So Many Reasons Why

“Come on man, where the hell are you? I don't give a
shit. It's been hours. Fine. Whatever.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Don't breathe. Don't breathe. I bite down on my lip so
hard I can feel a warm metallic substance begin to pool inside my mouth. Blood.

I feel him lean over me. His fingernail slowly trails
down my exposed leg. I try not to react. If I'm unresponsive maybe he will
think I am asleep.

Or dead.

My eyes flew open as I gasped for air, desperately trying to
focus on something familiar. Something that would break me free from the
nightmare. My steel framed bed. The light blue blanket half covering my body.
The tree branch gently tapping against the outside of the window panel. I was
okay. I was safe.

My pounding heart wasn't listening to my head. No matter how
many times I repeated those words, night after night, my body failed to believe
me. I wiped the sweat off my face and pulled the blanket off me. The moment the
cool air hit my perspiring skin, I shivered. My head pounded. The dreams were so
vivid, so real, every night I was locked in the same nightmare. I calmed my
breathing, my stomach still churned into endless ball of anxiety and fear.

Propping myself up on my pillows, I couldn't decide if I was
hot or cold. I pulled the blankets up around my neck tightly. The feeling of
security it gave me was immense.

The nightmares had worsened over the past few months, as the
day got closer. There was no way of knowing when it would happen, only that
eventually it would. Ignoring this wouldn't change things, just as fighting it
hadn't. My constant pleas to the parole board had fallen on deaf ears.

Apparently, my feelings could only be considered 'to a
point'. My most recent petition had been replied with the justice systems
framework for rehabilitating offenders. Through support and reform, their aim
was to release offenders back into society. I didn't give a damn about him, or
how well he had been rehabilitated. None of that changed what he did to me, or
how he had ruined my life.

Carol clawed at my arm, like every night, trying to lick the
salty sweat off my soaked skin. I pushed her away. She glared up at me, like a
junkie whose fix I had ruined. She hissed, then bolted out of the room no doubt
to hide under the couch. This was her usual post fix behaviour. She'd
ignore me for the best part of two hours, then finally when hungry she would
try to worm her way back into my affections. Usually it worked too. That stupid
cat had me wrapped around her little paw, and she knew it.

       I glanced at the clock.
9:34. I grabbed the phone, my fingers shaking. My hands always shook when I
made this call. Why should today be any different? I dialled the numbers that
were imprinted in my mind. The first day of every month for the last six months
I forced myself to make this call. I had to know.

If he had a chance at parole, I needed to prepare myself.

I needed to be a step ahead.

“Any news?” I asked nervously. My heart was pounding.
Eventually I knew I was going to hear the words I never wanted to hear. Just
please not today. Any other day just not today. Grant hesitated.

Hesitation. That was never a good sign.

“He is up for a parole hearing. In three weeks.” He finally
said. Parole. That meant released. Back into the world. Back into my world.

“Emma, don't worry yet. He might not get approved.” The tone
in Grant's voice suggested even he didn't believe that.  He was just
trying to make me feel better. I'd never met Grant. All I knew of him was he
answered the phone every fortnight to tell me I was still safe. Until today.
Today I didn't like Grant.

“You think he will though.” My voice was flat, void of any
emotion. The complete opposite of what was going on inside my head. Inside, my
anger was bubbling, my mind was on the verge of exploding.

“You might want to...be prepared.” He finally finished.

I dropped the phone back and fell back onto the bed. This
was not good. I felt the hot tears trickle down my cheeks. Not today. How could
they do this to me today? Had nobody considered the significance of today?
Tomorrow, or yesterday I could have handled this better. It was like some sick
joke.

The fact that he been granted a parole hearing was bad, to
find this out on the ten year anniversary of the attack was worse. And where
were my family? My friends? It was so easy for everyone else to move on and
forget, I couldn't forget. I remembered every day.

I texted mom.

Can't do lunch today. Not well. Em xx

I couldn't handle my mother today. I could barely handle her
on a good day. Our relationship took effort, and I didn't have the energy
today. I turned off my phone knowing she would try and call.

Something in me snapped. I picked up my phone and slammed it
into the wall, watching it shatter into little pieces. Tiny broken pieces. Just
like me. I was a wreck. I climbed back under the covers and began to sob.

“Em.” I pried my eyes apart. Tom kneeled before me, gently
stroking my hair.

“What.” I grumbled. I rolled over and glared at the wall. Of
course mom would text Tom. She was probably worried she'd find me hanging from
the fan if she came here herself.

“You’re mom texted me. She's worried about you.” He pushed
me over in the bed.

“Em, talk to me. Please.” I felt him up against me, pulling
me into his arms. Tom. One of my best friends. I let him hold me. He kissed the
back of my neck.

“I called Grant.” I mumbled. Tom's embrace tightened. He
knew without me saying a word how much my life was about to change. For so long
I tried not to think about it. Now, the probability of him being released was
very high and I had no idea how to deal with it.

“When?” His voice was edged with anger. Anger he was trying
to control in front of me. I rolled over to face him. His eyes looked right
into mine. I loved his eyes. So green, so full of love and warmth. Today, the
warmth had been replaced with a hardness I'd never seen before. It scared me to
see him so angry. Angry over me.

“It’s not definite.” I finally said. “He has a parole
hearing in three weeks.” Tom relaxed slightly. Unlike me, he was clinging to
the slightest hope parole would be refused. I couldn't think like that. If I
let myself hope, I let myself hurt. I'd been hurt so much in the past I
couldn't handle any more pain in my life.

“So do something.” Tom reasoned.

“Like what?” The annoyance in me lashed out at Tom.

“I don't know. Write a letter. Put up a fight. Sitting here
feeling sorry for poor Em isn't going to solve anything, is it?”

“I’ve
tried
everything, Tom. Victim impact
statements, letters to the courts, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” My voice
was rising. “My issues don't matter. Not really. If they think he is
rehabilitated, and he is taking his meds, then chances are he will be let out.
He has been counselling young prisoners for fucks sake. He is a saint.” I
laughed bitterly.

“Fine. You will go crazy thinking about this Em. You need a
distraction. A day off.” He added.

I laughed harshly. A day off? What I wouldn't give for a day
off from my life. One day, to enjoy life without the constant worry that
everything was about to collapse around me.

“Isn’t every day a day off when you have agoraphobia?” I
tried to joke. Tom winced at the sarcasm coating my words. Maybe I should print
that on a T-shirt. My Gran would get a laugh out of that. Tom, not so much. He
grabbed hold of my hands and yanked me out of the bed.

“Hey!” My protests went unheard as he dragged me down the
hall. Before I knew it I was sitting in the bath, pyjamas and all, with the
taps running. “What the hell are you doing?”  My tangled dark hair stuck to
my face as the water trailed down the side of my head, onto my clothes, before
finally pooling down the drain.

I struggled to stand up. The sides of the bath were slippery
and difficult to grip. Every time I tried to stand the weight of the wet
clothes toppled me back down on my arse, which made my anger fester. Eventually
I gave up, kicking the end of the bath with my foot, repeatedly.

Shit. I tried to ignore the pain throbbing through my big
toe. 

“Just fuck off Tom.” I muttered.

“I'm sorry Em, but I'm not going to let you do this to
yourself. You are not going to do this. Not today. Do something else. Think
about anything but
him.”
He spat the last word out with disgust. If only
it were that easy.

“I think about
him
every day.” I said quietly. I let Tom
help me stand up. I didn't fight him as he peeled off my soaking wet pyjama top
and shorts. The hot water hitting my now naked skin did feel good. I began to
cry. Again.

“I hate what he did to me. Ten years ago
today
.”
Realisation hit Tom's expression. Followed by guilt.

“Shit Em. I'm so sorry.” He hugged me, not bothered that his
top was getting wet.  “No wonder you're losing the plot.” I let him
comfort me, relieved someone finally understood the significance of today. My
stomach churned, anxiety feeding into the endless pit in my stomach. I climbed
out of the bath and let him dry me. He wrapped my pink dressing gown around me.
Ten years ago today, my world changed forever.

'A horrific event that no child should ever have to go
through.'

That was how the newspaper described it. Mom and dad had
unsuccessfully tried to keep the papers away from me. In spite of that, I’d
collected every article, every news clipping. From that day, my life was
defined by what he had done.

Tom sat me down on the couch with my laptop, coffee, and a
large selection of junk food. He'd convinced me to at least try to focus on
something else today. Even if it was cheesy movies and junk food. He handed me
his phone. I glanced at the phone, and up at him.

“It doesn't take too much guessing to work out what happened
to yours.” He said dryly. I blushed, remembering my morning outburst. I'd never
liked my phone anyway.

“It was the cat.” I lied. As if on cue, Carol entered the
room. She hissed, glaring at me through her squinted eyes. Tom shook his head.

“Your cat is a freak.” He accused. “But you're such a
liar.”  I shrugged my shoulders. I was lying. And I was a freak too. Carol
had been a present from my dad, two years ago. He’d rescued her from a shelter.
He told me we were perfect for each other. I didn't know whether that was a
compliment or an insult. Knowing her as I do now, I'd say it was an insult.

Carol was my dad’s way of saying ‘sorry I haven't been
around for the last five years.’ That was two years ago and I haven't seen him
since. Apparently it 'hurts' him too much to look at me. I'm a reminder to him
of what happened. To
me.

“Thanks Tommy. I'm so lucky to have a friend like you.” We
hugged. I gave him so much shit, but he was always there for me. He'd been
there for me since we were five. He knew I loved him, but I didn't let him know
that enough. He kissed my head.

“Love you too, Em. My little self-absorbed shithead.” I
opened my mouth to protest. Tom cut me off. “You’re allowed to be self-absorbed
today, but knock it off tomorrow, yeah?” I wacked him across the head, not
bothering to hide the smile on my face. “Keep the phone Em. I’m due for a new
one anyway. Just try not to break this one.”

In spite of Tom's objections, I decided to try and study. I
had put off starting my Law and Society essay for far longer than I should
have. It was the one subject in my course that I hated. Well, hate is maybe too
strong a word. I hated the way this subject made me feel.