Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I take it. Squeeze tightly.
I've never told anyone this.
Even in treatment, I pushed it away. Insisted it was something else.
"When I was really little, she shielded me. But I think, deep down, I knew something was wrong. I never complained. I never played music loudly or put a second helping on my plate or asked for candy. I was always easy. I never let myself have needs. Even then, as a kid, somehow, I knew that was the best way to keep the peace." I swallow hard. "I think I was seven or eight the first time I saw it. Saw him hurt her. I'd heard them fight before. I'd seen the bruises. But I'd never seen him hit her."
I take a deep breath. Push an exhale through my teeth.
I can do this.
I can.
"They were talking and he was the father I knew. Then, all of a sudden, he was another person, someone I didn't recognize."
He runs his thumb over the space between my thumb and forefinger.
"I still remember the rage in his eyes. The fear in her voice. The first time, she didn't know I saw. Or the next. When she did, she didn't ask him to stop, or tell him she was leaving. She begged, 'not in front of Vanessa.' She didn't want me to see. She didn't want me to know he hurt her. She wanted me to love him and love her and see love as a beautiful thing. But I… I already knew it was fucked up. Even though I didn't know what love was."
"I'm sorry."
"She was trying to protect me. But I still saw… I still knew. I didn't understand it. Why he did that. Why things changed. I just knew I needed to be quiet, to not ask for more than I was given, to do my best…"
"That's not fair to you."
"My mom would ask me what I wanted. She tried to draw it out of me when we were alone. One year she did. She took me to the zoo and offered me anything I wanted. I knew the tiger stuffed animal was too big an ask. Too much. But I wanted it. I wanted to be a tiger. Sleek and powerful and patient. And capable of destroying anyone who tried to hurt me. And… I liked Aladdin."
"The princess trapped in her castle."
"Waiting for someone to rescue her, show her the rest of the world, but still capable enough to break out on her own. I wanted that. And the pet tiger. It was too much, but she was happy I finally asked for something. For once, we were normal. All day. Until my father came home."
Simon nods.
"He'd had a bad day at work. A rude customer. I don't know. It happened so fast. He found the receipt for the toy and he exploded. He became someone else. A monster. He didn't stop. Even when she screamed. Even when she begged him to wait. It was always that. Never 'don't hurt me.' Always 'not in front of Vanessa.'"
He listens. Holds my hand. Waits until I'm ready to continue.
"I locked myself in the bathroom. I was terrified but, somehow, I fell asleep in the tub. Woke up to find her bruised and bleeding in the bathroom."
"It wasn't your fault."
"She was protecting me."
He doesn't explain or correct me. He sits with me, patient, understanding, open.
"Even then, even with a black eye, she still insisted he was a good man. He just got mad sometimes. He loved her. He loved us. He'd never hurt me." I suck a breath through my teeth. "She said that a lot. I believed her. That time, I didn't."
"Fuck, Vanessa. I'm sorry."
I don't know what to say, so I nod. "I hated her for staying."
"You were a kid."
"I still hate her sometimes. For putting us through that."
"Everyone resents their parents."
"Not like this. I… I blamed her, for a long time, for my decisions. My mistakes. I owned them when I was in treatment, but I never learned, really… I never learned how to express my needs. Or trust. Or let go."
His brow screws. "Treatment?"
"In school… do you remember the year I left a week before winter break?"
He nods.
"I learned my body was the only thing I could control. So I controlled what I ate. It was normal at first, then it wasn't, and I wasn't in control anymore. My disorder was. And everyone knew something was wrong. And my dad convinced her to send me to an inpatient clinic."
His eyes stay fixed on me.
"It was good, because it convinced her to get help too… for her PTSD. But I… Fuck, how much do you think I'm a mess?"
"You're not a mess."
"I am."
"No more than I am."
"I'm not sure that's encouraging."
His smile is sad. "Are you okay now?"
"Okay. But not better. I started restricting again when my mom got sick. Just a little. To feel in control. I know, I shouldn't, but it's the only thing that works."