A note from the Author:
My name is Emily. One day, I am going to write my autobiography to explain the horrors I experienced as a child. This novel will be practice for me to try and sort through my memories. This is a rough outline of what it is like to be a sexually abused child. This story is not an exact recollection of what I went through. This story is loosely based on my experiences but is (overall) fiction.
Warning - this story may be triggering - this story will include detailed explanations of adolescent sexual abuse, cursing, and much more that some readers may find sensitive. Read with caution - but please also be open-minded.
Prologue - Hey God... WTF?!
I remember a time when I believed in a being of a higher power that everyone referred to as "God." He was going to save us, they said. He was going to absolve us of our sins and welcome us into his arms with grace and unparallelled love. See... I have an issue with this. The reason is, some people just don't deserve absolution and redemption. Quite frankly, some people deserve to rot in hell. And, well... as for the rest of us... what the fuck?
It started when I was 8 years old. I would be in my room at night, laying on top of my blanket because it was hot and we didn't have A/C, and staring out my window at the night sky, thinking about Daniel. He was a boy in my class, really cute (or at least the 8-year-old me thought so.) I'd hear the door behind me open slowly and see the soft glow of light illuminate my room. I'd hear the floor creak as heavy feet padded my way. I'd feel that large, calloused hand touch my left thigh - and I'd squeeze my eyes shut... wishing it wasn't real. Praying to God that this would end and everything would go back to normal again.
That would never happen. I'd continue to experience nights like this. My father would reek of whiskey and cigarettes when he entered my room on these nights. He would start by touching me softly, whispering to me to see if I am sleeping or if I'm awake. I always pretended at first to be asleep, but I was scared that would only encourage him. Once I opened my eyes as soon as he walked in and faced him.
He had the look of something inhuman in his eyes... pure evil. He approached me and chuckled with a side-smile. His face was disgusting. "You're ready tonight, ain't ya darling?" he drawled, slurring, as he unbuckled his belt.
I couldn't help myself. I began to cry. "No, daddy... please don't... not anymore."
He clamped one hand over my mouth and grabbed at my waistline with the other, shoving me onto my back on the bed. My cotton pajamas teared with the ferocity that he grabbed me. "Shut your mouth, you little bitch, or I'll make you regret it."
After that, I never dared turn around and face him again. Instead, I'd stay silent and face away from him. I'd pretend to be asleep at first, until I couldn't bear the sound of his groans anymore. Then, I would open my eyes and look out the window at the moon, or the stars, or whatever hovered above and I would pray to God to save me.
But guess what? He never came. I prayed and prayed until my knees were raw and my hands cramped from holding them together. I prayed until my tears ran dry from crying and praying and then one day I stopped. I decided that praying was pointless. Why should I think otherwise? My prayers were never answered. If there was a God, it certainly seemed he had bigger concerns than me.
My mother acted like she was oblivious to the abuse that I endured at the hands of my father. But there was no way she did not hear my cries in the night, his yelling. But I never spoke to her about it. She was a shell of a human being, surviving on Vodka, cigarettes, and reality TV.
I always thought it funny that they call it that - Reality TV is nothing like reality. At least not the one that I know. I feel I relate more to those movies and TV shows that are about true crime. Because in my heart I knew that what I went through, on my father's part, was a crime - and an unforgivable one at that.
But that was just what my nights were like. During my days, I would read a book to try and escape the reality that was my life. I would watch movies and infomercials (when we were fortunate enough to have the basic channels). I would play with dolls, and pretend that I had a little sister. Then one day, I threw them all away because the thought of having another little girl in the house that he could hurt absolutely terrified me.
Usually, during the day, my mother would sleep on the couch in front of the TV (no different than what she did during nights, if I'm honest) and my father would be at work. It was a lonely childhood in that two-bedroom house on Auburn lane. I sometimes felt like I was the only girl in the world. Like maybe my life was actually just a book and I was the main character and any minute now I would snap out of it and realize that I've just been reading... none of it was real.
School was weird for me. I always felt like I was out of place and didn't belong. I had greasy hair and cigarette holes in my shirts, stains on my shoes and tears in my backpack that had been used year after year. Other students always seemed to have some sort of look about them that said "Stay away from us, you will tarnish us." Their whispers haunted me.
I guess in reality, I've always thought of myself as toxic - tainted by those that raised me. Maybe I will taint everything I touch, just as they do.
One day I decide that that is the opposite of what I want. I want my hands to breed new life - to cause joy and humor. Not sorrow and death. Because that's what this empty life I am living feels like - death. Maybe it's time to make a change.
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