The Secret Life of Emily Blu

Chapter Twenty

TRIGGER WARNING: SA & Murder discussed

"Do you think you're ready?"

I stare at my hands, considering Hilary's question. After a moment I say, "Yea, I guess. We're going to have to talk about it eventually, right?"

"Probably," Hilary says softly. "I hope you understand I'm not doing this to ruin your day. I think it's important to your recovery to work through what happened. Nothing is ever going to make it make sense, but at the very least we can categorize it. Sometimes that helps; being able to name things helps."

I nod, keeping my eyes down. Kelly and Hilary have vastly different methods. Kelly never made me talk about something if I didn't want to. Hilary lets me decide when we're going to talk about it, but we always talk about the hard stuff eventually.

"Start with what happened at the hospital when your mom figured out you were being sexually abused," Hilary prompts.

I nod. "I was so scared because I thought I was going to be in trouble. He'd gotten into my head and convinced me I was just as much to blame as he was. I thought my mom was going to hate me but all she did was cry. I wasn't prepared for that reaction, but I don't blame her. Mom and Dad were good parents – stellar, even. I know a lot of kids in Hollywood are used by their parents for paychecks, but that wasn't how it was in our family. My parents worked full time and every penny I made went into my trust fund. I don't think they ever took a dime.

"Looking back, I think my mom felt like she'd failed me. She used to go to everything with me when I was really little but when I was around 10 she went back to work, and he was the one that took me everywhere. I think she felt like she'd ruined my life by making the wrong call."

"Do you blame your mom?"

I glance up at Hilary, shocked. "No, of course not. There was no way for her to know. She was a good mom."

Hilary nods. "She sounds like it. Both your parents sound like they tried their best."

"They did," I agree. "They really did." I pause before diving back into my story. "I don't know if she texted him and told him to stay away or what, but she didn't call the police immediately. She said she wanted to go home and meet with Dad and then we'd call the police. I begged her not to – it sounds stupid, saying it out loud, but I was scared. I was scared of him, and I was scared that my parents would find out the extent of the abuse, which is silly because I was literally in the hospital after having a miscarriage from his abuse. It's silly."

"You were, and still are, a child, Sarah. You need to give yourself a little grace."

"I should have known better," I insist.

"How?" Hilary asks softly.

"How what?"

"How would you have known better? Did your parents ever sit down and talk to you about being sexually abused? Did anyone? Outside of perhaps watching SVU had anyone ever talked to you about it?"

"Well, no..." I trail off.

"You were a child when this started, Sarah, and you're still a child now. You are not responsible for the actions of adults." When I open my mouth to argue she holds up her hand. "There is nothing you can say that's going to change this truth. Please continue with your story."

"I was in the hospital overnight and they released me the next day. I went home and Dad was waiting for us when we got home. He grabbed me and hugged me and started crying. I'd never seen my dad cry before, and it scared me. It's how I knew things were really, really bad.

"We went inside and sat down at the kitchen table, and they asked me what happened."

When I stop talking Hilary probes, "What did you say?"

I take a deep breath. "I told them the truth, and by the time I was done we were all crying. My brother came downstairs and found us all crying. I think it scared him. He was only 7 and had been playing video games upstairs the entire time. I don't think he heard anything I said, I hope he didn't.

"My mom told me to go lay down and that she was going to be making a call to the police. I begged her not to, but she insisted. It wasn't that I didn't want to call them, it's that I was scared about what would happen when they came. I'd have to tell them everything I'd told my parents, and I was so scared of him still. I was mostly scared of him. He'd spent years conditioning me not to tell anyone.

"So I go upstairs and lay down while my mom calls them." I pause, a lump forming in my throat.

Hilary lets my collect myself for once. She doesn't ask any probing questions, she doesn't say anything, she just sits with me while I wrestle with my grief and guilt.

Eventually I start talking again. "I'm only upstairs ten minutes before I hear the shouting downstairs. And then, then there's two shots fired, and my mom is screaming at the top of her lungs. I'm almost at my door when I hear the third shot and then she stops. Just like that. One moment she's screaming bloody murder and the next she's silent and that's when I knew he's here.

"Something deep inside me told me my parents were already dead, but Mason was still in the house. I go as fast as I can, I really do, but when I get to the top of the stairs and look out downstairs there's glass and blood everywhere. My parents are... well, there's no doubt that they're dead. He shot my dad in the head and the back of his skull was missing. But more importantly, he was holding Mason like a shield and was holding the gun to his head.

"He sees me and smiles, like it's some grand trick. Like he's having fun or something. And he tells me we can finally be together. And before I can come downstairs, he shoots Mason in the head."

Tears are streaming down my face at this point and I'm choking on my own breath. Hilary hands me a box of tissues and I take several, wiping at my face. I focus on my breathing and count down from ten, just like Hardy taught me. Eventually I start speaking again.
"I ran downstairs and slipped in the blood and glass and went down, hard. That's where a lot of my wounds came from. And he was reaching for me and all I could think to do was bring my leg up and kick him in the balls as hard as I could. He went down, and I scrambled up and jumped through the shattered window onto the lawn. At some point heshoots after me and hits me in the side, but all I can think to do is run, screaming, covered in blood that's both mine and my families. I guess my mom had already called the police because they pulled up before I even reached the edge of the lawn. He escaped out the back."

"Why were you put in witness protection?" Hilary asks.

I know she knows – Agent James would have told her – but I answer anyway. I clear my throat. "When they went to his house he'd dedicated an entire room to his abuse of me and it was clear he was a threat. They thought I'd only be in for a couple months, but it's been three years now, almost four. I don't think I'll ever be getting out," I admit.

Hilary nods, making a note of something. "Did you realize you never said his name? Not once? Is there a reason for that?"

I swallow. "I hate the way it tastes."

Instead of arguing with my absurd answer she nods. "I understand. But fear of a name only gives more power to the perpetrator. Can you say his name for me?"

I want to tell her no. I want to tell her that there's no way I can say his name without vomiting, but I consider her statement for a moment. I know he would be delighted that I can't say his name, and that is enough to piss me off enough to say it.

"His name is Marcus."