"You wouldn't understand," she wailed, keeping her eyes tightly shut.
"It doesn't matter if I understand or not. This entire time, you've told me you weren't abused, and now you're telling me you have scars. Something doesn't make sense here; what you're saying isn't adding up. I need you to explain it to me. Make me understand."
She took a deep breath and then looked to the ceiling, avoiding all eye contact with me. It wasn't what I wanted, but at least it was something, so I couldn't argue. I could only wait for Ivy to open up to me. "I wasn't abused the way you think," she started.
I interrupted, keeping her from giving me more garbage than she already had. "The way I think? From the moment I met you, I had you pegged as a sexual abuse victim, and you've gone out of your way to tell me I'm wrong. You've admitted to me things your mother had done to you, which no matter what you say, is considered abuse. I no longer think anything when it comes to you, Ivy. I can't allow myself to think anything because you have a way of proving that it's worse." My words were harsh, but I couldn't soften them no matter how hard I tried. She had me feeling as if my nerves were bare and raw, feeling everything she had been feeling.
"It was something she did to keep me from having sex," she admitted in a mouse-like voice, her eyes moving to her twisted hands in her lap.
"She? Your mom?" I knew the answer, but I had to ask for clarification anyway.
Ivy nodded. "I don't really remember when it happened. I guess I was too young."
"When what happened?"
She cleared her throat and looked away. I took her chin in my fingers and turned her head, making her look at me. There was such turmoil swirling in the depths of grey, mixing with the rare red specks. Just the look in her eyes alone made my stomach sink and a fear unlike any other take hold and leave me powerless to stop it. I needed to know the truth, no matter how much it scared me. No matter how much I knew I would never be able to look at her the same again, there was a dying need within me to know the truth, Ivy's truth.
"She had a procedure done to keep me from having sex," she whispered into the air between us. Her words silenced mine and all I could do was sit and wait for more, holding my breath the entire time. "I was told it probably happened when I was around four, but they didn't know for sure."
"Who are they?"
"The doctors I saw after social services came in. I was examined and some female doctor tried to explain everything to me. But I was only eleven years old and nothing made sense. I always thought it was normal; I had no idea what was done was something bad. That was the first time I realized I was different and no one would ever see me as normal. Even the doctors looked at me that way, as if there was something terribly wrong with me. That's when I realized that no matter what I did, I'd never be normal. I'll never forget it."
I took her hand in mine and held it tightly. My throat was tight and my eyes burned but there were no tears, not even the slight blurriness that comes with the onset of them. I was stunned at what I was hearing. Part of me wanted to make her stop … I didn't want to hear any more, but a greater part of me needed to let her finish. I knew better than most the toll secrets take on one's mind. I knew that if she opened up to me about this, there was a great chance I would feel comfortable enough to bear my own demons to her. I just had to hold on and let her finish getting it out before I could make that call.
"What happened, Ivy? Start from the beginning."
"I've already told you that my mom never wanted me to touch myself; she never wanted anyone, including me, to look there. I never understood why until I was taken away from her. And I've already told you that she was crazy. There was something wrong with her, but I never realized how bad it was until I was at the hospital, getting evaluated after social services showed up.
"I remember screaming when they took me back to a room and asked me to take my clothes off. I cried and told them that it was wrong, that no one was supposed to see me. They tried talking to me, tried making it easier, but nothing worked. They eventually had to give me a slight sedative that calmed me down, but it didn't make me stop crying the entire time. I couldn't look at them while they examined me, and their words only made me cry and shake harder. Nothing made that fear go away. I can still feel it now when I know someone will see what she did to me. That's why I have never been able to have sex without freaking out-until you. But then, you looked at me and you freaked out."
"I've already told you, Ivy; it had nothing to do with you." I wanted to calm her nerves and tell her the real reason why I ran. If she knew that it was because of me and not her, I could make her feel better about what we did, but I couldn't do that until I knew everything I needed to know about her.
"How could it not?" She started crying again and crumpled into herself. "What else am I supposed to think when all I can see and hear are the doctors from when I was eleven? I heard what they said. I heard their gasps as they looked at me. I hear it all the time-it never goes away," she cried hysterically.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to my chest, trying to calm her the best I could. Whatever she had been holding onto for nineteen years had to have been so bad she would never feel whole again; I knew that feeling all too well. I, too, could still hear the voices of the hospital staff from the night I was saved. I held her close and gave soft shushes in her ear, hoping she could find comfort in my arms.
"I'm not going anywhere, Ivy. Just tell me."
She sniffled into my shirt and then took a deep breath. Something in her rigid posture told me that whatever she was about to say would turn my world inside out-more so than it already was. "My mom had me stitched closed, and the doctors had to cut them apart. They told me some had been ripped out over time. I knew that already; I felt it each time one ripped through the skin," she managed to say through the sobs that tore through her body.
I thought I was about to vomit. I could feel the bile rise up in my throat and sit at the base of my esophagus, burning like acid. Stitches. Scars. Closed up. I couldn't even begin to imagine what she was trying to tell me, but even without her admission, I knew what she was saying. I didn't want to believe it.
"What are you saying, Ivy? Are you telling me that your mother stitched … that she used a needle and thread … " God, I couldn't even finish my questions. I couldn't say the words out loud. "I don't want to assume anything here. If that's not what you're telling me, I need you to say it."
"Yes, Cade. My mother had some sick fuck sew my vagina closed when I was very young in the hopes it would deter me from having sex, touch myself, and keep anyone from looking at me. I have no idea who she had do it; I have no idea how old I was. I don't remember any of it. It was already done by my earliest memory and I thought it was normal. I thought every girl had that done." She stopped talking and continued to cry against my chest, her fists balling up in my tee shirt.
"What did social services do once they found out?"
She shrugged, wiped her eyes, and then spoke again. "I'm not sure, but my mom committed suicide shortly after that." Ivy sniffled and cleared her face, but she never once looked me in the eye. "I haven't told anyone that in a very long time."
I pressed my lips to her forehead and pulled her against me, wrapping my arms around her tightly. "Well, I'm glad you told me," was all I could say as I continued to kiss the top of her head. Words weren't coming to me as images of the torture she had to endure ran through my mind, causing my stomach to turn inside out.
Who would do that to someone? And how could someone actually think it was okay? The fear Ivy must have lived with her whole life since then was something I couldn't wrap my head around. No wonder she never wanted anyone to see her. But now that I've had a taste of being with her, I couldn't imagine never doing it again. I wanted to heal her and I thought I was doing that. She opened herself up to me in ways she had never opened to anyone else, and that gave me a sense of pride unlike anything else. I could do this. I could make her whole again, and maybe, just maybe, she could make me whole again, too. If she was able to be honest with me and show me the darkest parts of her, I could do the same.
"Ivy," I whispered into her hair, finding the courage to confide in her for the first time.
She didn't respond or move, and I looked down at her to find her sleeping against me. Soft breaths escaped her slightly parted lips. For the first time since I met her, she actually looked peaceful. She looked as if the darkness that had been surrounding her for most of her life had started to lighten and a calmness began to settle within her.