Take Me With You

by Melyssa Winchester

  “It’s so cold. Can I please put my shirt back on, Daddy?”

  When he slipped into my room a couple hours ago, saying he wanted to take me out and get some pictures of me, I was excited. It’s been a really long time since we took pictures together and as much as I hate him coming into my room late at night, during the day it’s like he’s back to normal and he’s my daddy again.

  The man with the soft eyes and big hugs that I love so much.

  I want to take pictures with him, ones we can put in frames and show off when people come over, but once we reach our destination and he tells me to strip down, it doesn’t take long to realize it’s not those kind of pictures.

  “What did I tell you? You wanna make me happy right? Well, Daddy really needs these pictures baby girl. I promise we’ll do it quick. Now remember to smile at the camera.”

  My body feels like an ice cube before it’s taken out of the freezer and dropped in a drink. My body is hard and as the cold continues to seep into my spine, I’m freezing. I want to tell him no and run away as fast as I can, but no matter how fast I run he always catches me.

  I’ve tried before. It’s pointless. He’ll just bring me back and put his hands on me, forcing me to do what he wants. It’s easier if I just do what he wants now.

  “Good,” he says as the camera flash hits my eyes. “Yes, exactly like that.”

  He takes a few more of me lounging against the wall, my body now adapting to the cold before moving toward me and sliding his fingers into the waistband of my panties.

  “Now it’s time for a few without these.”

  “No, Daddy. I can’t do that. I’ll get sick.”

  Feeling the sting before seeing his hand, I cry out in pain as he strikes me again and again. This is why I don’t ever say no. He’ll just find another way to make it happen, a much more painful way. I never should have opened my mouth.

  “Pull your panties off, Amelia and I think you owe Daddy an apology.”

  ~*~*~

  I should have known this would happen when I asked Eric to meet me here. It’s been years but the memories still remain. As much as I wish I could say he only brought me out here the one time, I can’t. It was way more than that and I’ve seen the pictures online that prove it.

  The first time I saw the pictures, the dead expression in my eyes along with the fake smile on my lips, I tried to do something about it. I tried to stop him. Even though I didn’t want anyone to know it was me in the pictures, I called the police in order to report them. I thought doing that would get him in trouble. They would take him away and the visits to my room could finally end. I’m not sure what happened, but nobody ever came. It was after that when I decided never to share my secret again. Until now.

  There’s a reason I chose this place. Edgewood Bluffs, because of what happened here is the only place for me to do what comes next. If I want to give Eric what he’s given me by writing me the letter, it means telling him the truth about everything that’s happened to me.

  It’s scary thinking about opening up to someone this way, but I’m learning something lately that I never wanted to before. If I want to move on from this, I have to do what Dr. Thompson said and confront it. The only difference is, I can’t do it alone.

  That’s where Eric comes in. He already knows about my dad, the things that he does with me, but he doesn’t know it all. I’m hoping that by telling him everything, he can start to understand me the way he wanted me to understand when he wrote me what he did. Maybe if he knows the whole story, I can start to fix everything I did when we were in school together.

  Jumping out of the car, making sure it’s locked behind me, I take one final breath before jogging across the parking lot and down onto the path that will lead me to the picnic tables where I’m going to wait for him.

  It’s only when I make my way over the grass and onto the pebbled path that I see him. He’s further down, closer to the water, his back to me but I’d recognize him anywhere. I’m not sure if it’s because I spent so much time harassing him at school or it’s the time we spent together at Thompson’s office, but there’s just something about him that stands out.

  He’s bent over on the rocks, his hands moving but I can’t make out what he’s doing with them. Speeding up a little, climbing over the rocks until I’m about three feet behind him, I see what I couldn’t before.

  He’s got a small clear plastic bag in one hand and in the other he’s moving something into it, going back and forth repeating the motion, but I still have no idea what he’s putting into the bag.

  “Hey!” I call out, hoping that I don’t freak him out raising my voice the way I am. He looks so focused on what he’s doing that disturbing him seems wrong. It’s only when he turns and smiles that I release the breath I’ve been holding.

  He waves his greeting but moves his hand again, his unique way of calling me closer and wasting no time, I do as he asks until I’m standing right beside him, his hands and the bag now in clear view.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I got here before you so I decided to do something I haven’t done for a while.”

  “Which is?” I question but before he can answer, I point to the bag. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Caterpillars.”

  “Eww! What are you doing with caterpillars?”

  He grins before turning back to the bag and shaking it, calling my eyes to it as I see movement inside. “What do people normally do with them?”

  Shrugging, completely at a loss because I’ve never been this close to one before, I watch as his lips lift again, only this time, he turns back so it feels like the smile is only for me.

  “You’ve never found a caterpillar and taken it home before?”

  “No, but I guess you have.”

  “Tons of times. You do know what they turn into right?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I’m not a complete moron. I know I’ve got blonde hair and all but that’s just a myth. We’re not all stupid.”

  The grin is gone now, his lips tight and I know I’ve said something to upset him. Most people have no problem with blonde jokes, but obviously Eric isn’t most people.

  “I didn’t say you were stupid. I was thinking more of an airhead.”

  Smacking him on the shoulder as his lips lift again, I put my attention back on the bag in his hand.

  “You’re collecting them because you want to watch them turn into butterflies?”

  “No—not exactly.”

  “Then what?”

  “I thought that a week or so from now, when they go through their metamorphosis, we could come back here and release them.”

  “You wanna release butterflies with me in a week? Here? Right where we’re standing now?”

  He laughs and for the first time I notice how his eyes crinkle when he does it. Spending so much time attacking him, I never gave much thought to how he would look any other way then scared, but he’s actually kind of cute.

  “No. I want to do it over there.” He says pointing out toward the dock, where the boats are lined up.

  Him wanting to come back here in a week, it’s nice. I want to be able to agree, but I know the real reason I brought him here today, why I took him away from our houses, even from our doctor’s office and I can’t make plans until I see that all the way through, no matter how cute he looks when he explains.

  He looks up at me, searching me for some kind of sign that we’ll come back here next week and I just shrug in response which makes him immediately put his eyes back on the rocks in front of us.

  “Eric.”

  “Yeah?” he asks, his body locked in place, his eyes still facing down looking anywhere but at me.

  “I brought you here because I wanted to talk to you about something. I don’t want to say yes to next week until you’ve heard everything I have to say. You might change your mind and not want to do this when you hear it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you think we can take a walk dow
n there?” I point to where the small restaurant stands, its frame completely made of logs, boats docked on either side. The one place in this whole area that my father didn’t taint for me and the place I’ll feel safest.

  “Yeah sure. Amy, are you alright?”

  “Mhmm.” I murmur before taking off toward our destination, him quick on my heels the minute he sees me move.

  When he catches up to me, he reaches out to grab my hand and the minute he makes contact my body immediately seizes up.

  Shit, maybe doing this here wasn’t such a good idea after all. I’m tense now, scared even and there’s no way in hell it’s gonna get past him. He’s more observant than anyone I’ve ever known so even if my body wasn’t reacting, he’d probably still know.

  “Tell me what’s wrong and don’t say nothing because your face and body tell me something different.”

  “I have memories here.” I whisper and when he leans forward, closer into me I realize he didn’t hear me so I repeat myself. His eyes go wide with understanding and in seconds he’s slipping his hand into mine and moving as quickly as possible back up to the path and away from the water.

  He doesn’t stop moving, practically dragging me along with him until we’re at the restaurant and he’s pulling out a seat, his hand slipping from mine as he motions toward it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Pulling out your chair?”

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t that what most guys do?”

  It hits me once I catch the serious look on his face. He really is naïve when it comes to the way guys act with girls. He really believes this is the way guys do things and I really don’t want to tell him the truth. I’ve never had anyone pull out a chair for me before and him doing it now, it’s nice.

  It makes me feel special.

  Taking a seat across from me once I’m seated, he leans across the table, looking around quickly before he speaks. “Why did you want to come if you have memories here?”

  “Because it seemed like the right thing at the time.”

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  It’s time. The reason I brought him here, I’ve got to do it now or I don’t think I’ll ever do it. I’m already having to resist the urge to bolt from the chair, find the closest restroom and puke my guts out. The sooner I get this out, the better for both of us. He can be so disgusted he takes off and I can finally say I’ve told someone the truth.

  “You know how you wrote me the letter telling me about you?”

  He nods and offers up a weak smile, which has the desired effect because it puts me at ease, the urge to flee a little less powerful than a few seconds before.

  “I wanted to do the same thing, but I suck at writing.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s only fair?”

  “Try again. That reason is bullshit.”

  “Jesus, tell me how you really feel why don’t you?”

  “Okay. I’m trying to tell you that just because I told you things about me, it doesn’t mean you have to return the favor. You’re the one that told me things first, ya know?”

  He’s right, I did, but that’s not what this is about. It’s not me paying him back for writing me the letter and drawing me the picture. It’s about me getting this out, to the only person in the world I know won’t run and tell the rest of the world.

  “I trust you and I think that maybe it’s time for me to talk about things.”

  “Okay.”

  After a few seconds go by, my body shaking under the weight of what I’m about to admit and Eric fidgeting in his chair, obviously as uncomfortable with this whole thing as I am, I suck in one final breath of air and open my mouth. It’s time to tell him everything.

  Time for him to meet Amelia.

  Chapter Eleven

  Eric

  She’s so nervous.

  We’re across the table from each other and I can feel her shaking from here. Not only can I feel it, but I can see it too and it’s bothering me. What she’s about to tell me, I’m pretty sure I already know based on the small little bits she’s already let slip and it’s huge. It’s also extremely dark and I’m scared that when she does tell me everything, I’m gonna completely screw it up by not reacting in a normal way.

  I’m learning as I go here. I want to be there for her, but my issues, the way I don’t quite see things the same way as everyone else, it’s bound to cause problems and that’s the last thing I want. What I wrote to her, wanting to keep her safe, I meant it, but I get the feeling that when all of this comes out, that’s the last thing that’s gonna happen.

  “The first real memory I have of when it started, I was four years old. It might have been happening before that, but for some reason I can’t remember any further back than four so it’s all I’ve got to go on. He came into my room one night, same as he’s done a million times before, but this time, it was different. He wasn’t there for the same reason, but I didn’t understand that until it was too late.”

  I’m gonna be sick. I can feel it building in me, the food I ate before coming out here rolling around, ready at any moment to come flying out. She doesn’t even have to come right out and say it, I know what she’s getting at. She was four years old when her dad hurt her. Did things to her.

  “He used to call me his Amelia. It’s the reason why I hate the name so much now. Why I became Amy. He also called me a bunch of other names too, ones that should be sweet coming from your dad but now make me cringe every time I hear them. He hugged me first, but then he kissed me. The first time, that’s where it ended. He was just feeling me, kissing me, pushing his tongue into my mouth. It wasn’t until a few nights later that everything got worse.”

  I want to stop her right now. The shaking from before, I can physically feel now as the table in front of me is moving based on the shaking of her leg underneath it. She shouldn’t have to relive this, especially not for me.

  “The next time he came into my room, he slid his hands up under my nightgown, again just feeling me, but this time, slower. I had no idea what he was doing, what it meant or how wrong it was. I cried out, but he always put his lips or hands over my mouth so that it came out muffled. He was trying to hide it from my mom. He slid his hand in my panties that night and night after night, he went further and further until…”

  She cuts off and I’m thankful. I know what she means and she doesn’t have to say anymore. It’s already so graphic with just the few words she did say that I can see it easily in my mind and it’s making me sick. Much more of this and I really am gonna throw up. For the first time in years I hate that I’m so visual because this is the one time I don’t want to be.

  “For years it went on like that. He took from me. Grunting and moaning my name. The older I got, the less I struggled. I just thought that if I let him have his way, do what he wanted to me, it would be over faster and I could go back to sleep. I had no idea that sleep wouldn’t ever happen for me again, at least not without the nightmares attached.”

  “Right after I got with Kayden, my period was late. I was so scared, Eric. Me and Kayden, we didn’t do that kind of thing because I didn’t like to be touched and he just didn’t seem interested in me that way, so I knew it wasn’t because of anything we did. It was him. It took a month but I saved up my allowance and went to the pharmacy and bought a test. I threw up about five times waiting for the result to come through, that’s how scared I was.”

  “I couldn’t tell my mom because he threatened to hurt her if I did. He still threatens to do it and I still keep my mouth shut even though I’m older and stronger. When my mom left him, I thought it was going to end, but it didn’t. He took her to court and earned visitation with me every other weekend, which my mom fought until it was once a month. I texted you the other night because she told me that he called because it was time to visit again.”

  It’s not very often I get angry
, at least not with anyone other than myself. Frustration with things, it happens a lot, but real anger, rage, I’m not like that. Right now, hearing everything she’s saying, I want to hurt someone. I want to hurt her father. I want to make him pay for doing the things he did to her, turning her into the monster that I ended up going to school with every day.

  “Amy.”

  “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Huh?”

  “Can you call me Amelia?” she pleads and I nod slowly, not trusting in my voice to give an adequate response with how off guard she’s thrown me asking me this. “I know it’s stupid, but when you texted me yesterday and said Hi Amelia, I liked it. I haven’t liked hearing that since I was four.”

  “A—Amelia.” I stutter, cursing myself the minute I hear it. “I want to hit something right now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “D—don’t be. It’s not y—your fault.”

  “It kind of is.”

  No it’s not, none of this is her fault. I need to figure out a way to get my brain to work right so I can make her see that.

  “What did you want to say when you called me Amy?”

  “I said it already. I needed to get that out before you said anything else.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  This is a hard question. I want her to tell me everything so I can know more about her, even if all of it is bad, but I don’t want her to relive anymore of this because it can’t be easy. I thought that because of my diagnosis, I had issues and problems that the rest of the world was too ignorant to understand. It’s not that way at all.

  She’s proving that my problems are small in comparison to what she’s been living with.

  “I want to keep going for as long as you’re comfortable.”

  She nods and when I expect her to start speaking again, she doesn’t. Instead her hands lift from the table and one at a time, she starts lifting the sleeves to her sweater until I get a full view of what I saw that first day in Thompson’s office. Her scarred arms, the colors still ranging from bright red to pink and brown, my heart hurting the minute I see it.