She barged into my room, which was standard operating practice by then, and held out my missing journal. The fat, black notebook… the only place that made me feel half safe, or sane…
You have to understand something about my mother. She believed in the kind of parental philosophy that resembled a fascist regime. How many times had I come home from school, to find my room tossed? No exaggeration. My mattress was literally turned over, not even put back on the box spring. Papers everywhere. Closets opened, and emptied. Drawers of my dresser, on the floor. Just like that, with a “clean up this mess”, or a raised fist.
My mother held out my notebook, and then threw it at me… like it was a scarlet letter. I assumed that she had read every page. Including the text where I described, in brutal detail, how I walked home — after a forty year old man raped me — with what was left of my hymen clinging to my leg, like a badge of dishonor.
“What did you do?” She asked coolly.
“What did I do?” I repeated, unsure what she was asking me.
“What did you do to provoke him?” She spat. I could feel my cheeks flush, with shame.
“I didn’t do anything.” I wasn’t going to let her shake me up. She had caught me off guard, but she wasn’t going to make me cry. I would be stone. I would be strong.
“You must have done something. Did you flirt with him? How were you dressed?” It went on and on. I couldn’t keep up with all the questions, and accusations.
“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” I screamed.
Fuck. She wanted to fight? I was ready… and so help me god(s), if she came at me, I was finally going to knock her on her ass. My mother once told me that if I got the inclination to hit her back… I had best kill her, because if she got up, she would end me. I was ready to take the gamble. She was tough, but I was faster, and sober.
But… she did something that sucked the air right out of my lungs. It took all the fight out of me. She said in calm, but sad voice, before shutting the door behind her.
“Your daddy is very disappointed with you. I am too.”
She left me a pathetic, sobbing mess — on my bedroom floor.
She hadn’t, and never did, beat me hard enough… to wound me half as deeply as she did with those words.
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- stellarbelles said: I want so much for this to be fiction and also to hug you.
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- moaningatmidnight said: Once again you leave me speechless. You have a really good willpower, I for instance have a really short temper. So I believe if it was my mother, I would have punched her lights out. I said once, and I’ll say it again: You’re amazing.
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- coffeeandthanatophobia said: I wish that this was fiction. I really do. I send love. lots of love. <3
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- mademoisellechapeau said: Words may be inappropriate to comment on this, but it left me vulnerable - feeling like a naked fleshy snail searching for her shell - and there were so many gargantual lines…kiss on your temple, love.
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- soulfulpeach said: I have no words. You want to think things…moments like this can never actually be conceived into reality.
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- midnightvalkyrie said: wow. i have no words, but to say my heart goes out to you <3
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- mypetcamera said: Incredibly blue!
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- embeeness said: That is so fucked up; it’s amazing that you’ve turned out so amazing.
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- secretmedium said: There are no words, wow. I’m sorry. No one should experience that, nothing near that.
- lonestardown said: Noelle… I was really hoping that this prose was fiction… because it was too real and extremely heartrending… and it’s unfortunate that it isn’t… I’m truly sorry… and yes, it’s not your fault.
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- bluesandbarebones said: This is heart-wrenching. :*(
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