Now
As I watched the snowflakes swirl and gently settle on the ground, I hugged my knees tightly, savoring the serene moment. Winter in New York City was a magical time, with its crisp air and blanket of white, a stark contrast to the mild, snowless winters of my California childhood.
I moved far away from my life in Los Angeles as soon as I could. I was in and out of foster homes from the age of six to sixteen. When I was seventeen, I ran away from my foster parents and took the Greyhound all the way from LA Union Station to Las Vegas. With a fake ID, I worked as an exotic dancer for two years as I saved all my money and lived around different hostels and stayed on friends’ couches. I had to fend for myself, take care of myself, and when no one else was there for me, I had to pretend like I didn’t want to give up and off myself. When I was nineteen, I hopped on a plane to New York City. It had been nine years since then, and I still didn’t have my shit together. I wasn’t sure if I ever would. Not after him.
I met Michael on a BDSM site when I was twenty-three, during my exploration phase. Before him, I had been with several men, and the sex was so dull that I thought that’s just how it was meant to be. I always had to be drunk during those encounters because I was too self-conscious to open up otherwise. In truth, I often drank to numb the constant ache in my chest.
And then I met the perfect man: he was successful, gorgeous, and knew all the right things to say to keep little naive Jackie reeled in. I had always been attracted to older men and craved the sexual experiences they could bring. With him being in his early thirties, I expected a man his age to be beyond mind games and ready for a committed, healthy, loving relationship. He gave me the exact opposite.
I didn’t realize I had been gnawing on my lip so hard that it was bleeding. Thinking about Michael sent me down a deep, destructive spiral, even after years of therapy. The irrevocable damage that he did to me would no doubt leave a permanent scar on my soul, just as his violence left permanent scars on my skin.
I jumped when my cell phone began vibrating on the couch beside me. Since it was an unknown number, I turned it over and ignored it. I looked back out the window, willing my mind to think about something else. YouTube—videos of cats always distracted me when I found myself spiraling. It was my new coping mechanism. Better than drinking, I suppose.
I opened the app just as a voicemail notification popped up. Out of curiosity, I listened, and once I heard it, I keeled over onto the floor and threw my phone at the wall. His voice would haunt me for the rest of my life, his scolding and yelling leaving deep wounds in my brain. I shook my head quickly, trying to get his words out of my mind.
“Hello, my sweet Jackie. Daddy will be out soon…and I want to play.”