"Why not," I ask moving my hand away from her chin.
"I mean I can, but you probably won't believe me. Everyone thinks my dad is this amazing guy that's done amazing things for everyone," she says shrugging her shoulders.
I don't want to force her to tell me anything she isn't ready to, but I think her father is a horrible person when it comes to certain people.
She might be one of those people.
I lean over again, kissing her forehead gently, and softly pulling away from it, "I want to take you somewhere," I state and she nods her head asking "where?"
"You'll see," I respond, starting to drive off.
My mom passed a piece of land down to me because when I was younger I went threw a lot of bullies because of my accent, and where I'm from.
I get out of my truck and she does too, I unfold the blanket and lay it down on the cargo bed of my truck.
I help her on top of the truck, not forgetting to smack that fat ass, and I get on it as well, "why are we here," she asks.
The land is beautiful, it has a natural lake, and beautiful trees that have colored flowers. I love looking at them at night because they shine.
Getting straight to the point I say, "my mom brought me here when I was getting used to America, people use to ask me if I was going to hack America because I'm Russian, kids are cruel, and some adults can be. Like your dad."
She stays quiet and I continue, "my brother and I were rape babies," she looks up at me with unexpected shock, "my biological father hurt my mom when she was 15, and my grandparents forced her to have my brother and me. The man I called my father killed my biological father after my mom came out about what happened to her, and then we moved to America."
She sits across from me and plays with the bracelet on her wrist, "and if you were to tell me someone did that to you, I promise you I will kill them. I don't care how long ago it was," I motion for her to come to my side and she does laying her head on my shoulder.
"My dad never touched me in that way. He used to bring me down to a basement and punch me when he was upset with my mother, and his friends were allowed to do so too. Some even offered him money to take my innocence, but he never let anyone touch me," I hold her hand.
"I hate being in basements because I think of those men taking their anger out on me over silly sports. I was only allowed upstairs when my mom was home from her 'business trips', but my dad made sure I didn't tell her about the beatings. He used to say 'Ella is just a clumsy child.' And my mom never questioned it," I rub the outside of her hand letting her continue to talk.
"My dad took me out of the basement when I was 12 because he caught one of his friends with me on his lap, but he was the one friend that loved and took care of me when my dad didn't. He would teach me how to love my skin color and my hair because my dad would call me ugly or 'too dark.' I watched my dad beat him to death when he saw me on his lap because he thought he was touching me. He told me it was my fault because I was born a whore," I turn my head and kiss her on top of hers.
That motherfucker is going to get what's coming to him.
"Everything is okay now," she lifts her head, "he apologized for everything, and I went to therapy... but I still have days where I hate his guts. He's my dad and I want a relationship with him and it hurts he doesn't want one with me."
She pauses for a second, "and I really shouldn't be talking to you about this," she forces a laugh.
"Why not," I ask.
"Because I don't know you," she lays her head against my arm.
"That's fine, sometimes strangers are the best people to talk to," I tell her, and a genuine smile forms on her face, "you're right," she responds.
I want to tell her I'm giving her, her job back but it might be a bad time.
❧
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