28. Evie—Age thirteen
Evie—Age thirteen
Ihave a bad feeling.
A really, truly, horrible feeling.
It’s been months since the monster has come into my room, and in those weeks I started to feel safe and enjoy spending time in my room again. But something happened, and the monster that hasn’t peered at me through soulless brown eyes in months…is back.
Leering at me like I’m his.
Eyeing my body like he owns it.
Gazing at me like he can take what he wants.
The switch was noticeable at dinner, a switch that was only perceptible to me, it seems. Everyone was over, we were gathered around the dining table, and I had the unfortunate luck of being seated beside him.
But looking back now, was that bad luck or his manipulation?
Mom and Dad were engrossed in conversation with our neighbors from across the road, Matteo and Caleb were talking about the hockey game they have this Saturday, and I was laughing.
I was happy.
I felt…okay around him.
Until I laughed at something Caleb said to Matteo and felt his hand slide along my thigh beneath the table.
My entire body froze.
My lungs stopped expanding.
My heart stopped pumping blood.
It took every ounce of my strength not to cry.
This can’t be happening, I thought. He hasn’t touched me in months and now of all places at the dinner table?
He’s never touched me at the dinner table when he was at the house. I was hoping it was a mistake, was hoping he would remove his hand from my thigh…but he didn’t. It just kept climbing higher and higher and higher until my head grew cloudy, pins and needles encased my limbs, and I floated away.
It had been so long since I flew away, and yet the second his hand grazed my body he had always tried to claim as his own, I was gone in a second.
That was when Matteo cocked his head and said, “Dove?”
Like a savior, the monster removed his hand the moment Matteo placed his attention on me.
Those green eyes were like a tether, a rope that I could use to pull myself down to earth. But once I was back, all I wanted to do was die. I know what comes next, what’s in store for me.
He takes what he wants, no matter how much I scream, cry, or say no.
My stomach hasn’t stopped rolling since dinner. It’s yelling at me to run from what’s about to happen. To try and fight him this time. I’m older now; I’m thirteen. He said he had to stop because I had changed. He said he didn’t like my body anymore, that I had grown up too fast for him.
At the time, I hadn’t understood, not until I started staring at myself in the mirror more, looking at the swell of my breasts and my hips that were widening. That’s when it had clocked.
I had gotten my first ever period that week.
The look on his face when my mom had embarrassingly told him that I had gotten my period and that’s why I was so grouchy, the horror that overcame his features, is a look I haven’t been able to erase. His stare felt more like a brand, like he was going to tie me to a stake and watch me burn.
He treated me as if I had chosen to get my period, as if I had chosen to defy him, had forced his hand to stop touching me. If I had known all it would take was a little blood to stop him from hurting me, I would have lied about it years ago.
But sitting up in my bed, my stomach in knots and my eyes burning since I don’t dare to blink in case I miss him coming through my bedroom door, all I can think about is how I can’t do it again. My body has never accepted it, ever. But this time feels different. The hand on my leg was…punishing.
A door opening down the hall has me springing out of bed before I know what I’m doing.
With my heart in my throat and tears welling in my eyes, I run. I’m not sure where I’m going until my hand is on the doorknob and I’m pushing open the door, slipping inside and closing it behind me quickly.
My chest is heaving, my breathing labored, panic consuming me.
“Dove?”
Lifting my head, my gaze locks on his—the green that I dream about, the green that always saves me. My lips part to say…what, I have no idea, until Caleb emerges from his closet with a frown.
“The hell, V? What are you doing? Get out.”
Shaking my head, I swallow, trying to wet my suddenly dry throat. “C-can I sleep here tonight?”
Caleb rolls his eyes. “No, we’re playing Call of Duty and you always say we scream too loud.”
“I won’t tonight, I swear. I just…please, Caleb.”
If Caleb lifted his head he would see the panic in my eyes; he would see the way my hand trembles on my chest. If he was listening and not texting his new girlfriend he would hear that something is off.
But he doesn’t.
“Not tonight, V.” His thumbs fly over his phone keyboard before he picks up the PlayStation controller, nudging Matteo. “Are we playing or what?”
But Matteo is looking at me, really looking. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he says, “Just let her sleep—”
“Dude, the fuck? Why do you want my sister to stay here?” Caleb glances from Matteo to me. “Are you two sneaking behind my back?”
The anger and betrayal in his voice are evident, so evident I close my eyes in defeat. I know I’m not sleeping in here tonight, that he can’t see past his own bullshit to actually see my terror.
“What?” Matteo asks. “Jesus Christ, dude, no.”
The quick objection shouldn’t burn, shouldn’t taste like acid on my tongue, and yet here I am begging to run toward him. Not to my brother, but to Matteo to save me. The one that has always pulled me from the despair and hurt the monster inflicted on me.
Yet at the mention of us, at the possibility of anything, he sounds so…appalled.
Caleb looks back down at his phone as it vibrates. He doesn’t even glance my way as he says, “Not tonight, V. Sorry.”
I can’t move my feet.
I can’t force myself to go back to my room.
I can’t when I know what’s waiting for me.
“Please,” I breathe.
Caleb rolls his eyes, cursing under his breath.
“Fuck’s sake, V, no!” Standing, he comes toward me, his hands landing on my shoulder a second before he spins me.
My body is so wired with anxiety I flinch at his touch but he doesn’t notice.
“Natalie is sneaking in and I don’t need my little sister here when she comes over.
” He punctuates his sentence by shoving me out of his room and closing the door.
No sooner does it click shut, a hand smacks down on the nape of my neck.
Whiskey overpowers my senses as he sneers in my ear, “You think you can fucking hide from me?”
Terror clutches me in its claws.
Turning to stone does nothing to keep him at bay. A cold sweat breaking out on my skin doesn’t deter him, either. I could be lying dead in a ditch and he would still touch me.
With his grip on the back of my neck, he squeezes—hard—and shoves me forward, leading me down the hallway to my room like I’m a dog. The second we clear the doorway, he throws me across the room, my body smashing against my bed with such force I make the mistake of crying out in pain.
Flicking the lock, he rushes me, and before I can turn away, his hand strikes out against my cheek. Stars shoot into my vision.
By the time I’m blinking back to the here and now, by the time I can see again, I wish I couldn’t. Because he’s above me and I am utterly helpless, his hand on my mouth, shoving my cries of pain back down my throat as he forces himself on me.
That night, I was hurt like never before.
He punished me—body, mind, and soul.
The frustration he took out on me was so damning I knew I couldn’t come back.
It was the worst he had ever been with me. He wanted to create pain. He savored the blood between my legs, the hollow look in my eyes, every minute he ruined me. I didn’t want to save myself anymore because there was nothing left to save.
I floated that night like I had never floated before. I didn’t come back down. Didn’t want to try.
Not with how broken he left me.
That night I looked at myself—with his hand smashed over my mouth to muffle my cries, my body as cold and stiff as if I were dead, his mouth to my ear taunting me as he moved over me—and made a promise to myself to never remember.
When I woke the next morning, to the bruises, bite marks, tears, blood, and pain, I had no recollection of what happened.
I never told a soul.
Because I didn’t know what to say.
I had forgotten, but a part of me knew I shouldn’t try to remember, so I never did.
But I could never quite make my body let it go.