Innocence

I don't know how to explain my circumstances, even if I knew how, you wouldn't understand, that I know for sure. Every night, before I lay my head down to sleep, I always think, think of him, and I close my eyes and silently weep for myself. 1

Step-father. The words still hit hard, and the 3 syllables can bring me to my knees. Just like he did. It was all power. He had so much of it, I couldn't tell a soul, it would ruin our lives. I was so young, my innocence torn from me in a manner that haunts me, day in and day out. It eats at me, and I am afraid that, in time, there will be nothing left.2

I remember living my days in fear, trying to be as good as I can, maybe if I behave extra well, he will leave me alone. Maybe the one day I got a gold star on my spelling test he will be happy for me, let me be normal. Not hurt me so bad. He never did. Whenever he fancied, he would take me, whether or not I do well in school, or clean my room, or make dinner with mom. He was always there, it was always about him, and what he wanted and when he wanted it. 3

Most of the time, he would come to me late at night. Whenever I heard the floorboard creek, I would close my eyes as tight as they would go, and pretend to be asleep. I knew he was coming, maybe if he thinks I am sleeping, he won't wake me. He always did though. He shook me until there was no way to pretend I was still sleeping, and every time I opened my eyes I saw the shadow of lust, of human need etched into his face. It was then that I started crying. Not until I saw that look on his face, the look I knew that only one thing could change, that one thing that I had to give to him. I cried every time, hoping to evoke some kind of emotion from him. I didn't care which emotion, anything is better then nothing. Anger was achieved at times, but nothing more. No compassion, no guilt, nothing but anger. 4

He would pick me up from my bed, lifting me like a feather, and as he carried me to the cold garage I would pretend he was just like any other father. Carrying their child to bed after they had fallen asleep on their lap. This was the only time I ever felt like his daughter, as I lie in his arms. 5

To the garage was always our destination, only a few seconds away from my room, but it left enough time for me to dread what was coming next. He would set me down and the stairs, and strip of my clothing. Piece by piece, each garment being thrown to the cold ground, like my innocence. 6

My tears quickly turned to sobs as he handled my delicate body, each touch sent shock waves up my body, and hate into my heart. He would hurt me, over and over, until I wanted to scream. He would always have his hand over my mouth, painfully blocking my pleas for mercy. He blocked my voice. My blocked my power. He blocked my hope. There was nothing to live for in these moments, everything, anything is better then this. The only time I was brave enough to tell someone what he was doing to me, was in this cold, dark garage. My bravest, and weakest moment, all wrapped into one. 7

When he would finish, he would pull his pants on, look at me, and whisper into my ear. I never heard him, all I could think about was my dirty body, my used soul. He would then turn and leave, quietly as we had come. He would leave me, crouched on the floor, my small body heaving with tears. My soft brown locks curling around my face, sticking to my cheeks, my angelic, small body shuddering with pain, and pity. I would eventually crawl to the small pile of pajamas, and slip then on over my porcelain skin, and stumble to my bed.8

My bed is where the nightmares consumed me. This is where the anger came from. My memory created a world of bitter hatred, something I still have to this day. Not just anger towards him, but anger towards everyone, and everything. I was mad at my mom, for being so blind, not understanding, not seeing. I was mad at my brother, because he knew. He knew what was happening to me, but he was to coward to tell anyone. Too afraid for his own skin, too selfish. I hated him. I was mad at the world, for putting me in a situation like this. but most of all, I was mad at myself. Not mad, furious. I was powerless, I was weak, there was nothing to me. I was pathetic. 9

Then, one day, mom left him. Finally I was free. We were poor, we lived in apartments, but my mother, my brother, and myself were free from his wraith. I has euphoric. He killed himself after a while. He committed suicide. When I heard, I laughed. I laughed for hours. Then I cried. This could not be described as crying though, no, it was like releasing years and years of torment and pain through my small brown eyes. It was like letting go of everything, floating, being truly happy. 10

I thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. Years and years have passed, and I still have nightmares, I still think about him. I think I should tell someone, get help. But I still can't. Now it is the sheer fact that I don't want to hurt my family anymore then they have already been hurt. They had been through so much with him, not nearly as much as me, but enough to count. I don't want to bring back old memories, trials long forgotten. I want to move on. But I can't. I am stuck here. His presence still lingers with me, and slowly, bit by bit, I am dying inside. Piece by piece, he is taking me. 11