HE LEFT ME IN MY ROOM, bruised and stinging all over. Every part of me felt disgusting. I still felt him inside, and it wouldn’t have mattered if he was still raping me or not. I still felt his hands and God knew I want him off of me.
I had to wait, had to tell Mark. My father could do something about it.
I stared at the ceiling until the sun came up, until my walls weren’t dark purple anymore but bright pink as they’ve always been. Then I ran downstairs, folding my arms to contain myself, keep myself from collapsing.
“Dad?!” I called.
“In here,” Mark called from the dining room. I walked through the threshold, saw him sitting at the dining table, his chair closest to the kitchen. He was reading the Sunday newspaper as he did every Sunday morning. I trembled as I watched him. He didn’t say anything, so I waited. Besides, I couldn’t fix my mouth to say the three words I needed to say. It might have destroyed me if I did.
“What did you wa…” he trails off as he looks up at me, his eyes growing angry. My shirt was half open, skirt wrinkled, red handprints covering me up. He slowly made his way toward me, his arms wrapping themselves around me when he approached me.
“Emma,” he said as he pulled away from me, “tell me who did this to you.”
My throat was blocked and would not open, not for anything or anyone. He looked me straight in the eye, gave me the ugly look I can still remember.
“Who did this to you?”
I closed my eyes, whispered the monster’s name, a scared little girl trying to save her own life.
“Jeremy.”
I opened my eyes again, the anger in Mark’s eyes boiling over as if he were about to explode. And he did. He stomped past me, out into the foyer.
“Jeremy!” he screamed, “Get your ass down here now!”
“No,” I begged, “don’t bring him down here. Just take me to the hospital, plea—”
“You call me?” Jeremy asked as he strolled down the stairs, looking clean as if nothing ever happened. Then he took one look at me, and he looked surprised.
“Dear God, what happened to you,” he asked, folding his arms as if he was concerned.
“Jeremy, what the fuck did you do to her?” my father yelled, standing in front of me as if he were defending his child. That was the best I’d ever seen him when it came to being a father, especially when it came to me. Jeremy’s eyes widened as he glared at me.
“Whoa,” he said, “you think I did this?!”
“That’s what she said.”
“Dude, I was asleep all night. Why the hell would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe your fucked up mind thought it would be alright to fuck my daughter when she clearly didn’t want it.”
“Really. Where’s the proof that I raped her?”
“Why should I believe you over my daughter anyway?”
“I don’t know… Maybe because she keeps complaining about Jessie and me to her boyfriend. Or maybe it’s because her mother died. Did you think of that?”
Mark looked at me, said, “Emma, is that true?”
I shook my head. Jeremy laughed. “Didn’t you have to take her to see a therapist because she was cutting herself over it, though? I mean, it’s clear she’s still crazy about her mother, and I don’t blame her… But seriously, why would I do that to her? She’s practically my sister, for God’s sake. That’d be disgusting.”
Of course it was disgusting, asshole.
Mark glared at me, his eyes focused on my arm, the barely noticeable cut. Then he looks back up at me.
“Emma, what the hell is wrong with you?” he asked. “Are you crazy?”
Tears were falling again as Jeremy smirked at me. Mark didn’t see it, was too busy concentrating on me.
“Dad, I—”
“How dare you make up this bullshit?! Do you have any idea what you could have done?!”
“Dad, I was raped!” I screamed, my throat bursting. I thought I felt blood flowing down my throat, trying to choke me. I coughed, but nothing came up.
“Is this why you’ve been acting strange? You can’t handle the fact that I’m moving on?! Is that it?!”
My eyes widened. “No! Dad, please believe me, I’m not lying, I—”
“Can I please go back to bed?” Jeremy interrupted. My throat burst again, and this time I just wanted to scream the pain away, just so I could feel normal again.
Then again, I didn’t really think that would work.
“Yeah,” Mark said, “I’m sorry I bothered you. As for you, Emma? Get your ass upstairs, I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the day.”
“Dad, please just take me to the hospital. They’ll tell you—”
“Get. Upstairs. Now!”
My hands started trembling again, worse than before. My own father didn’t believe me, wouldn’t even take me to the hospital. I ran upstairs, back into my bedroom. Then I grunted as tears kept pouring, as I lied back down onto my bed, face down.
I don’t think I told you the nightmare ended.
Really, it never did.