N K Smith - [Old Wounds 03]

by Weight of the World (epub)

  I thought for a moment. “I want to be who Elliott needs me to be. I want to be right for him.”

  “It’s great that you care for him like that, but what about you? Who do you want to be for yourself, Sophie?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged with tears stinging my eyes. “Why don’t I know that?”

  I stood next to his bookcase, hoping that one of the titles would spark something in me. I didn’t care what it sparked, but I needed something. I was feeling nothing. Not the good kind of nothing where there was a hum of energy blocking everything from my mind. This nothing was like a void, an expanding nothingness that crept up from my toes and engulfed my very being. It was a worried nothingness and I felt as if there was nothing left inside of me to care about.

  The pain in my tooth was gone. My throat was no longer sore. I wasn’t angry at Elliott for telling my secret. I wasn’t high, but I wasn’t just blank.

  I was nothing.

  Dinner was okay. David and Trent successfully navigated Jane around the sharp utensils. The dinner itself was some kind of casserole thing. It was poorly executed and lacked flavor, but they tried. Other than Tom, they were the only people who had cooked for me in a long, long time.

  As grateful as I was intellectually, I could not get my emotions to feel anything but nothingness.

  “O-okay?”

  I sighed deeply. It hurt to be nothing when standing in the same room with someone who was everything.

  I shook my head. “I’m … sad.”

  I didn’t really know if I was sad because of the nothingness or if the nothingness was caused by being sad. I had no energy to figure that shit out.

  “C-c-can I hhhelp?”

  I shook my head but moved to sit next to him on his bed. I pressed into his body and was calmed by his now-familiar scent. I didn’t look at the clock, but we sat there for a good long while. I thought about who I wanted to be. The only thing I could come up with was that I wanted to be the type of girl who could be comfortable holding hands with her boyfriend and letting him touch her face.

  I took one of his still-damaged hands in mine. It was upsetting that he had done that to himself. Even though Elliott didn’t tell me about it, Dr. Dalton had clued me into his whole hand-biting thing and I hated it.

  I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. “Will you touch my face?” I asked quietly.

  “You d-don’t llllike that,” he returned, just as softly.

  “I know,” I whispered back, “but I like you and I want to be able to let you do that.”

  Elliott’s body shifted and my heart beat faster. “Promise you’ll stop when I tell you to.”

  “I p-p-promise.”

  I took in a deep breath when I saw his hand move toward me. I tried to keep my eyes open but there was an intense rush of fear that coursed through me and my body reacted without my permission. My eyes shut tightly and my body seemed to shake with the anticipation of his touch on the delicate skin of my face.

  I kept telling myself that it was just Elliott and he would never hurt me. I felt his feather-light touch on my cheekbone and I clenched my teeth. It was just Elliott.

  My body was shaking and my folded legs bounced.

  So beautiful.

  It was just Elliott, and I had asked him to do this. This was my choice

  That’s it, dirty girl.

  I was doing this to be a better girlfriend for him. It was my choice to be touched like this.

  His palm was against my cheek, his thumb near my eye.

  Sophie.

  I struggled to remain in Elliott’s room with him. I didn’t want to think about Tampa. I didn’t want to think of big hands and nasty words.

  I might not have wanted to, but I was being sucked backwards into the deepest pit I could imagine and I was back in Helen’s kitchen. I was doing the dishes. Helen and her boyfriend had eaten their dinner upstairs.

  “Your mom’s been whoring herself, hasn’t she?”

  My body stiffened at his voice. I didn’t turn to look at him.

  “She’s had other guys over, hasn’t she?”

  It was true, but I had no words so I just focused on cleaning the coffee stains on his favorite cup. I could feel his heat behind me and then I could feel just the tips of his fingers on my cheeks. He dragged them back into my hair and pulled it all to one side.

  His mouth was near my ear. “Your mom’s a whore.”

  The food I ate sat like a rock in my stomach and I felt sick.

  His arms were around my waist and he pulled me back against him. My hands slipped out of the soapy water and grew cold as the conditioned air hit them.

  It was a chore just to maintain a regular breathing pattern.

  Somehow he’d spun me around, picked me up, and set me on the countertop. He forced my legs apart and stood between them, bringing his hands up to cup my face again.

  “I don’t care that she’s a whore. Do you know why, Sophie?”

  I looked at the wall behind him and allowed my eyes to travel until they found a corner to focus on. His hands were no longer cupping my face, but were gripping my head tightly. “Do you know why, Sophie?” he asked again, his voice much tighter.

  I shook my head as best I could, hating the tears that welled in my eyes.

  The water in the sink was growing cold. I would have to drain it just to finish the pots and pans.

  “Because I’ve got my dirty girl. Isn’t that right?”

  If I boiled water on the stove and poured it right on that mug, the stains would come off easily and I could put it in the dishwasher.

  Hands tightened even more.

  He’d asked me a question. I couldn’t remember what it was, so I nodded.

  “That’s right. My dirty girl.”

  Thumbs brushed under my eyes again and I shoved away.

  When my eyes opened, I saw Elliott and not the man who called me a dirty girl. I tried not to react, but I failed. I unfolded my legs and moved off the bed quickly. I studied his books.

  “I’m ssssorry, SSSoph-phie.

  My voice was shaking. “I hear his voice. I can fucking feel him.”

  “I’m sssorry, SSSS …”

  I hated that he apologized for doing what I asked him to do. I hadn’t been able to tell him to stop. I hated the tears that stung my eyes. I fucking hated that I couldn’t be touched by my kind and gentle boyfriend without being overcome by memories of being a dirty girl.

  It was late, but I was thirsty. I moved quietly down the stairs. Tom was in the recliner. I thought he was passed out, but as I glanced in, he said, “Nice shirt.”

  I stopped immediately but said nothing.

  “I looked all over for it.”

  I swallowed hard. I tried to be still, but my body fidgeted.

  I had taken the Chili Peppers concert t-shirt years ago. It was the only thing of Tom’s that had escaped Helen’s notice, so she hadn’t made me set fire to it.

  “Clint, Jerry, and I went to that concert after graduation.” Tom nodded. “It was a good night.”

  I looked away. “What? Do you want it back now?” I hoped he didn’t. It was one of my most cherished belongings.

  At his deep breath, I looked back. He shook his head as he pushed the foot rest down and sat up straight. I thought for a moment that he was going to get up and come toward me. My body prepared itself to move quickly if needed, but he remained seated.

  “I’ve lived without it for five or six years. You can keep it.”

  I thought by having therapy on Thursday I wouldn’t be required to have a session on Friday, but again after listening to Andrea assure Wallace that she’d eaten and hadn’t thrown up, I found myself in Dr. Dalton’s study.

  She asked me about Helen’s other boyfriends and i
f any of them had ever tried to get Helen to stop being mean to me.

  Again, I found myself talking to this woman without even really wanting to. I didn’t know how she did it. I wasn’t happy spilling shit to her, but somehow it just happened.

  “There was one guy, one of Helen’s boyfriends. His name was Rob. He was nice and he tried to get her to treat me … better. She never did anything really mean to me when he was around, though.”

  “What happened?”

  “My mom thought I was fucking him.”

  I seemed to have Wallace’s full attention and it made me nervous. I shifted under her gaze.

  “What did she do?”

  “Kicked him out.”

  “What did she do to you?”

  I had no clue how she was able to make her voice do that. It was just … detached, but still involved somehow. I liked it. I wish I could figure out how to do it.

  But no matter how detached she sounded, I still didn’t like her questions.

  “Rob would buy me stuff.”

  “What did your mother do when she kicked Rob out?”

  My head was turned from her, my eyes trained on my favorite corner. I looked at the paint. It was professionally done, I could tell, but I still saw just the faintest brush stroke. While I looked at the corner and thought about the paint, my mouth pushed out words about things that were easy to talk about.

  “He used to travel all the time and he’d bring me something from every place he visited. He bought me a horse, not a real one, a ceramic one from Kentucky and a porcelain doll from Germany. And this one time he brought me back this little unpolished piece of marble from Rome. That was my favorite.”

  I heard her take a deep breath. I was half-tempted to look over at her just to see what expression she wore, but it was much easier to avoid her questions when I didn’t look at her.

  “Sophie, what did your mother do when she thought he was having sex with you?”

  “I told you, she kicked him out.”

  “To you, Sophie, what did she do to you?”

  “Rob took pictures for a living. He bought me my camera.” I remembered how he’d told my mom that it was just some old camera he had, but I knew it was brand new, straight out of the box. He showed me how to use it and I took my first picture. It was of my favorite Palmetto.

  “Sophie?”

  “What?”

  “Why won’t you answer my question?” Her voice was still calm and curious.

  “What question is that?”

  I stopped thinking about Rob and the camera and focused again on the paint. It was tan or something close to it. Nice and earthy.

  “Sophie.”

  “What?”

  “What did your mother do when she kicked him out?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Her voice grew firm. “It does matter.”

  “I’m not going to tell you.”

  She paused and I finally turned to face her. “Why did your mother think he was having sex with you?”

  I shrugged. “She said he looked at me while I cooked dinner.”

  “Did he have sex with you?”

  I turned away again, shaking my head. “He held my hand one time. I thought he wanted me to … but he got really mad.” I took a deep breath and shrugged again. “He said he didn’t want that.”

  “So this was after …”

  “Yes.” I wished she’d stop bringing that shit up all the time.

  “How did you react to Rob when he said he didn’t want that from you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. That was a lie. I had felt terrified and confused.

  “How are you doing with abstaining from sex?”

  I looked at her again. She liked jumping topics. “Fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine with it. What’s wrong?”

  “I just don’t understand the big deal. I like having sex. I’m sure you like having sex. I don’t get why we have to talk about it all the time like I’m some kind of freak for liking it. I don’t get why it’s okay for you and not for me. Why is it different?”

  She sat back in her chair and folded her hands together on her lap. “Because I wasn’t raped as an eleven-year-old girl. As a child, I wasn’t used for pleasure for four years. Because I don’t use sex as a form of validation.”

  She paused and I looked away. I hated this conversation.

  “Because I know that I’m loved and worthy without having sex. That is why it’s different.”

  My whole being stopped at her words. I hated them, but only because they were the truth.

  “Let’s talk a little bit about what it means to survive. You are a survivor. You’ve lived a very long time closed off inside a world of pain. There are countless case studies that show others who employ the same methods you have in order to ensure their survival.”

  I couldn’t help asking, as much as I wished I would have just remained silent. “What methods?”

  “There’s a level of expectation. You expected every day to be horrific and what others might see as brutal and terrifying, you’ve accepted it as regular, everyday occurrences. You’ve let men use you because that’s what you know. You expect men to want you for pleasure, so it’s normal for you. You’ve over-used drugs because you’ve learned that drugs help you become a third party to the pain. Almost as if you were witnessing it instead of experiencing it.”

  She paused. “You were raped, Sophie. Nothing you did caused that, but it happened. Other survivors have employed the same tactics.”

  She was quiet for a little bit and I was thankful. I couldn’t take much more. I just wanted to go to Elliott’s room and lie on his bed with him and feel him next to me.

  “What do you know about PTSD?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Sights and smells elicit certain dramatic responses from you, don’t they?”

  I sighed and focused back on the corner I liked. I didn’t want to talk about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I wasn’t some goddamned wounded soldier from Iraq. It was bullshit, but I thought about sex and how hard it was to not have it these past couple of weeks.

  There were things that I wondered about. Things that made me feel guilty and ashamed. I didn’t want to feel ashamed about sex. Sex felt great. I knew what happened with Helen’s boyfriend wasn’t right. I knew it wasn’t, but …

  I needed to stop thinking and focus on the paint. If I couldn’t do that, my mind was going to start jonesing for something to calm it. I didn’t want to think about any of this stupid shit any more.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “He …” I heard my hesitant voice say. I wasn’t going to talk about this. So why were my lips moving? Why was my throat allowing air to be pushed through it like this? Why did I hear myself say, “He made me … come.”

  Wallace was silent and I saw out of the corner of my eye that she was just looking at me. I wrapped my arms around my legs tightly.

  “Do you think your orgasm equated to permission?”

  My eyes closed as I laid my head on my knees.

  “Children cannot consent to sexual contact with an adult. They do not have the knowledge or the emotional foundation to even understand the concept. As I’ve told you before, orgasms are the body’s trained response to certain stimuli. It’s not your fault, and your body having produced an orgasm didn’t validate the rape.”

  I cringed. I wished she’d stop saying “orgasm” and “rape.”

  “That man, Helen’s boyfriend, raped you.”

  “I want to go see Elliott.”

  “Soon.” Her quiet voice paused. “Was he ever kind to you?”

  I nodded, knowing the sooner I talked to her about this shit, the sooner she’d let me go to Elliott
. “Sometimes he’d … act like he loved me.”

  “Was that confusing?”

  I nodded. Of course it was confusing. “I didn’t know if he’d be mean or nice. When he was nice, he would …” I swallowed back the rest of the words.

  “He gave you your first orgasm?”

  “Yes.” Did it matter? I was so tired and I didn’t want to talk anymore. “I want to see Elliott.”

  She didn’t stop asking questions. “Did he ever bring anyone over?”

  I furrowed my brow and held my breath. “What?”

  “Did he bring other men into the house when you were home alone?”

  I knew what she was asking but I wasn’t going to answer. In fact, I pushed the question out of my mind entirely.

  “I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m going to see Elliott now.”

  I stood.

  “Sophie?”

  I swallowed hard and managed to draw my eyes to her. “What?”

  “Children can’t consent.”

  Elliott looked tired too. He’d had a session with that new dude and seemed about as exhausted as I felt.

  We lay together in his bed for a long time. He’d picked out some soothing music to play in the background.

  We didn’t talk.

  I enjoyed the verbal silence. I enjoyed his warmth. I enjoyed the sound of his heart beating as I lay my head upon his chest. His arms felt good around my shoulders. His breath was like waves of peace as it swept across my forehead.

  I was pretty sure most of the other kids had gone home. “I w-w-want to show you something, SSSSophie.”

  He sat up and I came up with him. He held my hand and tugged me up off the bed. “What?”

  “I w-want you to hhhear something … on the p-p-piano.”

  “Your family’s down there, Elliott.” He didn’t like being in front of a lot of people and I knew it would make him anxious and maybe even a little panicked. It was the whole reason he didn’t take music classes at school.

  Elliott took a deep breath and nodded. “I kn-know.”