Chapter 10: Acceptance

We eat in silence.

I keep watching him. He is just using his phone. He doesn’t even look at me. He is angry at me.

When I came back from school he let me eat before giving me the bad news and now he remembered to bring food even when he was angry.

I try to remember when my uncle came to visit in the past. He would always try to ... but beside that he would bring the best gifts.

“Do you remember this?”, I remember Dad asking while showing me a picture of me delightedly eating some kind of sweet while uncle watched me with a smile.

“You literally used to dance whenever you used to eat that thing. Oh my god, the trouble your uncle went to you bring those!”, he says.

I asked what he meant.

“Well those were made with honey that a special kind of bees made in a remote valley. It wasn’t available anywhere else. And that place didn’t have any roads or anything. Your uncle used to take trains till it was possible ... then travelled in mud roads with overcrowded old minibuses ... then half a day on small boats ... and walk for miles to reach that place. Just one way journey took two days! He used to do that thrice a year to bring as much of those sweets as he can carry. Noone was allowed to even taste it except his darling little niece”, he said.

But uncle left me. He was about to leave me. It’s my fault. I am pushing him away. He loved me, now he hates me! He will leave me. And I will die.

After we are done and uncle asks me to put away the plates which I do.

But by the time I come back from the kitchen, uncle is not in the living room or dining room. Suddenly I am anxious again. I quickly check the guest room, he is not there. I start panicking.

I look at my parents room. The door is closed. Tears start bubbling in my eyes.

Why would they leave me? Why didn’t they love me?

“Are you not done yet?”, I hear uncle shout. I realise he is in my room.

I walk into my room to find him lying on my bed with only his briefs on. He is not hiding his bulge in the middle of his pants.

“Come on! Get changed for bed ... and wear only the camisole and those tiny shorts you wear ... I think it’s too hot today...”, uncle says with his villainous wide smile.

I nod. I will do it. He will not love me otherwise. He, like everyone else, will leave me.

I find a thick dark coloured winter camisole with a high neckline. I find the largest bulkiest shorts I can find. I go to the attached bathroom to change.

I look at myself in the mirror. Even with these I look vulnerable. Uncle, he is going to do...

They are to blame for this ... they left me, abandoned me.

Uncle is here because he wants my ... But he can get anybody with a better grown up body, anywhere.

No, he cares for me. He always cared about me, he gave nice gifts, nice food, nice chocolates, nice toys. He always asked about me on the phone. I don’t remember him travelling to the remote place to bring sweets but I remember the time he came to visit me at the hospital when I had broken my hand on my bicycle. He looked so worried. He nearly hit the doctor!

He loves me. He is the only one that loves me. The only one who won’t leave me ... if I don’t make him angry, if I keep him happy, he will love me more than them.

I look at the clothes I am wearing. I have chosen the worst possible pair.

I change back and go back to my closet.

“Why are you still not dressed? What is taking so much time?” Uncle asks with irritation.

I don’t see his hardness poking out anymore. I feel anxious. I feel like I am losing him.

“I am sorry! I wanted to wear different clothes”, I reply truthfully to try to stop myself from crying.

“What? Why? What is wrong with this dress?”, he asks.

I don’t know how to explain to him.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? I told you not to ... you promised to...”, he says angrily.

“Please uncle. I am being a good girl. Don’t be angry!”, I beg. Tears start bubbling in my eyes again.

“Show what you took to the bathroom...”, he asks. He is still angry.

I show him. I see delight flash in his face before anger fills the face again.

“Show me what you are thinking of wearing now...”, he orders.

I go to the closet and pull out the thinnest smallest top I have. It is a white camisole with the extremely low neckline that I only wear on the hottest of nights. I had not even worn it last year because my breasts had become too big for it. Mom had thought of making it a rag but I had protested because I had too many fond memories of sleeping in it in summer nights.