by Maggi Myers
The praise makes my heart full. “I do? Thanks, Tommy!” No one has ever said that I remind them of Mom in any way. Mostly I hear about how I’m not like her at all.
“You are more alike than you know, baby girl.” He chuckles.
When I sit up and brush the sand from my elbows, I see Ryan sitting across the fire, watching us. I hold my breath, waiting for him to start making fun of me. One side of his mouth tilts into a lopsided grin that starts my heart tripping again.
“Pretty.” He says.
My mouth drops open in cartoonish fashion at that one word. Tommy’s barking laughter reverberates in my ears and my entire body turns beet red.
“Your voice, Beth!” Ryan stammers, glancing back and forth between Tommy’s amused face and my shocked one.
“I know what you meant,” I lie. For a moment, I had been soaring at the thought of him calling me pretty. I stand and brush the rest of the sand off me, not wanting to stick around for round two of Awkward Conversations With Beth and Ryan.
“No! I mean, you are pretty and all,” he is stuttering now. “I just meant...I mean, you have a great voice but...you’re fourteen!” He’s rambling, which has Tommy howling. This only sends Ryan deeper into his despair when he blurts out, “Knock it off, Tommy! It’s not like that, I am not a pedophile!”
There it is. I can never get too comfortable without something dredging it back to the surface. I picture a neon pink sign flashing bright cursive letters above my head, “Pedophile Plaything.” My subconscious is cruel enough, but Ryan’s words sting like I have been slapped. My eyes blur with my hurt. It is a direct contradiction to the practiced smile I have cemented on my face. Before the tears can spill over, I spin on my heel to scurry out of there.
Within a few quick steps, warm hands grip my shoulders and spin me around. Tommy squeezes me against his chest whispering into my hair so no one else can hear, “He doesn’t know, Beth. He has no idea. He just thinks you’re embarrassed because he said you’re pretty. Shoot, he can hardly see past his own verbal diarrhea. He’s squirming over there.” Tommy’s words rumble deep in his chest, against my ear.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper back. Who cares whether he’s figured it out or not, it doesn’t change what I am or what’s been done.
“It does matter because it is your story to tell to whomever, whenever you want to tell it.”
Tommy’s words are reassuring, but I still want to find a big hole to climb inside. I let go of him and peek around his back at Ryan. He is sitting with his arms draped across his bent knees. He is shaking his head at the sand, and I wonder if he is replaying the scene in his head, like I am. He lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair while he scans the beach.
“It’s better if I just scoot. Pops and Gran are packing up, anyway.” I wipe my face and smile at Tommy’s concerned expression. “I love you, Tommy. What would I do without you?”
“You’ve never got to worry about it, baby girl. I am always here. Always,” he promises with a kiss to the top of my head.
“Beth, wait!” I cringe when I hear Ryan call out. Tommy raises an eyebrow at my reaction but stays quiet as Ryan catches up to us. “Hang on a minute. I’m sorry that got so weird,” he sounds unsure, nothing like the cocky boy who doused me with river water. “We’re good, right?” He squats a little to get level with my eyes, but I turn my head away. He catches my chin with his thumb and index finger and brings my face back to his. ”Please don’t be mad at me.” His brows pinch together and his expression is so pathetic, it tugs at my heart.
“I’m not mad, just embarrassed. Okay?” I shift nervously under his scrutiny. I bat his hand away from my face.
“Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time.” Nothing breaks awkward like Monty Python.
“Fetch le vache!” he drawls out in a terrible French accent. His relief shows through his smile and all is set right again. We snicker at Tommy who is shaking his head muttering about “kids these days.”
On the ride back to the marina, I can’t help but replay Ryan’s voice in my head over and over.
“Pretty.”
Pretty messed up.
Pretty stupid.
Pretty ridiculous.
Pretty pathetic I thought he meant me.
Chapter 11
The week passes by in a blur and my lament over Ryan is forced to the back burner. To appease my worrywart grandparents, I’ve agreed to see a family therapist. For all my complaining, I am really glad that I am going. Despite myself, I am relieved to have a place to talk freely without having to freak out over the reaction I will get.
Dr. Warren is my therapist. She’s my mother’s age with long russet hair and chocolate eyes. She has freckles that skim her nose and cheeks like me, but they look good on her. She is beautiful in a classic Hollywood kind of way and has a Judy Garland quality to her—pretty and approachable. The best thing about Dr. Warren is that she doesn’t cringe, sigh or otherwise when we talk about Drew or home. She always considers me with the same warm smile-and-nod encouragement.
I don’t feel embarrassed talking to her and I don’t have to hide anything, so I bear it. All of it.
“Tell me about your phone calls with your mom. How are things going?” Dr. Warren and I are sitting on the floor playing checkers. Keeping myself busy while we talk helps, I’m a lot more candid and relaxed if I’m not the center of attention.
“Strange,” I mutter as I contemplate my next move. “I feel bad for not being more open with her, she is trying really hard.”
Dr. Warren regards me with her warm eyes. “Beth, we have talked about this. You are not responsible for absolving your parents,” she notes, reaching over to rub my knee. “They are working on their own set of issues, you need to do the same. Focus on forgiving yourself if you want to start to forgive them.”
“I’m not taking any blame for what happened, but it pisses me off that it did.” I’m irritated she’s bringing this up again. “I thought we were moving on.”
She raises an eyebrow at my tone, “Well, Beth, you are very good at saying what you think I want to hear, and I am very good at reading between the lines. We keep coming back to this because it’s not resolved, sweetie. You can’t move on with your life until it is.”
“So you think I’m lying?” my voice cracks over my surging panic. “You are the only person I don’t have to lie to!”
“No, Beth, I don’t think you are lying to me. I think you are lying to yourself. You did not invite Drew to molest you but when you talk about him, you insinuate blame.”
“I didn’t invite it, but I didn’t stop it, either.” I flip a black checker between my thumb and index finger. “It goes both ways.”
She is starting to question me, too. What is it about me that is so untrustworthy? My mother didn’t believe me when I told her what Drew was doing to me, and now Dr. Warren is basically calling me a manipulative liar. Silent tears drop into my lap, bringing a fresh wave of shame with them. My biggest fear is to trust someone with the details of what Drew did to me, only to have them walk away. Could I really blame them? Of course not, but there is a part of me that wants to believe I deserve the kind of love that would stand up to my past.
“That is what I am talking about, Beth. There are no ‘buts’ here. You aren’t responsible for Drew’s actions and you didn’t perpetuate them. He molded you into someone he could take advantage of, got you to trust him completely and question yourself. It is a tried and true formula that pedophiles have been using since the age of time.” Dr. Warren means to be reassuring but now I just feel like a chump. I can’t even relish that she hasn’t given up on me yet because I know it’s only a matter of time.
“If that’s true and Drew did such a number on me, making me believe all of his bullshit, then how will I ever know what’s real and what isn’t?” I whimper, “How do I trust myself to know the difference?”
“Oh, Beth.” Dr. Warren sighs as she moves to sit next to me, “let’s look
at this in two pieces, okay? First, we will work on those boundaries so you know what is safe and comfortable. Second, you have already taken steps to open up and trust again.”
My eyes dart from the floor to her face. As if she can read where my thoughts have taken me, she grabs both of my hands, squeezing them, “I am not giving up on you, Beth. I am only trying to encourage you not to give up on yourself. You can trust me. Speaking of that, let’s focus on the progress you’re making. Tommy? Ryan? How is that going?” Hearing Ryan’s name makes me fidgety, and Dr. Warren notes my demeanor with an amused smirk.
“Don’t look at me like that, okay? It’s bad enough, already,” I mumble, wiping my face with a tissue. “Tommy just feels safe, I can’t explain it. I just know I can trust him. Ryan is...” I let out a frustrated breath, “...he confuses me. One minute he is my friend, and the next minute I am getting dunked in the river.” I tell Dr. Warren the whole sordid tale of the bonfire night.
She regards me carefully before she speaks. “Well, it sounds to me like you don’t have a problem trusting yourself or your instincts with Tommy. You are learning to listen to your intuition and that is great, great progress! He is a solid choice. He loves you very much and wants what’s best for you. You couldn’t ask for a better champion.” She shifts her weight forward on her hips, leaning closer to me, indicating an even more serious conversation. “Ryan on the other hand, he is a little more complicated. He isn’t a grown up, he’s your peer. Your willingness to trust him says a lot about how you feel about him,” she pauses to ensure she’s eye to eye with me. “It’s okay to be attracted to boys, Beth.” My face pulses with a hundred different reds, each one mingling with my insecurities.
Attraction is complicated for anyone but for me...well, complicated would be a breeze in comparison. I don’t even know if there is a word to describe how it feels. When I think about him, my body goes into a hormonal overdrive—my heart pounds, I can’t breathe, my stomach flutters. I am a Judy Blume cliché, for crying out loud! No matter how far I push Drew from my thoughts, everything comes back to him. There are things he taught me that I wish I could unlearn.
God, I wish I could be sitting here talking about having my first crush and not feel ashamed. The whole point of first crushes is the emphasis on first. First kiss, first touch, first everything. Drew was a thief. He stole all of my firsts. He taught me things about my body that should have been reserved for someone I love.
***
“Do you trust me, Mouse?” Drew is splayed across my bed on his back and I am curled into the nook of his arm with my head on his chest.
“Yes?” It comes out as a question, but I do. I trust him. I love him.
“I want to show you something,” he whispers into my hair, running a hand up my ribcage under my shirt. I suck in my breath and tense at his touch. “Relax, Mouse, this is going to make you feel good.” His hand drifts to the back of my training bra and effortlessly releases the clasp. Self-preservation takes over as my mind starts flooding my veins with adrenaline. Rolling away from Drew, I fold my hands over my chest where my bra is hanging worthlessly.
“No, I don’t want to.” My voice betrays me. It is small and weak, whereas my mind is screaming, “NO! I DON’T WANT TO!”
“You always say that, does it make you feel better? Don’t kid yourself, Beth. You want me as much as I want you. Let me show you.” He sits up and scoots back to lean on my headboard. “Come here,” he commands, holding his hand out for me. I know better than to disobey, his touches are harsh and punishing when I am resistant. It’s better if I am obedient; he is tender with me when I am.
I crawl into his lap and Drew turns me away from him, placing my back against his chest. He runs his fingers lightly across my arms, spreading goosebumps along my skin. “See, doesn’t that feel good?” he whispers against my ear, kissing it lightly.
“Yes.” I sigh and relax back against his chest, melting into the pleasant feeling. Drew’s hands continue to float up my arms, along my shoulders. That is when it happens for the first time, my nipples harden as his hand brushes across my collarbone. I don’t understand what is happening, my body has never responded like this before. I jerk my arms to cover my breasts, but Drew catches me by the wrists.
“Trust me.” His breath against my skin stokes a treacherous tingling I don’t recognize. Without hesitating, he runs his hands beneath my shirt to cup my budding breasts. I lean my head back against him and arch my back involuntarily while he pulls gently at my nipples.
“That’s it,” he encourages.
I start to cry. My mind is warring with what Drew tells me and what my heart knows. He wants me to believe that what we are doing is special, but I know it’s wrong. Still, here I am with his hands all over me, crying over something I have failed to stop. I jerk at Drew’s sudden movement behind me, he’s pulled his shirt off. He grips the hem of mine and pulls up, taking my bra with it. I curl forward, hiding myself from him.
“Uh-uh,” he scolds, gripping me around the waist and tossing me off his lap. I land with a bounce on my back, and Drew is already on me, pulling my shorts and panties down in one violent motion. I am sobbing uncontrollably, tears and snot running down my face. Drew pushes the insides of my knees apart, exposing me in the most intimate way possible. I writhe and kick at him, but he laughs at my weak attempt.
“You disappoint me, Mouse. Crocodile tears, really?” His stare is drawn to where he has boldly exposed me. His focus is predatory. “I am still going to teach you to come.” I don’t know what that means, but my mind races as he releases one of my legs to unzip his pants, unveiling his angry erection.
I suck in a deep breath to scream. Anticipating my reaction, Drew slaps his hand over on my mouth, “Don’t you scream, you fucking little liar! I know you want this, you goddamn tease!” Panting with exertion, his eyes are ablaze with fury. I don’t dare move. Sensing my submission, he releases my mouth to run his hand down the length of my torso, stopping at the entrance of my body.
“This right here,” he takes a more gentle tone as he rubs a finger against my opening, ”this is mine. I am going to fuck you, Beth. I am going to fuck your tight little pussy and you’re going to love it because I’m going to make you.” He takes my hand, running my fingers through my folds. At the very front he pauses, “Do you feel that bump? That is where I want you to touch yourself, like this.” Entwining our fingers, he strokes the tender spot. After several minutes, I start to panic because nothing is happening and I am getting sore. “Do NOT defy me,” he growls, shoving my hand away. To teach me a lesson he pinches my nipple hard, making me cry out in pain. I realize my mistake a second before he slaps me across the face.
“You did this to yourself, you don’t get to cry,” he spits. My face is hot where his hand connected. It stings, but it is a welcome distraction from the assault on the rest of my body. Drew plunges his finger into me as he stares into my eyes, daring me to cry out again. I don’t. My only protest is the tears that won’t stop spilling. I close my eyes and pray for God to make me numb.
His finger probes me, in cruel hard thrusts. When I think I can’t endure anymore, he pulls out and positions himself between my legs.
”Look at me,” he demands. I force my eyes open and find Drew stroking his erection with force. “This is going to hurt, but I promise I’ll make it good for you, Mouse.” He grabs my hips and lunges forward, covering my mouth with his as he slams into me. I scream in agony but the sound is absorbed by Drew’s bruising kisses. I am being ripped in half—the pain is unbearable.
Drew is pumping himself into me with brutal force when he reaches down to where we are connected. He finds the bump from earlier, pressing it against our joined bodies. The searing pain between my legs slowly shifts to an uncomfortable tension, stirring deep within me.
I squirm beneath him, attempting to get away from the pressure building inside of me. Without warning, my back arches and a moan escapes my lips as I begin to pant and shake beneath Drew. Te
rrified, I search his face for some clue to what is happening to me. His eyes shine with tenderness a moment before he throws his head back, pulling my hips flush against his. He moans my name over and over as he spills himself into me.
***
I moan, hiding my face in my hands. No, there are certain things I can never ever tell anyone.
“Beth, look at me,” Dr. Warren encourages. My hands drop away, revealing an exaggerated grimace. “You are a beautiful girl, there is no reason for you to assume that Ryan didn’t use ‘pretty’ to mean several things. Pretty voice, pretty smile, pretty heart and soul. You, my dear, are the whole ‘pretty’ package.” I blink slowly, trying to absorb each word. Dr. Warren grabs my hand and stands, dragging me with her. She spins me to face the mirror hanging above the couch. “What do you see?”
“I see a lot of brown and freckles,” I grumble.
“Do you know what I see?” she whispers. “I see a young woman with beautiful brown hair that catches warm red tones when the light hits it. I see a girl whose big brown eyes are soulful and mesmerizing and a smile so contagious it can light up the whole room. I see an incredible young lady who has been through hell and is coming out of that with a grace and strength that most women twice her age couldn’t muster.”
“I wish I could see that.” I sniffle between tears.
“You will, Beth. You will,” she insists.
Chapter 12
My conversation with Dr. Warren plagues every thought I have. Giving me permission to be attracted to Ryan opens up all kinds of mixed emotions in me, each confusing and conflicting. No matter how hard I try to focus on our trip to the lake this weekend, my thoughts are consumed with Ryan and of Dr. Warren’s description of me. She has to be exaggerating or she has me on a pedestal of perfection I can’t live up to. I am incapable of passing a mirror without stopping to look at my reflection, waiting for her version of me to be unveiled. I can see that I have grown another inch, giving my body a long and lanky awkwardness. My hips and breasts are continuing to round out, much to my horror.
