We’re here for you. We’ll always be here.
“I know,” I whisper.
“What do you know?” Dad asks.
I shake my head. Pursing my mouth shut, I nibble on my lips as I try to find courage. “I need to tell you all something.” I look to Dylan first. He’s the one who’s going to leave when he finds out. Why would he want to stick around? I’m defective. I can’t function properly. I have these other people in my head, I was sexually abused as a child, my sister has been brutally murdered, and I’m never going to be a whole person again.
“What is it?” Dylan asks. Mom and Dad hold hands as they all stare at me.
“I um…” I’m furiously attempting to hold back the tears pooling behind my cracked dam walls. “When I was young, nearly three, I went into foster care before I was adopted here.”
“Okay,” Dad says, not knowing where I’m going with this.
“There was a boy who lived in the house. Another foster child.”
“Okay,” Dylan says even slower and lower than Dad. “Why are you telling us this?” His shoulders straighten and he pushes out his chest. His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. Dylan suspects my next words.
“He…” I look away, a lump sitting like a hot coal in my throat. I can’t meet any of their eyes. I just can’t. “He… um.” No, I can’t say it. Closing my eyes, I shake my head. Unable to tell them the truth. It’s obscene, and horrible, and unspeakable.
“What is it?” Mom asks. Her soft hand gently stroking my hair. “You can tell us anything, Molly.”
“I, um, I’m um. He um…he ahh. He um.” Shit, just say it. Tell them. Find your courage, Molly.
We’re here for you.
I run my hand over my forehead, rubbing the tension that’s building. “He used to do things to me.”
“Like what?” Dad’s voice is rigid, hard with anger.
“What?” Mom’s breathless expression is filled with pain.
“He started soon after I arrived into the foster home. Touching at first, then it progressed to more.” No one says anything, and I’m too afraid to look at anyone. I’m so scared. I’m also embarrassed.
Why didn’t I speak up when he started doing that?
Why didn’t I tell my foster parents?
Why didn’t I kick him in the penis, and hurt him?
Why didn’t I do something?
This isn’t our fault, M. This is all him. He did this to us, he hurt us. He manipulated us. He’s a monster. You were only a baby.
“I’m sorry,” I say, bursting into tears. The miserable feeling of impotence strangles my soul. Crushing it. I have nothing left in me. I have no courage. I have no fight. I have no spirit.
Collapsing to the floor, I pray for sanctuary.
Please God, show me some kindness. Show my parents some humanity, and take me. I can’t keep hurting them. They’ve suffered enough. It’s not fair for them to have to endure any more pain.
“No, no. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Dylan says as he scoops me up in his embrace. “We’ll get through this. I promise, we’ll get through this.” With gentle hands, he smooths my hair down while placing loving kisses on my head.
My parents don’t say anything. I can’t bring myself to look at them, I don’t want to see the shame in their eyes.
I hear heavy footsteps leaving.
I’m so ashamed of myself.
I’ve driven one of my parents to leave. They must be so repulsed by me.
“Who is he, and where can I find him?” Dad says in a cold, steely voice.
Opening my eyes, I see Dad standing near the top of stairs, with his gun in his hand. He’s deadly serious. He’s going to hurt him.
“Dad, you can’t.” I jump to my feet, and run over to him. “You can’t.”
“The only reason Preston is still alive is because the police got to him first. I’m not making the same mistake with that lowlife pedophile. I’m going to kill him.” Dad’s jaw is so tight, he’s barely opening his mouth to speak.
“Thomas, we need to calm down, and think about what we’re going to do,” Mom says.
“I’m going to find him, and I’m going to kill him. There, I thought about it.”
“Mr. Dawson, we need to get the police involved.”
“What? No, no police,” I protest. “I’m not going to the police. And you’re not going to find him and kill him. It’s done, it’s in the past. We forget all about it, and move on.”
“Move on?” Dad seethes.
“Molly, until we all deal with this, there’s no moving on,” Mom says as she steps in front of Dad and moves toward me.
“Well I’m not going to the police. What am I going to say? Someone who lives in my head told me I was… you know, when I was three? Do you even know how crazy that sounds? You can’t think, that anyone will believe me. I have no proof.”
“If you don’t go to the police, then I’ll find him, and kill him. End of story,” Dad says as he walks back to his room.
“Mom?” I plead. “Please, make him see sense.”
She shakes her head. “This is your father seeing sense. We need to involve the authorities.”
“No!” I shout. “They’ll put me in a psych hospital and say I’m making everything up. I don’t want this. They’ll dope me up on medication trying to prove I’m crazy. I’m not crazy!”
“No one is putting you anywhere,” Dylan says.
The air is thick with such sadness and anger. Not toward me, but toward the unbearable and unspeakable situation.
“We all need to calm down,” Mom says. “Everyone, downstairs so we can talk about this and figure it out.” Mom leaves ahead of Dylan and me, Dad passes us as he follows Mom.
Dylan and I stay upstairs for a moment. He hugs me tighter than he has ever before. “We’re breaking up,” I say, trying to spare him from a lifetime of crazy.
“What?” He slightly pushes on my shoulders so he can look at me. “No, we’re not.”
“There is too much happening. I’ve got voices talking to me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to function in any type of relationship, sexual or otherwise. I’m a damn mess. We’re breaking up.” It’s not an option for him to say no.
“Well, I’m glad you acknowledge you hear voices, and as far as sex goes, I’ve never pressured you before, so why do you think I’d change now? And no, we’re not breaking up.”
“Yes, we have to,” my tone is unwavering.
“No, we don’t.” He’s as determined as I am.
“We can’t work, Dylan. We can’t be together.”
“And you think you can decide for me? Right?”
“You’ll end up being miserable.”
“Ah, I see. So you’re being humane and sparing me? Making sure my feelings don’t get hurt?”
Finally, he gets it. “Exactly.”
“Bullshit. You just want to hide away, and hope to God no one ever sees you. You want to hide from the world. Well, too bad, Molly. Because we’re not breaking up, and I’m not going anywhere. Tell me you don’t care for me.”