I think I may have been around twelve. I remember the old man would bring a doctor with him every once in a while and I would get a check-up and sometimes shots. One time I was really sick with a stomach flu and since we didn’t have a phone, we had to wait for the old man to come with the boxes before my mother could ask him to send a doctor. By the time the doctor came with medicine, I remember I felt like I was going to die. Within a few days of taking the medicine, I could finally eat again and I started to get better. He may have come one more time after that.
“Would you go? I mean, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but maybe you can talk to a doctor about what you went through …..your nightmares.”
I turn to him abruptly. “Do you think I’m crazy?” I can feel my lips start to quiver and my eyes burn.
He stops stirring the pasta and turns toward me and looks directly into my eyes. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m a guy and I’m not sure exactly what happened to you and what you need, so I just thought my sister could get you into her office to get looked at.” Even though he’s looking right into my eyes, I can tell he’s avoiding saying exactly why he wants me to go to a doctor, and then I realize what it is.
“I wasn’t sexually abused, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I immediately see relief in his expression. “Is that what you were thinking?”
“Yeah. I guess.” He runs his hands through his hair and looks at the floor, blowing out a long breath and then he looks back up at me. I see pain in his eyes. “Amy, I just want to help. If you can’t talk to me, then you need to talk to someone else. If you don’t need to talk to a doctor, then maybe my sister?”
“I want to talk to you, I’m just scared.” I feel a tear run down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away. Since the day I saw Dillon on the other side of the fence, he made me feel like I could be a normal girl. He gave me hope that my mother was wrong. That the world isn’t evil. That there is such a thing as love. I’m scared that when he finds out what really happened in that house, he’ll realize just how broken I am and that I need to be fixed with medications and psychiatrists. I’ll never be a normal girl. He won’t want me.
“Are you scared of me?” His eyes are filled with worry. He’s standing so close to me. A few days ago, I was scared of him as he stood on the other side of the fence, but as he stands in front of me, his breath on my face, his brown eyes searching mine, I’m not scared of him at all.
“Not like that. I mean, I know you won’t hurt me, physically. I know that. I just…”
“Can we sit for a minute?” he asks, gesturing to the couch.
“Yeah.”
He turns off the burners on the stove and guides me gently with his hand on my back over to the couch. Warmth radiates from where his hand settles on my back and travels through the rest of my body. I’m trying to hold in all the emotions that are building inside of me. There’s so much pressure in my head, I feel like I’m going to explode.
I sit on the couch with my hands in my lap. Dillon sits next to me and turns his body so he’s facing me, his knee bent on the couch and almost touching my thigh. He places his arm on the back of the couch behind my head and I can feel the heat of his body. He’s not even touching me, but my heart is racing.
“Amy, talk to me. Please. I just need to understand so I can help you. I’m not going to judge you. I’m not going to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do. I just want you to talk to me. Tell me what happened in that house, please?”
I fiddle with my hands, thinking of how to start. Tears flood my eyes and I see his hand move slowly towards me through my blurred vision. He doesn’t grab my hand, but he offers me his. I look up into his eyes and he gives me a soft smile. I place my hand in his and he gives it a gentle squeeze.
“I just remember my mother being really sad all the time and sleeping a lot when I was little. She did read to me and play with me on her good days. The older man would bring boxes once a month with food and supplies. Sometimes clothes, some toys, or books for school. I would spend my days reading textbooks, cleaning, and cooking meals while my mother slept. I wasn’t allowed outside. As I got older, I think she stopped taking her medication when she wasn’t supposed to. She was sleeping less, but she would become angry and sometimes I think she would hallucinate. She…..she thought I was dirty. She would force me in hot showers that burned my skin. She would make me scrub the house for hours. She would have these episodes and then afterwards, cry and beg me to forgive her. She put a lock on my door so that I could escape her. She was afraid she would hurt me. She continued to get worse. When I turned thirteen, that skinny man came to our house for the first time. She hid me in the pantry. I heard her screaming and I heard him grunting.”