Embracing Life (10 page)

I feel the fabric covering my small delicate body being ripped from seam to seam, my father’s sweater being torn from arm to arm. My body tries to recoil from the bitter cold in the air but can’t. His hands are all over me, and I can’t move. He is touching my breasts, squeezing, and pinching. I feel his hands working their way down to my crotch, and then it happens. There is a sharp pain as he enters me. I scream, and he lets out a grunt. I am not sure how it happened, but sometime while he was working his nasty hands down my body, he released his button and shifted his pants down to his knees. I look at him once more and scream as hard as I possibly can. I fight. I pinch. I kick. It’s no use.

The coldness of the night and the harshness of his movements overtake my body. I feel as though I may die. The pain is excruciating. I close my eyes, silently praying for this to be a nightmare. My eyes fly open with shock as a slice of pain races through my body. With that, I am thrown into darkness. My eyes see no evil, my ears hear no screams, and I feel… nothing.

I
awake, groggy and unaware of where I am. I have no idea how long I have been out. I try to open my eyes, but the pain is too intense. My head is throbbing, and I am cold.  Where am I? I slowly turn my body, trying to feel around for something that will give me a clue. My eyes don’t want to cooperate, so I have to use my hands. Raising my left hand, I reach for the nearest thing, and I feel a handle. I do the same with my right and place it firmly on what seems to be my gear shift. Forcing my eyes open, I take in the interior of my car. I look forward but cannot see anything in front of me other than a fogged up windshield. I am still in my car. Fear grips me once more as the images of what happened before I blacked out.  I know he is here, but I don’t feel him. My body is on full alert as I hear heavy breathing coming from the passenger seat. I don’t want to look. I have to get out of the car.

As I reach for my door handle and begin to sneak out of the car, I sense his movement. Taking a deep breath, I open the door, but before I can push my way out, I am grabbed once more and drug back in, kicking, screaming, hoping, and praying that I get someone’s attention. It is still raining, and I am sure that no one will come this way as the area floods easy and is blocked off a few miles behind and in front of where I pulled over.

“Trying to run, my love? You have tried that before, and it didn’t work. See? Here I am in the flesh. They kept me away from you for so long, but I am back now,” he says in a nonchalant tone.

“Steven, please let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Please, just let me go,” I plead.

“Oh no. We will not be apart again, my love. Your mother said some evil things that kept me from you, and I will prove to her that I am good for you and you love me as much as I love you. Come now, my love, we have to leave.”

I remember small details about what my mother told the police whilst sitting in her hospital bed, but they were to protect me. Steven visited me every night for about two weeks. Each encounter was worse than the previous, and the more I screamed, the rougher he became. I remember bleeding for nearly three days straight after one of his sessions. After that night, I had to make my escape. I never returned home after school. I stayed with Rebecca until my mother summoned me home. I saw the look of concern in the faces of Rebecca and her mother as I was driven away in his car. My mother was oblivious to what was taking place under her roof. She was too stoned or drunk to notice. That night, however, would change it all. After returning from Rebecca’s, I blocked my door as I did most nights, but it wasn’t enough. It began as it usually did, a game of cat and mouse. I ran, hid, climbed, and scrambled over and into all areas of my room, trying to shield my body from his torturous hands, but it never worked. He always gained control, and I always lost it. With the rush that was his body, my mind gave up, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

The following morning, I awoke in a hospital bed alongside my mother. Tubes ran from her body as machine monitors danced in color. Rebecca’s parents sat beside me, consoling me and explaining the actions that landed me and my mother in hospital.

The previous night, my mother fought him off me and got the beating of a lifetime. She was admitted to the hospital for nearly six months. Steven was in prison, awaiting trial, but the proceedings had to wait until my mother was fit enough to stand witness. I stayed with
Becca’s family until my father got involved. I pleaded with my mother not to tell him what happened, and reluctantly, she agreed. He could never know the pain I suffered. I would not allow him to blame himself for leaving me in that home.

Steven was imprisoned for five years. It would have been longer, but my mother’s drug and alcohol abuse made the case hard enough to stick as it was. So, we were in some way pleased with a sentence at all. After the trial was over, I moved to San Diego with my father, hoping to revive what we lost all those years ago, a childish dream that never took flight. Upon moving to San Diego, I asked my father if I could change my name back to the family name, and he agreed.

“Steven, you know I had nothing to do with that. I wasn’t even allowed in the courtroom. You beat my mother; that’s why you went to prison, not because of me,” I snap.

“I know, Melanie! I know what that witch did to the both of us. I should have ended her when I had the chance. I should have taken you away a long time ago, and we could have been happy. Together. So now, let’s go!”

I see the look of lust deep within his eyes, a look that is accompanied with pain. Squeezing my eyes shut, I see them in the darkness, glowing like a predator after his prey. Their slow, stalking movements gleam. The need to stall him is overwhelming. I know that, if I don’t, I will not get away this time. I hold my eyes shut. I don’t want to face the harsh truth that sits beside me.

The air in the car has grown dank and stifling. I let loose the breath that I didn’t know I was holding in an almighty whoosh. As I suck in another long breath, I inhale the scent of him. My stomach convulses from the nasty odor in which I am wrapped. The walls seem to close in around me. His presence is suffocating, and each breath he takes equals one less for me.

The longer I clamp my eyes shut, the more intense the pain, radiating from my skull, becomes. My resolve is wearing thin. With each passing second, I am becoming the victim, a casualty of his torture once more. “Breathe, Mel! Breathe! There is still time. Help will come. Don’t give up,” the voice in my mind speaks in a smooth whisper.

Somewhere, within my prison, I can hear the muffled sound of a child’s laugh. I am strangely drawn to this noise. As I open my eyes, my full sense returns, and the sound becomes familiar. My phone! The giggling sound is annoying, but right now, that sound is my salvation. It’s my only hope, that stupid little noise. I cannot withhold my smile as I remember the day that Katie downloaded it to my phone. I was happy once. Life had grown easier to bear. Her face, her movements as she mimicked the minions, so carefree. No burdens and no fear.

“Steven,” I plead, shifting on my seat to face him. His eyes burn into mine as I swallow loudly. “I have to get that. It’s my friend. I was supposed to meet her” His lips flat line across his face. He isn’t buying it. “Please, Steven. She will be worried, and if…” I stutter, trying to hold down the stinging bile rising up my throat. “I don’t show, she will call my father, and then I will have half of the Navy out looking for me.” An innocent smile crosses my face as I mention my father. He knows nothing of him. He has no clue whether my father would go to those lengths. “Please let me answer it, Steven.” The vibrant noise stops, quickly picking back up. Time stands still. His eyes are fixed on me. The cackling sound flows through the stillness of the car once more. His hands rise, and I instinctively shift, pushing my back solid against the car door. His pointer finger moves side to side in front of my nose, and a sneering smile catches his face.

“No, Melanie. We don’t have time for a chat. We have to leave. You are cold and wet, and I need to get you somewhere warm,” he says, reaching for me. I have no desire for him to touch me. I am flat against the door now, trying to gather my legs to safeguard my body. “I need to show you what you have missed out on the last three years. I have a couple tattoos I would like you to look at.” His tone is loud and sickly, and he is trying to seduce me. I gasp as the bile returns, burning the trail from my throat to my mouth. He just winked at me… oh god, I can only imagine where he has these tattoos. It’s not a place that I will visit, willingly or not, ever again. The tune starts from my phone again, and my ultimate need to survive outweighs everything.  His touch. His smell. His everything.

“Steven, I will go with you, I promise,” I say, searching his eyes. “Just let me answer the phone. Let me tell her I’m sick at home or something. Come on, Steven, please? You never denied me anything in the past, so why start now?” My words sting as they flow from my mouth.

My body and mind are not on the same page. One says, “Run,” and the other screams, “Fight!” I know I can’t run, so I will myself to fight. Going against every molecule of
disgust that flows through my petite frame, I reach for his knee and graze it ever so lightly with my fingertips. His eyes shoot to mine, and I pause, giving the most sincere smile I can gather. His eyebrows raise, and I can see the inner workings of his mind written all over his face. This is what he wants. He wants the chase. He wants me to fall victim to his ways. He wants me to submit to him.

Can I submit? Is it even in me anymore? I am not the person I once was. I have a life, and I have friends who love me. I have a father who apparently thinks the world of me. My life has changed. It has taken time; it’s not the struggle that I thought it would be, but I am there. I am on the home stretch now.

I think back to a long, teary conversation Katie and I had not so long ago. That girl is so strong. I strive to be like her.  I told her I didn’t like being a victim, and hiding from my own shadow was not an option for me anymore, but I couldn’t see my way through the darkness.

With a roll of her eyes, she moves across the room and pulls a small notebook from her top drawer. Staring at her as she moved slowly back across the room, I curiously watch as she flicks through the pages until she comes across the right one. 

“Mel, I love you. You are family. You only allow yourself to be a victim as long as you believe you are one. Here. Read this. It reminds me of you. I have wanted to show it to you for a while now, but I never found the right time.”

She hands me a small notebook with a whip of red elastic holding the bent, slightly torn pages together. Looking at my friend, I see her eyes urging me to read the words scrawled across the page. I look down, and in the neatest handwriting I have ever seen, is a small statement by Eleanor Roosevelt.

“In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.”

Over and over, I read those same words, backwards, forwards, jumbling the words together, but in the end, they all mean the same thing. I am the one who must fight. I am the one who decides what happens now. I held her so tight that day I swear I forced some of the regret I had been holding for so long out with the embrace.

It’s those words that I have hung onto for so long, and it’s those words I must remember now. I will not be his victim anymore.

“Thank you Katie” I whisper.

My stomach is tied in knots, but I have to fight this time. I have the strength, and I can do it. He grabs my hand and plants a small kiss on my ring finger. Rubbing his hairy fingers over my knuckles, he lets out a deep breath and nods.

“OK, Mel, but you have two minutes, and then we need to leave. Move over here. I’ll drive. You can talk while I drive!” His voice is stern, and I know he is not messing around. I straighten my overly tense body, and grab the door handle. I move to open the door, but his hands grab my shoulder as I try to exit. “I didn’t say get out,” he snaps.

“I’m sorry,” I say, choking back the tears. I silently scold myself for not listening, and I could have very well just blown my chance.  “Breathe, Mel! Breathe! Help will come,” the slow voice whirls through my head once more.  Steven pulls me over the center console as he hastily exits the passenger side, slamming the door behind him.

I watch with sheltered eyes as he enters the driver’s side; he is dripping wet. I stare at him, and he scowls at me. Slowly, I lower myself down onto the seat. I take note of his soaked clothes as my phone chimes loudly in the back of the car. If it’s still raining, the road will surely be flooded. Ignoring the chime of an incoming voicemail, I tear my hand from under my leg and wipe the windshield free of condensation.

“Steven, we can’t. Look, the road is flooded. We can’t go anywhere until the rain lets up.” As he gazes to the road ahead, I retrieve my phone from the floor. Quickly, I dial as he stares at the falling sheets of rain. He gave me permission to call, but this overwhelming fear that he will retract it consumes me. I don’t want to be thrown back into the abyss, lost in the deadly stare that it is Steven.

“Mel?” I inhale loudly as I hear her voice. I can’t speak; my words are absent as I stare at him. What do I say? “Mel, honey, where are you? Why haven’t you answered your phone? Are you ok? Tell me where you are. I will come get you, and we can talk. I’m sorry, Mel. I should have said something sooner. Melanie?” She pleads with me, her voice is laced with worry. She thinks I am still mad at her. Oh Katie, if you only knew. I hear her pleas, and my heart is racing. Steven looks at me bewildered. I pleaded with him to let me speak with Katie, and I haven’t said a word.  Taking my eyes away from his irritable stare, I muster up the courage to speak.