Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Jenna
I was eight years old, sitting on my couch, watching the Thanksgiving parade.
Brian was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, and Tyler was on the floor in front of us playing with his trucks.
Our moms were in the kitchen, and our dads were somewhere, too.
So far everything had been okay, but then everyone came into the living room.
“Come here, kiddo. Make room for them,” Brian said as he pulled me onto his lap.
Brian’s mom sat where I had just been, my mom sat between us, our dads in the chairs across from the couch, and no one cared about what Brian was doing.
I hated the way he held me against him and the way his penis poked my backside.
I’d seen it and touched it before, so I knew what it was, and I didn’t like it.
I thought it was supposed to be a secret, but he was poking my butt with it in front of everyone, while they just talked about football and how long the pies needed to bake, so was it okay?
Brian talked about football with my dad, and everyone acted like this was all normal.
Why did it make me feel so icky? I tried to get away, but the more I moved, the tighter his big hands on my thigh and stomach held me, and the bigger and harder it felt poking into me. I froze.
“Let me go. I want to play with Tyler,” I said.
“No, just stay there and leave him,” my mom said. “He’s playing so nicely.”
I looked at my dad, silently pleading for help.
He came over and grabbed my leg, and I thought he was going to pull me away from Brian, but instead he held my leg and tickled my foot.
Brian started tickling me, too, his hands all over me.
He was everywhere, touching me and holding me tight against him, and I could tell he liked it.
I hated it, but I couldn’t make my body stay still while they were tickling me.
Brian gripped me, pushing his penis against my butt, and my dad helped hold me in place for it.
Our moms were laughing, and then Tyler climbed on top of me, making it even more impossible to move away.
Tyler said, “me too, me too,” so my mom pulled him over onto her lap and tickled him, and I wondered if it felt as bad for him as it did for me, but he was laughing as though he liked it. Everyone was laughing like it was the funniest thing ever, even though I was crying.
Finally, Brian’s mom told him to stop and let me go. When he finally did, I ran to my room crying while everyone laughed at me and said they were just playing and to come back. I stayed in my room crying for hours. If that was playing, why did it feel so bad? What was wrong with me?
I woke with a jolt, drenched in tears and sweat, with Thor lying on me, whining. I hated that memory. Brian had done worse to me, but nothing ever felt as wrong as that Thanksgiving when it had seemed like it was all of them against me.
It had taken me far too long to recognize how truly devious Brian was, and even longer to understand that my family hadn’t known—hadn’t accepted it—like I’d thought. Not that it had mattered much even when I did tell them.
“I’m okay,” I told Thor in a pathetically shaky voice as he licked my tears, his paws hooked over me, holding me in place.
He followed me as I got a drink of water, went to the bathroom, and checked that the door and the windows were locked, then he draped himself across me when I climbed back into bed.
I hugged Thor tight. I hated feeling so uneasy and anxious.
It was too reminiscent of how I used to be.
The worst part about what Brian did to me was how it made me feel, not just when he was doing it, but all the time, from my earliest memories to years after he stopped.
I couldn’t even remember myself before it started, and I hated that I’ll never know who I would have—should have—been if not for him.
Brian never took it too far, but it still affected everything.
Even when he wasn’t around, I never felt safe.
I never was safe. Not when he could just show up in my house—in my bedroom—anytime he wanted.
I was always scared and jumpy. I didn’t fit in with anyone.
My family didn’t understand why I acted the way I did, and I couldn’t relate to other kids my age.
In third grade, my friend Katie came to school excited to show off her new sparkly skirt, but all I could think about was what Brian would do if I wore a skirt like that.
All the other girls liked it, and Katie got mad at me when I started to cry.
She thought I was jealous, and I was, but only because I realized they could all wear a skirt without being touched.
In sixth grade, I was at a friend’s house with a few girls, and they started talking about penises and wondering what they looked like.
Without thinking, I told them. They were fascinated at first, then horrified that I knew so much about penises.
I made up a story about accidentally walking in on Tyler in the bathroom, and luckily, they didn’t know enough to realize that what I described obviously wasn’t a little boy.
It only got worse as I got older. It was hard enough to be friends with girls who liked to talk about boys. When they wanted to hang out with them? Forget it. I’d rather be alone. Except, of course, that meant more time at home where Brian could be.
Even my parents got annoyed with me because I ruined all the holidays and vacations by not being happier. When I tried to say I’d prefer if it was just us without the Belkes, I was accused of being unfriendly.
The worst, though, was what I’d thought about myself.
Why didn’t I try harder to stop him? Why didn’t I do more to make my parents believe me?
Brian said he did it because I liked it and I was so good at it.
My parents said I was overreacting. What was wrong with me?
Why did it feel so much worse to me than everyone else thought it should?
He didn’t even do anything that bad, so why couldn’t I just get over it?
The first time I ever felt hope start to bloom, like the way the sun warms your skin on an early spring day, except the warmth came from inside, was when I watched Tyler at his middle school wrestling match, and I realized my little brother wasn’t so little anymore.
I’d planned on staying home for college, too afraid to leave him alone with Brian, but sitting on those bleachers, cringing at the grunting, sweaty boys in singlets, for the first time, I saw a young man, bigger and stronger than me, who could hold his own.
He’d be fine without me. I could get away. Could become the person I wanted to be.
Sitting on the bleachers that day, I made two promises to myself: first, once I got to college, I’d never see Brian again, and second, I’d no longer allow fear to run my life.
I saw Brian during freshman year when I had to go home, but then I got an apartment off campus, and I hadn’t seen him since.
The fear part was harder, and a little, well, scarier, to overcome, but I did it.
I jogged on campus and in parks by myself.
I drank at parties, despite hating the loss of control.
I even dated and had sex. I started to wear skirts, something I hadn’t done since I learned it gave Brian easy access.
I went for the most unrelaxing massages with male masseuses.
I walked home alone from my evening classes and took Ubers alone when it was too far to walk, and even when it felt scary, I did it anyway.
I boldly and over-exuberantly refused to skip out on life and happiness because I was too afraid to take a chance.
Except, of course, some of those things I did to prove I wasn’t afraid were actually terrifying. It probably wasn’t the safest or smartest time in my life, but luckily, I survived without any incidents—just a few panic attacks—and I did prove the desired point to myself.
Since then, I’d come up with my rules, which tempered my fearlessness by adding “Don’t be reckless,” and eventually, I found that sweet spot of being just the right amount of scared: too scared meant I was being reckless, and not scared at all meant I was playing it too safe.
Going to bars without drinking was the right kind of scary.
So was walking Thor in well-populated parks, wearing long skirts with cropped leggings hidden underneath, and being friendly to people, even random men, as long as we weren’t alone and they weren’t too close.
But now I was on the verge of breaking all my rules and promises. Going to graduation? Terrifying, and broke my first promise (never see Brian again). Not going to graduation? Heartbreaking, and broke my second promise (not allowing fear to run my life).
Then there was Snake Eyes… I hated how he was making me feel and act. I just prayed he fell on the right side of rule number one: most people are good.
And what about Liam? I wanted to be fearless when it came to him, reckless even. Barrel in at full speed and hope to enjoy it before all this crap caught up with us. Except, that was also terrifying.
Thor gave me a big, wet kiss like he understood.
“What should we do, baby? Should we forget them all and hide out in here, just you and me? You’d like that, right?”
He cocked his head, his forehead furrowed.
“No?”
He tilted his head to the other side, deep understanding in his gentle eyes.
“Ugh, you’re right.” I sighed and kissed his wrinkly little forehead. “I’m not going to be afraid. I’m not afraid to walk you, I’m not afraid of some random guy in the library minding his own business, and I’m not afraid to go out with Liam.”
Thor snuggled closer and huffed in agreement.
“Good idea, let’s go back to sleep. I refuse to be tired for my date with Liam because of a stupid nightmare.”
I curled back into the corner of my bed, shifting Thor in front of me, and wondered what it would feel like to cuddle with Liam. I thought it might feel nice. Safe. I didn’t fall back to sleep for a long time.
I’m not sure what was most unsettling: remembering those beady eyes on me, the lingering effects of my nightmare, or the thought that I wanted Liam there with me.
Holding me. Kissing me. I wanted things I’d never wanted before, and I wasn’t sure what to do about that.
It confused me because I hated hugs, but I thought I might like one from Liam.