Silence

      Men value their silence, it is something that they take to the grave. This man valued his silence and I will forever carry his shame.

For almost 3 long years that house was a living hell. It was cold and distasteful, but it did not start out that way. For a long time it was just my mom my sister and me. We lived in California, and I liked it that way. We were surrounded by family and often went out to see plays and other events.

My mom started seeing this guy she met from college. I never really liked him, even though I was young I could tell that something was off.

A year later my mom told us she wanted to move, then asked how we felt about living in Seattle. Of course I did not want to move; I was only 8, everything I knew was in California. Obviously, we did not have a choice because the next thing I knew we packed up the car, and was on our way to Seattle.

Living with him was different, I felt uncomfortable. He made us do things for him like if his coat fell we had to pick it up and hang it up nicely, if the remote was too far we had to stop what we were doing and get it for him. He was an immature imbecile and I resented him.

A year later, things started to change. The house felt cold. I could hear my mom yelling, no, screaming in her room. She would walk out like everything was fine but as a nine year old I could not detect that something was wrong. My mom had gotten another job so she was often absent from the house, and that is when things really changed.

I remember the first night like the back of my hand. It was dark, the moonlight was peeping through my window. I was half asleep when the man silently creeped into my room. He laid on the edge of my bed like he was holding his breath. "come here."  He said in a soft whisper. I felt uneasy laying on his heartless chest, but at the same time, I did not think too much of it other than this is what a dad is supposed to do.

 We laid there for a long time, then he grabbed my hand and pulled it lower. I did not know what I was touching other than it did not feel right. I knew about penis but only from a child's  perspective. Whatever it was, I knew it was below the waist, and that meant private parts.  After a while, I felt uncomfortable and moved back to my pillow. He got up and left my room. I laid down putting my hand under my pillow, flummoxed about what just happened, pondering until I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

The next morning I tried to avoid him. I did not want to make eye contact and I did not want to say anything . He acted as if nothing out of the norm happened the other night and I could not comprehend why. Why not apologize for making me touch him?

    The same thing would happen almost every night except, he would not lay with me, he would touch me. He put his hands in places I could not understand. He took my face and put it in an unfamiliar place. I was scared! I remember he woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to take a shower. At first I was okay with it until I was in the bathroom. For some reason it did not feel right. I felt as if a heavyweight was in my throat suffocating me, I was stuck. I felt as if my heart dropped into my stomach and a burning feeling in my chest, so I locked the door. I jumped as I heard the doorknob rumble. He was trying to get in. Only God knows why. After I was done with my shower, I stayed in the bathroom for a little before I felt it was right to come out. When I walked into my room on my bed laid a dress and underwear. I felt my body being possessed by rage. I was vexed, "He was in my stuff." I said in an angry tone. I quickly got dressed, closed my door and moved my dresser by the door so he could not get in. I lost it; I was overwhelmed with emotions. At this point, I was scared for me and my sister's safety, although he was not molesting her, he would talk down to her and belittle her. My sister was only 6.

The next day I decided to write a letter telling him how we felt. I told him I hated him and that we did not like how he was treating us. I also made it clear that he was not our father. Slowly walking down the hall I get a rush of nerves throughout my body; I peeked into his room, looked around and saw that no one was there so I ran to his laptop and put the note on top. I do not know which was worse, the idea of me writing the note or him reading it. After that I tried my best to avoid him, but my mom made him take us to school and that is when we knew we were screwed.