Punctured, Bruised, and Barely Tattooed(51)

She knew that, and she felt safe and warm with him, as though nothing could touch her as long as she was in his arms. Part of her didn’t want to think about that night so long ago, but she knew part of the reason why she couldn’t let it go, why it was bothering her so much now was because she continued to stuff it down. Natalie had said as much at Kory’s last visit. She knew she needed to begin telling the tale so she could start healing. Natalie had told her that reliving it and telling the story, as horrible as it sounded, would help her begin to find a way out of the abyss the memories threatened to pull her into.

She swallowed and rubbed her hand on his pec. It seemed like such a comforting gesture, as though she needed to make him instead of herself feel better, but it really did help her feel more in control. Somehow, it was soothing. She allowed her mind to begin its slow circling focus around an event that for years she had refused to picture in her mind willingly.

It was dark in the room, but she still closed her eyes, letting her mind rush back to that day. Her mother was home from work that afternoon. Kory couldn’t remember the specifics, but she believed it must have been her mom’s day off. Art wasn’t around, but Kory could recall he’d been particularly rough on her the day before. She might have been young, but she understood that sex didn’t have to be abrasive and mean. She knew what he was doing to her wasn’t just sex for Art. There was more to it than that, and the man had begun raping her several times a week. The summer was almost over, and Kory was grateful, because she’d have to go back to school. She knew then that she’d likely miss one or two Art “visits” a week and maybe then he’d lose interest. That was her prayer.

She and her mother were in the kitchen that fateful day. She couldn’t see it in her mind’s eye clearly if her mom was cutting vegetables at the counter or washing dishes, but Kory could see the woman’s back in her head as though it were yesterday. Her mother was standing at the counter, her hands busy, and she’d been asking Kory questions. Kory had been answering her as usual, but suddenly her mom whipped around and asked Kory to repeat herself. Today, she couldn’t remember quite what she’d said, and she didn’t know if it was what she’d said or how she’d said it, but she could see the revelation in her mother’s eyes before she said the words.

“Oh, my God. It’s true.”

Kory was almost afraid to answer it, because her mother hadn’t believed her so many times, and what was her mother referring to? Maybe she thought it was true that Kory was a bad kid, just like Art had said at least once a day over the past year. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Still, she found her voice. “What?”

Her mother walked the few steps to her daughter. “That Art touched you.”

Kory felt her chin quiver and a warm tremor crawl up her back, through her spine, and up over her skull cap as it washed over her. Her mother believed her. The tears began pouring down her cheeks then. She’d been able to handle Art’s abuse but what had been killing her was her mother’s lack of belief, as though her daughter had been making it all up. Just those words mended the gap that had been growing between them all summer long, and Kory couldn’t contain the raw emotion rushing out of her through her eyes. She wanted to say, Oh, mama, he did more than touch me, but the words wouldn’t find their way out. Kory’s mom took her into her arms and held her to her breast while the child’s chest heaved with sobs.

She had no idea how long they stood in the kitchen that way, Kory unable to move, to talk, to do anything other than let her violent emotions work their way out. Her mother’s comfort almost made the past few months bearable. When Kory was able to look up at the woman, she could tell her eyes were puffy from the tears, but her mother’s eyes were gentle. She asked, “Did he take your flower?”

It took Kory a few seconds to realize her mom was asking if Art had taken her virginity. Kory could only manage a nod.

Her mother’s face grew angry and dark and Kory felt hope for the first time in a long time.

That afternoon, her mom made a pot of her special vegetable soup and then she sat Kory at the kitchen table and braided her daughter’s hair. She was quiet and had muttered once or twice something about calling the cops. Kory knew her mom was afraid of the law, because she’d had a few dealings with them and she wasn’t exactly an innocent type. The girl began to suspect that her mom would do the right thing now that she believed her daughter, but she was going to do it in her own way—and that might not involve the police.