Chapter 4

Twelve days before the Room.

My life changed forever after my thirteenth birthday. Things that I loved were suddenly enjoyable no longer. Hanging out with my friends became a chore, and even the smallest things like homework or sleeping became hard to focus on. I could still smell the alcohol on my stepdad’s breath, stinging and hot, and I could still feel his hand gripping my wrist tightly. He had held me so hard he left a bruise. But even despite the physical reminders of him, the worst part was what he left in my head. I could still feel his hands on my body. Touching me. Caressing me. Doing things that I hated and didn’t want him to do.

It was bad enough having all of these marks on my body to remind me of yesterday, but having to live under the same roof as him was hell. He constantly teased me about it. Pretending as though I wanted it and maybe, in his own sick mind, I did. But in mine, I didn’t. I just wanted to have fun with my friends, swim in the pool, eat hamburgers, and stay up late to gossip and talk about boys. But he took all of that away from me.

I didn’t find being with my friends fun after that. I didn’t go swimming, telling everyone I simply wasn’t feeling well. I was hoping my Mom would ask me what was wrong. Why I suddenly became ill after going into the house with Greg, but she was so enamoured by his charms. All she said was to take some Tylenol and to go lay down. I couldn’t believe it. I ran to my room, locked the door, and cried myself to sleep under the sheets of my bed.

I thought tomorrow would be a better day - that things couldn’t possibly get worst. But they did. They always did with him. The next day went on without incident, mostly because Greg was at work and I never left my room. My whole body felt numb. Even as I lay in bed and touched my fingers to my skin, retracing where Greg’s hands had been yesterday. It’s like my own skin felt nothing anymore except his touch.

That was how I ended up spending most of my day. Laying in bed and trying to feel something, in between bouts of crying and sleeping. I felt so different after what he did, and I hated it. I hated everything. I hated him.

So, you can imagine my horror when I heard him walk through the front door, coming home late from work, followed by my Mother’s voice from the kitchen telling me to come to eat dinner. I wanted to argue with her so bad. To scream and tell her what that sick asshole had done to me yesterday. But I knew better than that. Mom always took his side, it was like she didn’t even care about me anymore.

I slumped my shoulders in defeat and crept into the kitchen where I sat down without saying a word to my Mom or Greg. Both of them noticed my silence, and my Mom decided to scold me for it.

“Greg just got home, and you’re not going to say hello to him?”

Greg smiled at me as my Mother scolded, saying, “That’s okay, dear. She’s probably still not feeling well after yesterday. Is that what’s wrong?”

I averted looking into his eyes directly and simply nodded.

“See?” He looked at my Mom, “Peanut’s just not feeling well.”

I couldn’t believe he called me that. Or that he even knew about it. Peanut was my Dad’s nickname for me when I was little. I felt angry hearing that word from him. I clenched my fists tightly under the table and wanted to hit him. He took everything away from me and now he wanted to take the memory of my Dad away, too.

I stared at him with contempt as I watched he and my Mother speak while she served us dinner before joining us at the table. It seemed like they ignored me completely as they talked amongst themselves. I drowned out their voices while slumping in my chair and flicking peas back and forth across my plate. But Greg noticed this, and being the man he was, he wouldn’t let me ignore him for longer than a few minutes.