couch.
“Yeah.”
He
turns off the burners on the stove and guides me gently with his hand on my
back over to the couch. Warmth radiates from where his hand settles on my
back and travels through the rest of my body. I’m trying to hold in all the
emotions that are building inside of me. There’s so much pressure in my
head, I feel like I’m going to explode.
I
sit on the couch with my hands in my lap. Dillon sits next to me and turns his body
so he’s facing me, his knee bent on the couch and almost touching my thigh.
He places his arm on the back of the couch behind my head and I can feel
the heat of his body. He’s not even touching me, but my heart is racing.
“Amy,
talk to me. Please. I just need to understand so I can help you.
I’m not going to judge you. I’m not going to pressure you to do
anything you don’t want to do. I just want you to talk to me. Tell
me what happened in that house, please?”
I
fiddle with my hands, thinking of how to start. Tears flood my eyes
and I see his hand move slowly towards me through my blurred vision. He
doesn’t grab my hand, but he offers me his. I look up into his eyes and
he gives me a soft smile. I place my hand in his and he gives it a gentle
squeeze.
“I
just remember my mother being really sad all the time and sleeping a lot when I
was little. She did read to me and play with me on her good days.
The older man would bring boxes once a month with food and supplies. Sometimes
clothes, some toys, or books for school. I would spend my days reading
textbooks, cleaning, and cooking meals while my mother slept. I wasn’t
allowed outside. As I got older, I think she stopped taking her
medication when she wasn’t supposed to. She was sleeping less, but she
would become angry and sometimes I think she would hallucinate. She…..she
thought I was dirty. She would force me in hot showers that burned my
skin. She would make me scrub the house for hours. She would have these
episodes and then afterwards, cry and beg me to forgive her. She put a
lock on my door so that I could escape her. She was afraid she would hurt
me. She continued to get worse. When I turned thirteen, that skinny
man came to our house for the first time. She hid me in the pantry.
I heard her screaming and I heard him grunting.”
I
can’t stop the tears anymore, they just keep coming, so I let them fall.
I hear Dillon release a breath and then squeeze my hand trying to comfort
me.
“She
dug a hole through the pantry floor after he left. The next time he came,
she hid me in it. There were bugs crawling all over me and it was hot.
She left me there for at least two days. I was really sick for a
few days after that. Probably dehydrated. She started calling me a
whore and accused me of doing things. She started hitting me.” I
reach up and touch the fading bruise on my cheek, remembering the force of my
journal hitting my face and the wild look in her eyes. “I locked myself
in my room a lot. The last time the skinny man came, I didn’t have time
to get out of her bedroom to hide in the pantry, so I hid in her bedroom
closet. I watched him rape her and hit her. He called out for me
afterwards, said he’d be back. That’s when she tried to…..I have
nightmares about him finding me and my mother not being here to hide me
anymore.”
I
cover my face with both of my hands and just sob. He knows. He
knows how damaged I am now. I feel him pull on my shoulder. He
pulls me towards him and I collapse into his arms. His body is warm and
is the perfect combination of hard and soft. His arms wrap tightly around
my back. They’re strong, but I know they won’t hurt me. They’ll
protect me. I haven’t felt this kind of intimate contact since I was a
little girl. I can’t even describe the overwhelming emotion. I grip
his
“Yeah.”
He
turns off the burners on the stove and guides me gently with his hand on my
back over to the couch. Warmth radiates from where his hand settles on my
back and travels through the rest of my body. I’m trying to hold in all the
emotions that are building inside of me. There’s so much pressure in my
head, I feel like I’m going to explode.
I
sit on the couch with my hands in my lap. Dillon sits next to me and turns his body
so he’s facing me, his knee bent on the couch and almost touching my thigh.
He places his arm on the back of the couch behind my head and I can feel
the heat of his body. He’s not even touching me, but my heart is racing.
“Amy,
talk to me. Please. I just need to understand so I can help you.
I’m not going to judge you. I’m not going to pressure you to do
anything you don’t want to do. I just want you to talk to me. Tell
me what happened in that house, please?”
I
fiddle with my hands, thinking of how to start. Tears flood my eyes
and I see his hand move slowly towards me through my blurred vision. He
doesn’t grab my hand, but he offers me his. I look up into his eyes and
he gives me a soft smile. I place my hand in his and he gives it a gentle
squeeze.
“I
just remember my mother being really sad all the time and sleeping a lot when I
was little. She did read to me and play with me on her good days.
The older man would bring boxes once a month with food and supplies. Sometimes
clothes, some toys, or books for school. I would spend my days reading
textbooks, cleaning, and cooking meals while my mother slept. I wasn’t
allowed outside. As I got older, I think she stopped taking her
medication when she wasn’t supposed to. She was sleeping less, but she
would become angry and sometimes I think she would hallucinate. She…..she
thought I was dirty. She would force me in hot showers that burned my
skin. She would make me scrub the house for hours. She would have these
episodes and then afterwards, cry and beg me to forgive her. She put a
lock on my door so that I could escape her. She was afraid she would hurt
me. She continued to get worse. When I turned thirteen, that skinny
man came to our house for the first time. She hid me in the pantry.
I heard her screaming and I heard him grunting.”
I
can’t stop the tears anymore, they just keep coming, so I let them fall.
I hear Dillon release a breath and then squeeze my hand trying to comfort
me.
“She
dug a hole through the pantry floor after he left. The next time he came,
she hid me in it. There were bugs crawling all over me and it was hot.
She left me there for at least two days. I was really sick for a
few days after that. Probably dehydrated. She started calling me a
whore and accused me of doing things. She started hitting me.” I
reach up and touch the fading bruise on my cheek, remembering the force of my
journal hitting my face and the wild look in her eyes. “I locked myself
in my room a lot. The last time the skinny man came, I didn’t have time
to get out of her bedroom to hide in the pantry, so I hid in her bedroom
closet. I watched him rape her and hit her. He called out for me
afterwards, said he’d be back. That’s when she tried to…..I have
nightmares about him finding me and my mother not being here to hide me
anymore.”
I
cover my face with both of my hands and just sob. He knows. He
knows how damaged I am now. I feel him pull on my shoulder. He
pulls me towards him and I collapse into his arms. His body is warm and
is the perfect combination of hard and soft. His arms wrap tightly around
my back. They’re strong, but I know they won’t hurt me. They’ll
protect me. I haven’t felt this kind of intimate contact since I was a
little girl. I can’t even describe the overwhelming emotion. I grip
his
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