fine, I have a roof over my head, I have food on the table, I can’t complain, she said arms crossed, she stared at his plaid, blue checkered shirt.
It wasn’t fine.
How often does your dad get angry? they asked.
They tried to smile.
They have no right to be here. They don’t understand. Sometimes, but we're hard to deal with sometimes, so I guess it's fine.
It wasn’t fine.
Has he ever abused you? they asked. They tried to put their hands on her shoulder, but she shook them off.
It’s okay, you can tell us, they said.
She danced around the question. Asked for a definition, and neither CPS worker could say it.
She didn't answer.
She just wanted them gone.
How could they think I’m doin' that to my kid? How could they how could they? I know I'm hard on you, but how could they think I'd do that to my child, he said, sobbing.
She said nothing.
She inched back. Inch, careful not to anger her father, she inched backwards.
Through the kitchen. Inch.
Slowly. Inch. Inch. Dart up the steps.
She lays down in her room and stares at her pink dream catcher and thinks, It was supposed to catch the bad dreams.