“Dad touches me,” Hillary repeated, “he touches my...my....” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
“Are you saying your father has been touching your...privates?” Kathy asked with disgust as she fought back feelings of nausea.
Hillary sobbed even louder as she nodded.
Kathy’s mouth hung open as she stared at her despondent child. Tears filled her eyes and she hugged Hillary close, not knowing what to say. She could feel Hillary trembling within her arms. The two of them cried together quietly for several minutes until the silence was broken by Caleigh’s loud ranting and raving about a lost book.
Kathy pulled back from Hillary.
“I’ll be right back,” she said softly, then left the room to address Caleigh’s problem.
Hillary felt as if a crushing weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Her mother now knew about the sexual abuse, she was her ally...she would make her father stop raping her. Her sobs ceased as renewed hope brought joy to a heart that had been wrought with despair and devastation for well over a full year. Maybe things would somehow return to normal once her father stopped abusing her.
Maybe school won’t be so bad after all, Hillary thought, nervously anticipating the return of the life she once knew. What would she tell her teachers, her friends? She knew she couldn’t tell them about the things her father had been doing to her. She would never speak about it again. In time, maybe she could even forget it all.
Letting the waves of despair dissipate, Hillary sighed heavily, as if cleansing her tarnished soul. She wouldn’t worry about school the next day or anything else. Her mother would take care of everything. She would slowly but surely find happiness again.
Several minutes later, Kathy returned to Hillary’s room and closed the door. Hillary smiled thinly at her mother, waiting to hear her soothing words, waiting for her to make everything better.
“Your father called,” she said callously.
The expression on her mother’s face told Hillary that she no longer had an ally...that she had basked in false hope, daring to believe that her life would get better. Hillary felt as if she had been kicked in the chest. A feeble moan escaped her quivering lips as she struggled to catch her breath. Her vision blurred with tears but she could clearly see her mother’s angry glare.
“Hillary, why would you say such a thing?” she demanded.
“I...I...” Hillary was rendered speechless, angry that her mother didn’t believe her and outraged that she had bared her soul, her darkest secret, only to be accused of lying.
“Answer me, Hillary!” Kathy shouted, causing Hillary to jump.
“You...you think I’m making it up?” she asked incredulously.
“Your father wouldn’t do such a thing, he loves you. You’re his pride and joy. He’s hurt that I’ve even accused him—”
“He’s hurt?” Hillary screamed furiously, “he’s hurt? What about ME?”
“Stop it this instant,” her mother yelled, raising her hand.
Hillary cowered and inched back as if she expected her mother to hit her.
“Oh, what, now you’re going to accuse me of abusing you?” Kathy shrieked, scowling.
“He rapes me!” Hillary shouted, her tearful eyes pleading for her mother’s understanding.
“Shut up!” Kathy shouted, covering her ears, refusing to listen, “shut up before your sister hears your nasty lies.”
“They’re not lies, Mom, please, pleeeasssee make him stop raping me,” she begged.
Her mother kept her hands over her ears as she shook her head. She refused to acknowledge what Hillary was saying.
“Mom...” Hillary sobbed, “Please help me. Please don’t let him do those things to me...please, Mom.”
Kathy grew increasingly angry.
“I don’t know what your problem is, Hillary Anne, but this nonsense ends tonight. You’re going to school tomorrow and you’re going to be a good, sweet, smart girl again. You’re not going to spread any lies about your father, you hear me? You’ll never tell anyone what you’ve told me here today. Are we clear? Do you understand me?”
Hillary bowed her head. Defeated, she cried silently.
“Answer me, Hillary…do you understand what I’ve just told you?” Kathy shouted.
Hillary quickly nodded as tears continued flooding her eyes and dampening her cheeks.
“Your father said he’ll be back in an hour or so. I know he’ll want to speak to you.”
Among other things, Hillary thought despairingly.
“Make sure you apologize to him,” Kathy added snidely before turning her back to Hillary and leaving her room. She slammed the door behind her and walked to her bedroom.
Kathy dropped down upon her bed and began to shake. All those nights she had awakened to find Michael missing from their bed. She now understood clearly what was going on. Michael had been—
Kathy couldn’t bring herself to even admit it within her own thoughts. It was a deep, dark, nasty secret and that’s how it would stay. She loved Hillary and her heart broke for her depressed, adulterated daughter, but she was powerless to intervene. She knew she couldn’t stop Michael. Had Hillary not shocked her with the news only moments before Michael called, she would never have had the nerve to question him about it. He was outraged as he whispered into his phone, denying her allegations emphatically, stressing that he would take care of it when he got home. Kathy couldn’t see him, of course, but she knew without a single doubt that he had that scary manic expression on his face. She also knew without a doubt that she could never again ask him about it, never again bring it up...and if he ever mentioned it to her, she knew that she would have to take his side and agree with him completely:
Yes, Hillary is a filthy liar...of course it’s absurd! Of course I believe you...yes, yes, you’re right, there’s something really wrong with Hillary for her to say such a thing....
Kathy hoped that she would be asleep before Michael arrived home. She didn’t know if she had the strength to face him. She was shaking uncontrollably and had an overwhelming urge to throw up. Her conscience nagged at her to do what she knew she should do…what any reasonable mother would do. Yet, she wasn’t reasonable, she was a weak soul. Added to the nausea was the intense pain from her clenched stomach and bowels as her heart battled her encumbered soul. Her heart didn’t have a chance. Running to the bathroom, her mind was made up, and she knew one other thing without a single doubt: she hated herself.
Rebuked, Hillary stared into emptiness wondering how her life just managed to go from bad to worse. She had stopped crying. She just felt numb. She didn’t even care that her father would be storming into her room soon to do further damage to her body, mind and soul. She sat there in the darkness, empty and broken, only scarcely aware of the moment that her heart had hardened and turned black.
~3~
For months following her rejected revelation, Hillary seemed to transform into a quiet, sullen version of her former self. She resumed school but no longer participated in any extracurricular activities. She completed her homework assignments and prepared for exams but did only the bare minimum to pass her classes. Her friends tried tirelessly to figure out what had caused her to become so withdrawn. At her father’s urging, she sometimes smiled just to appease them, made up excuses for her behavior, explanations for their taxing questions. Mostly she grunted monotonous short answers or shrugged them off altogether. Many of her former “best friends” had given up on her, offering little more than a wave as they passed each other by in the school halls.
Yet, she had a handful of die-hard friends who refused to give up so easily. They had no intention of abandoning a friend in such apparent need. Each time Hillary tried to persuade them to move on with their lives, they reassured her that they would always be there for her. Each time she tried to ignore them they became even more persistent with their efforts. Her attempts to alienate herself were met with unannounced and unwelcome visits to her home. Her insults only served to ren
ew their resolve to help.
The former Hillary would have been moved by their loyalty and steadfast camaraderie. The tainted Hillary detested their good-willed tenacity. She cursed their efforts, their concern. Couldn’t they just mind their own business? Didn’t they have anything better to worry about? They were so intrusive, inviting themselves over to meddle in her affairs. They brought unwanted gifts...stuffed toys, bouquets of flowers, candies and treats...what was she, an infirm patient in a hospital? It aggravated her immensely. Yet, the more she protested, the harder her friends tried to “help.” Until she became physical....
Her longtime friend Jacqueline, “Jax,” showed up unexpectedly one night toting a DVD and a bagful of microwavable popcorn and movie theater candy. Hillary was outraged.
“Just leave,” she said, clearly agitated.
“Nope, we’re gonna watch this first...you’re gonna love it,” Jax said, waving the DVD in front of Hillary’s face.
“I’m not kidding, Jax...you need to go,” Hillary warned. She could feel her anger elevating with each passing second.
Jax stood there, smiling, still waving the DVD in front of Hillary’s face, tauntingly.
“Why doesn’t anyone hear me when I speak?” Hillary shouted loudly, “Am I speaking a foreign language? I said no!”
With a quick and mighty swipe of her hand, Hillary knocked the DVD out of Jax’s hand and onto the floor. In the process, her nail grazed Jax’s left cheek. Tiny beads of blood surfaced over the three-inch scratch on her face. Jax gasped as she palmed her face.
Hillary frowned. She didn’t mean to scratch Jax. She just wanted to be left alone. She opened her mouth to apologize but shut it and crossed her arms in front of her instead. She eyed Jax with an unfamiliar loathing.
Jax, growing increasingly uneasy in Hillary’s presence, said nothing. She was both shocked and hurt, believing that Hillary purposefully scratched her. She bent forward, picked up the DVD and walked out of Hillary’s room.
Hillary knew deep down that she should be upset, that she should follow Jax and apologize for her outburst and inadvertent violence. Yet, that spot deep down, the spot where her conscience used to dwell, was nearly a dark void now.
Instead, Hillary smiled. It was a tiny victory for her, a small accomplishment in her mission for solitude. It was a fleeting smile. She didn’t feel like smiling...why should she? She wasn’t happy. She was numb to everything around her, going through the motions of life...waking, eating, going to school, returning, eating and sleeping. Except on those nights when her sleep was interrupted by her father’s perverse visits to her bed.
Mr. Greyson would scold Hillary for not participating in his sick romps.
“Don’t just lie there,” he’d whisper angrily, “you know you like it.”
Hillary would ignore him until, in frustration, he’d become rough. He’d thrust himself deep within her until she cried out in pain. Or he’d grab the inside of her thigh and squeeze until she moved in sync with his rhythm. Or he’d pull her hair until some sort of sound escaped her lips. Hillary’s cries, moans and whimpers of pain excited Mr. Greyson. To him, they were pleasurable sounds coming from his daughter...she was begging for more.
Hillary’s hatred toward her father festered uncontrollably into a malignant venom that tainted her self-esteem. She hated herself nearly as much as she hated the man who abused her. She felt small and weak and worthless. Several times she had thought about killing herself. It seemed like the only way to end the nightmare. She had also thought about running away, but she had no money, where would she go? What would she do? She knew how runaways often ended up—addicted to drugs, turning to prostitution. She didn’t want to go from a bad situation to a worse one.
Once, Hillary even thought about calling the police. Surely they would listen to her, unlike her own mother. They would intervene and help her. Yet, what would they do? Remove her from the home? Arrest her father? Her family needed his income to survive. Her mother worked at the library and brought home enough to pay for the monthly groceries and little more. Plus, her brother Joshua worshipped their father. He was nearly three years old now. He needed a father-figure, didn’t he?
Hillary often wondered whether her father had ever touched her sister Caleigh. Hillary was thirteen when the abuse started happening and Caleigh had just turned thirteen a few months back. She was just as developed as Hillary and nearly as pretty. Yet, Caleigh seemed way too happy to be going through anything so traumatic. She was the editor of the school newspaper and part of the debate team. She had just joined the soccer team and loved it. She had managed to climb the ranks of popularity and had accrued more friends than Hillary had at her age. There was no chance that she was being molested...yet.
Hillary used to feel protective toward her sister, always watching for the signs, listening closely for noises in the night coming from her room across the hall. Then, as Hillary’s heart blackened, her concern for her sister dwindled until one day she realized that she hated her sister just as much as she hated her father...just as much as she hated her mother...just as much as she hated herself. Her sister, with her perfect, happy life. Why did she get to go on being a fun-loving, carefree teenager when Hillary had to suffer? Maybe if their father would rape her too, Hillary wouldn’t have to take care of his sick needs so often. Why couldn’t she share the burden? Hillary found herself wishing that her father would move on to her sister and finally leave her alone. One night she had even suggested it to her father.
“Can’t you leave me alone tonight?” she complained, “Why don’t you go and bother Caleigh?”
“What?” her father asked, appalled.
“She’s old enough now isn’t she?”
“How could you say that about your sister?” her father asked, clearly disgusted by the thought.
“Well why not?” Hillary persisted, “she’s just as old as I was when you first—”
“Shut up!” he commanded in a hushed but firm tone. “I don’t ever want to hear you say anything like that again.”
“Why not? Is she too perfect? Too sweet? Too—”
Hillary didn’t see the slap coming. She felt the sting across her face even before she even noticed his hand move. She shut her mouth but did not cower. She glared at him, her eyes gorged with hatred.
“Now take your clothes off,” Michael said sternly, “you’ve wasted enough time.”
One day I’ll hurt you, Hillary thought angrily. Her fists were clenched. She inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled.
“Hurry up!” Michael urged impatiently. Hillary was dampening his mood and he had no intention of leaving her room unsatisfied.
Holding her venomous gaze as long as she could, she began disrobing.
As their bodies joined, she reached the limits of her hatred and she knew somehow that this was the last time her father would rape her.
You know what you have to do....
What does he want me to do? Hillary thought furiously.
She waited for her father to repeat himself, but he was too busy grunting and grinding.
It has to be done....
Hillary watched the beads of sweat forming along her father’s furrowed brow then lowered her eyes to his mouth, hanging agape. He was ready to explode. As was his routine, he abruptly pulled out of Hillary, positioned his gushing penis between Hillary’s breasts and massaged himself while he emptied his drippings upon her. He strained to muffle his outcry.
Hillary could feel the muculent slime ooze down her chest toward her abdomen.
You can do it....
“What?” Hillary asked, annoyed.
Recovering from his orgasmic exhilaration, Michael looked quizzically down at Hillary.
“What did you say?” he panted.
“Nothing,” Hillary said glumly. She just wanted her father to leave her bed and her room so that she could clean up and get some sleep.
“Next time you’d better get into it, you’re worse than your mother,” he snapped.
Hillary flinched. It wasn’t her father talking. Then who was it?
She stared off in a daze, barely noticing Michael leave her room. She felt dizzy. By now she would have the gooey mess cleaned off of her. Instead, she lay motionless on her bed staring up at the ceiling, waiting to hear the voice again. She didn’t have to wait long.
Make him suffer, it said, he made you suffer...it’s his turn now....
“Yes,” Hillary agreed in a hoarse, quiet whisper, “yessss.”
He’ll never touch you again....
“Never again,” Hillary repeated as if entranced.
He’s not your father anymore....
“No, no...he’s not my father anymore.”
Make him suffer...make him suffer...make him suffer....
“Suffer... suffer....”
Hillary’s eyelids grew heavy as she repeated the word. Leaving the sickening mess stretched between her chest and upper abdomen, she was lulled to sleep by images of her father bleeding and mutilated, begging for mercy.
The following morning, Hillary awoke feeling strangely refreshed. Even the crusty smear on her midsection didn’t ruin her mood. It was as if she had been reborn. Her life had purpose once more. She had a mission. She knew what she had to do.
It was Sunday morning. Hillary glanced over at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was just after seven. Normally she would have no desire whatsoever to get out of bed. Today, however, she threw aside her blanket and sprang out of bed. She glanced at her naked body as she passed the mirror attached to bureau.
He’ll never touch that body again....
Hillary smiled. For the first time in nearly two years, her smile was genuine. She was soothed by the optimism of her new companion, the voice in her head...the voice of reason. It was the only friend she needed now. A friend who would not judge her or lead her astray, or worse, ignore her pain. The voice would make everything right again.
Still smiling, she walked to her dresser drawers and pulled out some clothing. She had long since stopped caring about how she looked or whether her clothes matched. Today was no exception. She pulled out a plain white cotton panty, a blue bra, a pair of blue jeans and a striped red and white thin cotton sweater. It was good enough for her. Before leaving the room, she pulled on her robe that had been left in a pile on the chair next to her desk. Holding her clothing under her left arm, she tied the band at her waist as she walked down the hall toward the bathroom. She could hear her mother preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Her father was there too, no doubt, sipping his coffee at the breakfast nook. Still, she kept her smile plastered to her face as she stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.
Hillary_Flesh and Blood Page 6
