My hands curl into fists.
“I tried to convince her to leave him when I moved here. I told her she could bring you and stay with me. I begged her.”
My eyes fill with tears.
“But she was afraid of what he would do.”
I stare at her. “And you knew? You knew he was like that?”
Nonie’s face breaks. “Lynie…”
“You knew he was hurting her.”
She looks away. “I was scared too.”
And suddenly, all the anger I’ve been holding onto for years comes rushing forward.
“What about me?” I ask.
Her eyes meet mine. “You were thirteen.”
My voice cracks. “I lost my mom. The only person who loved me. The only person who made me feel safe. And then I had to go back into that house with him.”
My breathing gets heavier.
“For five years, Nonie.” Tears are spilling down my face, and I let them, because for the first time in my life, I’m letting myself say the words I’ve been holding inside. “Five years. I was just a kid.”
The words hang between us, carried away by the soft breeze rustling through the flowers surrounding the patio. A bee lazily drifts from one lavender bush to the next, completely unaware that my entire world feels like it’s cracking open all over again.
Nonie doesn’t speak. She can’t. Tears stream silently down her face as she stares at me, her lips parting once or twice as though she’s trying to find the right words. But what do you say to something like that? What apology could possibly make up for five years of fear?
I scrub angrily at my eyes before continuing, hating that I’m crying this much in front of her. I don’t want her to see me like this, or anyone for that matter. I’ve spent years pretending none of it ever happened, convincing myself that if I buried it deep enough, one day I’d wake up and it would stop hurting. Only, it never did.
“I didn't understand why he hated me so much after Mom died,” I say quietly, staring down at my hands. “I kept trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. I thought maybe if I stayed out of his way more, or kept the house cleaner, or made better grades, maybe he’d finally look at me and see his daughter again instead of—” I shake my head. “Instead of whatever it was he saw every time he looked at me.”
The tears blur my vision again, but I don't bother wiping them away this time.
“I spent years trying to become someone he couldn’t be angry with, and it didn't matter. Nothing I did was ever enough.”
Nonie quietly gets up from her chair and walks over to me. She doesn’t interrupt me or try to tell me everything is okay. She simply sits beside me on the porch swing and takes one of my hands in both of hers, gently rubbing her thumb across my knuckles.
It’s such a small gesture, but it reminds me so much of my mom that my chest aches.
“I was fifteen when I finally realized why he kept calling Mom a whore. There was a boy at school. He was a senior who had transferred from another state, so he didn't know anything about me. He didn’t know what people whispered about my family or looked at me with pity every time I walked through the hallways. To him, I was just,me.”
A sad smile tugs at my lips before disappearing just as quickly.
“He liked me.”
Even now, those words don't feel real.
“He was the first boy who'd ever looked at me like I was worth getting to know, and I couldn’t understand why. I kept waiting for him to realize everyone else was right about me and leave, but he never did. We started dating, and for a little while,” I pause, letting out a shaky laugh. “For a little while, I actually got to feel normal.”
I swallow hard, the memory souring as quickly as it had begun.
“Then Dad found out. He looked at me and said I was just like my mother. He called me a whore, and I didn't understand what he meant. I was so angry. I yelled at him for the first time in my life.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I guess I finally got tired of being afraid.”
I can still remember every word that came out of my mouth.
