The Bright Side

Twenty five

TW: This chapter contains topics such as abuse (physical, mental, and S/A) so if that makes you uncomfortable please skip to the the first "~".
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Droplets of rain patter against the windows and exterior of the house.

I stopped crying about five minutes ago.  The tears ran out.

I break the silence.

"What do you mean? Was it that bad?" My voice is quiet and stuffy.  I obnoxiously sniffle.

Several moments of silence pass. I hear her munch on a piece of popcorn while staring at the floor, lost in thought.

"I'll just tell you everything now, I guess." She sighs.

"I grew up not dirt poor, I had food on the table at least." She practically whispers.

I stay quiet, waiting for her to continue.

"My father got shot a little while before I was born, so it was just me and my mamá." Oh.

"I had a pretty decent childhood even though I didn't have much. My mother had a small shop that I would work in. I would listen to Spanish music as I'd sweep the floor. I always had looked forward to greeting customers. I liked my life." Her expression goes dark.

"When I was fourteen my mother decided to remarry." She takes a deep breath.

"He had light skin, with scarily light green eyes, and he was very tall. He towered over me. It always intimidated me." I absorb her words, trying to see where this is going.

"He never viewed me as family. He treated me like I didn't exist. Except when I turned fifteen I became more...developed." Mom briefly closes her eyes.

"I guess he seemed to notice, because now he was always staring at me, making uncomfortable comments about my body. My mother was oblivious." I'm scared for her to keep speaking.

"Whenever my mother wasn't home, he would try to do things to me." I reach out and touch her hand. Tears blurring my vision. Yet she seems barely affected.

"And my mamá never believed me when I had told her the things he'd try to do. She would tell me that he would never do such a thing." She stares at the wall, stuck in a gaze. Almost as if she traveling back to that time in her mind, a time that she had stuffed in the far back corner of her brain.

"Did he ever...you know- succeed in what he was trying to do?" I hesitantly ask.

She turns her head to face me. The look in her eyes telling me all I need to know.

A tear rolls down my face and I quickly wipe it away.

"When I was seventeen an attractive boy came into the shop. He had straight black hair, caramel skin, nice full lips, and a tall frame. I thought he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen." She clears her throat.

"We started getting closer and eventually started dating. He told me he wanted to leave Colombia as soon as possible, make a new life for ourselves." Okay so this is my father she is talking about.

"I agreed to go with him. First we got married. Then when we were nineteen we came to America, with no family and not much money." I lean my head back against the couch.

"Your father never told me much about his home life. Every time the topic would come up, he'd find a way to avoid it. Some things I do know though is that his father was an alcoholic. And his mother was a drug abuser. I remember he once revealed to me that when he was seven he found his mother dead, due to drug overdose. I also know that his father was an abusive man. Physically and mentally, to your papá and all his siblings." She takes another breath.