He can’t hurt me anymore. I’m an adult.
If only that were true. The scars I wear thanks to him have never gone away. When I’m gone I can ignore them, distance myself, and mostly forget. But here, the depths of the muddied waters have been stirred, and all kinds of shit is floating to the surface. God, I hadn’t thought about that day in years. I barley remembered the faded memory until now. I know some people thought leaving and staying gone was a bitch act—I can all but hear their thoughts when they look at me—yet that change of scenery saved my life. There were more reasons for my departure than being butt hurt.
I push the thoughts of my teenage years away and slip from bed. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but I know sleep will elude me. It always does after the nightmares. I walk to the shower thinking about a different time and place. As a teenager, I’d pretend like I was someone else with a different life. I used to find things easier to swallow when the events playing in Technicolor behind my eyelids were a movie instead of my past. Avoidance was one of my favorite coping mechanisms. I’d let myself go numb and cease to exist. When I was locked inside myself, no one could hurt me.
You’re not that girl anymore. You’re a grown woman with the proper tools and attitude to deal with this small minded prick. Don’t forget that.
The stinging water pounds down on my skin and I imagine the heat cleansing me as I remember the evil I swore seeped into my veins. Once up on a time, I constantly felt loathing, self-doubt, and anger hovering just out of reach, waiting to sneak in and consume me. The pressure would build inside me until I was desperate for release. I likened it to my head being in a
vice as I tried not to jump out of my skin.
I left this place a shattered, broken, mess of a girl. Little by little, I fixed myself and found a new identity. I won’t lose that now. I can’t. I slow my breathing down and rest my head against the cool tile. In and out. I narrow my focus to the simple act of inhaling and exhaling, imagining my breath is traveling to different parts of my body. I start with the top of my head and work my way down to my feet. When I finish, I repeat, until I’ve hit ten cycles and my emotions are manageable.
I ought to tell Echo about the demons of my past and just how fucked up his father made me, but I don’t want his pity, or disappointment. I can’t stand to change the way he sees me. Weakness around here is a point of embarrassment and shame. That’s one of the things I hate about this world. You’re never allowed to not be okay. You’re expected to compartmentalize, stuff, hold back emotions, and continue to function. People aren’t machines. We don’t work that way, and if you push us too hard, we will break. Especially women. Not that we’re the fairer sex. We’re just treated with far less consideration and kid gloves as we should be. Someone should’ve stepped in with Mouth.
I knew I should’ve felt safe enough to tell my father without being suffocated by the guilt that told me club came first always. I knew this might happen when I agreed to come here, having to reconcile my past with the present, and confront my abuser. All that training, then I’m reminded that I’m just as human as anyone else. I snicker and laughter pours forth. It was laugh, or cry. Today, I choose the first. Secrets have been kept for far too long. I’m going to have to come clean about my past eventually.
~~
I walk into the kitchen and sit down beside my father, who’s eating oatmeal with freshly sliced bananas. I hide my smile behind the rim of my coffee mug. He’s taken his new lifestyle to heart. I’ve been in my room for the past couple of hours feigning sleep to avoid the questions that will come with my inability to sleep.
“Morning,” he says around a spoonful of food.
“Morning, Pops. I got something I want to talk to you about.”
“All right?” he says cautiously. “You tell me you’re pregnant and I swear to God, I’m putting my foot up Echo’s ass. I know you’re in love and all that, but I still ain’t had my trust earned yet. I know Mouth. The man can be damned persuasive when he wants to be, and whatever he held over him to get him to back down the first time might resurface.”
“It’s not a card he can pull again. But I have no doubt he has more up his sleeve,” I say.
“And you think this boy is worth dealing with all that?” Pops asks.
“I guess so,” I reply, sipping on my coffee.
He grunts. “Now that we’ve established you’re not pregnant…you aren’t, right?”
“Hell no, Pops. I’m not even sure I’m ready to move in with him yet. Last thing I’ll be doing anytime soon is bringing a baby into this world.”
“Good. Now what was it you wanted?”
“A job. I’m going crazy pattering around the house. You don’t need me anymore.”
“Always gonna need you, Rosie girl.”
I smile. “I love you, too, Pops. But seriously, something during the day would go a long way.”
“I’ll call up Stone, and see what he’s got. We have a lot of new businesses opening.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, legit ones, Ms. Skeptic. I swear, you should’ve been a lawyer.”
“No, I wanted to finish school before I was old and grey, thanks,” I remark.
He laughs. “I can think of one he needs someone he can trust with, but I don’t know that you’ll like it.”
“Okay, now I’m intrigued. Lay it on me, Pops.”
He laughs. “It’s a Medical Marijuana Dispensary,” he says.