Eight Years Earlier- 14 years old
The door creaks open, the same way it has nearly every night for months. I lay perfectly still, tucked on my side, afraid that any movement will give away the fact that I’m still awake. I don’t know why I try, it’s not like it’s stopped him any other night.
I hear the door latch closed followed by the familiar click of the lock. I hold my breath as he walks toward my bed, each step growing louder and heavier the closer he gets. I feel his fingers first; they trail up my arm slowly. Next I feel the bed dip as he sits next to me.
“Bree.” His slurred whisper sounds directly in my ear followed by the overwhelming smell of alcohol that wafts into my nose. “Are you awake, baby?”
I don’t move, don’t speak. I close my eyes tighter and pray he goes away even though I know he won’t.
“Bree.” His arm is on my shoulder next, pulling me to my back. I let my body fall lifeless, hoping that if I pretend not to wake up he’ll grow bored.
“So pretty,” I hear him purr, his face now at the base of my throat, his fingers knotting around one of my nipples through my t-shirt and pinching hard.
I can’t help but gasp, and my eyes shoot open to find his face now just inches from mine, a knowing smile etched across his mouth.
“There she is.” He grins wider, moving his hand to the other nipple and repeating the process.
“Please,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Please what?” He runs his nose along my jaw, inhaling deeply as he does. “You make me feel so good,” he purrs in my ear, his hand finding the familiar place between my legs as he begins massaging me there through the thin material of my shorts.
I arch my back, not wanting it to feel good but also unable to deny that it does. I don’t know at what point I stopped fighting it and just let my body feel the pleasure that his assaults can bring.
It’s the oddest thing. My stomach turns every time I hear him come in and fear clogs my throat, but then as soon as he touches me there, my entire body comes to life. I try to convince myself that this is normal—that this is the way my body is meant to react, and I can’t help it—but deep down I know that’s not the case. I shouldn’t like what he’s doing to me, and yet, in some weird way, I do.
“That’s right, baby.” He awards my reaction by shoving the material of my panties aside and dipping two fingers into me.
I moan, trying to fight the pleasure that courses through me. I want to focus on the fact that I hate this man, that everything about him makes my skin crawl, but it’s like his touch lights something inside of me; something that takes over my mind and gives my body complete control.
“Shhh,” he whispers against my lips, sliding a third finger inside. “You don’t want to wake your mom.” I can hear the smile in his voice, the pleasure he gets knowing he’s got his fingers inside me while his girlfriend is passed out drunk in the next room.
“Just do it,” I whimper, needing the physical release; the one thing that will shut my mind off. There’s no use in fighting it anyway, I already know it will happen.
“Patience, little girl.” He stands, sliding off his shirt before pulling me up and removing mine as well.
He slides off his pants next and like a good girl, I take mine off without being told. I know what happens if I fight him, and trust me, this is so much better.
He stands next to my bed for a long moment, looking over my naked body in the soft light coming from the open closet door. I see the appreciation on his face, the lust in his eyes, and as much as I hate to admit it, it does something to me; knowing he wants me so badly.
I spread my legs wider, needing him to just get it over with already. I need not to think. I need to feel. It’s the only thing that will get me through.
“Mmm,” he groans in appreciation. “So greedy.”
Grabbing my legs, he swings me around so that my lower half is hanging off the bed and then quickly flips me to my stomach. Pressing his weight down on me from behind, he positions his erection at my entrance and enters me in one hard thrust.
I muffle my cry into the mattress, both loving and hating every second of this little charade we’ve been playing for the last two years. I wasn’t such a good sport about it when it all started. Having been raped by my mom’s last boyfriend when I was only eleven, I had an understandable fear of men.
But Brad wore me down, and bit by bit he started to gain some of my trust. Of course, all that went to hell when a few months after he moved in with us he started sneaking into my room at night.
He started off by telling me that he has needs and my mom wasn’t meeting those needs, and since we were such good friends, he needed me to help him out. The first time he only touched me and then touched himself. But each time after it went a little further until eventually, he was coming into my room two and three nights a week to have sex with me.
I tried fighting him at first. I tried screaming and crying, kicking and hitting, but it only made things worse. He would drink more and become increasingly rougher each time until eventually, I learned to just shut up and let him do it.
I tried to tell my mom; she never believed me. So eventually, I just accepted my fate and learned to live with what I knew was to come. Over the last year, I’ve learned to enjoy our time together. Being with him gives me no pleasure, but the things his body can do to mine does.
My mind knows how wrong that is which is why every time he leaves I swear to myself that the next time will be the time I stop him. But then he comes in and as soon as he touches me I lose my ability to even try.
Brad slams into me from behind so hard my shins grind into the wooden bed frame, sending pain splintering down my legs. I bite the blanket beneath my face and hold my legs more steady, refocusing on the intense feeling building in my lower stomach.
As he increases speed, the pleasure continues to build until I’m gripping at the sheets and screaming into the mattress as an orgasm rips through me.
It only takes a few more hard thrusts and Brad grunts behind me, spilling his release into the condom I know he slipped on before entering me. He always makes sure to cover his tracks.
And this is when the shame comes back, the sick feeling that tells me that I am one fucked up individual. How anyone could enjoy this type of abuse is beyond me, and yet I not only enjoy it, I get off every single time.
It eats at me that not only do I let this man have his way with my body, but that my body betrays me by letting him pleasure it. Sure, Brad is only thirteen years older than me and, honestly, not that bad looking when he cleans himself up, but I should be disgusted that instead of fucking my mother, he’s fucking me.
I try to pretend like I am. Like I hate what he’s doing to me. But it’s an act. An act I put on for myself so I don’t have to face what kind of person that makes me.
“Damn, I might need to go another round tonight.” Brad slides out, disposes of the condom, and before I can even think to move is positioned behind me again. “You’d like that too wouldn’t you, dirty girl.” He slides his still hard erection down my butt crack and then sinks back inside me again, my body instantly humming to life once more.
I shoot up, gasping for air, my mind a blur of memories that I can’t seem to force down. I barely make it off the couch and to the bathroom in time to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
I close my eyes and I feel him behind me, pushing inside of me. I heave again, tears boiling to the surface as I choke on my own sob.
I know what happened to me was wrong and that it wasn’t my fault, but when I remember specific things about the abuse I can’t help but feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of my own shame.
After moving here, I knew I needed to get my head in the right space. I started seeing a therapist not long after Jack was born. The postpartum made my past even harder to swallow, and I had a really hard time for a while.
Eventually, my therapist started making me see that my reaction to the sexual abuse by two of my mom’s boyfriends and the physical abuse from Blake was just my way of coping with what was happening. I didn’t know what else to do, so I trained myself to endure it and even enjoy it. I also learned that this is actually a pretty common response to abuse.
I made my peace with what happened to me a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still haunt me. It does. More than I care to admit. I just wish there was a way to keep the memories at bay. Reliving them, especially in the form of a very vivid dream, feels like I’m back there all over again.
Turning, I flush the toilet before sliding down onto my backside. Pressing my back to the side of the tub, I try to pull myself from this sleep-induced panic I seem to be caught under.
I hear a light knock at the door followed by the sound of Anthony’s groggy voice. “Bree, you okay?” I can hear the concern in his voice, and for whatever reason, that seems to be the unraveling of the final thread holding me in place.
The tears fall heavier, and the knot in my stomach coils so tightly I have to pull my knees to my chest in an effort to ease the pain coursing through me.
“Bree,” he repeats when I don’t answer him.
I want to say I’m fine. I want to tell him to go back to sleep. I want to say anything, but nothing will come.
“I’m coming in,” he finally says, pushing the bathroom door open without a second of hesitation.
His eyes find me instantly, and panic flashes across his face. He’s on his knees in front of me before I even register his movement, pulling me into his arms.
I don’t want him to see me this way. I don’t ever want anyone to see me this way. But I also don’t have it in me to push him away. Because the truth is I need him, and that might be the scariest revelation of all.
“What happened? Are you okay?” he asks, rocking me gently while I try to gain some semblance of composure.
“I’m fine,” I finally manage to say, my voice hoarse.
“What happened? One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re running through the apartment.”
“It was just a bad dream,” I say, finding it hard to meet his gaze when he pulls back to look at me.
“That must have been one hell of a dream,” he says, wiping my tears away with the pads of his thumbs.
“Trust me, it was.” I force a smile, but it falls flat on my lips.
“Wanna talk about it?” he offers, standing as he pulls me to my feet.
“No, I just want to go back to sleep,” I say, snuggling into his side as he leads me through the hallway to my bedroom.
“Come on, I’ll tuck you in,” he says, pulling back the covers as soon as he reaches the bed. He waits until I’m positioned underneath before tucking them around me.
He kisses my forehead and then moves to leave, but I reach out and grab his hand, stopping him.
“Don’t go,” I say, pulling the covers back again. “Stay with me.”
“You sure?” He eyes me curiously.
“I just need you to hold me.” I pat the bed next to me, more relieved than I should be when he nods and climbs into bed with me.
“I can do that,” he says, positioning the covers over both of us before pulling me into his arms, the one and only place that seems to make any sense to me anymore.