JUNE 15 2000,
LONDON.
"30, 29 ,28, 27, 26..." Liz tapped her shoes against the tiled hospital floor, bobbing her head almost like she was swaying to the sound of her feet but in reality she wasn't.
Her head was hung low studying imaginary swirl patterns on the floor as she counted. This room was different from the ones her mother usually brought her too. It was painted shades of the rainbow and action figures were littered on the wall in a huge mural.
She had only raised her head up once since she got here. It was better to count. Counting was better than thinking he thought her that. It also helped with the itch; the one that made her want to scratch off her skin.
"Elizabeth! Talk to me please, help me help you," the therapist begged stretching her hands out to the little girl. On pure instinct Liz flinched away from her touch and continued counting.
"25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20, 19..." This time the itch was too much to bear even counting couldn't take off the edge and she found herself scratching.
The sharp edge of her nails made no difference. It could only scratch the very surface of her skin but the itch was deeper. All it wanted was to rid Liz of her covering, so that the pain consuming her mind will take root.
Doctor Grayson, the child therapist stared at Liz and filled in her note using a tiny blue notepad. Without being told Liz knew her life was about to change. She felt dead inside, something deeper was stirring in her and strings of thoughts alongside it that made her wish her fingers could take off her skin fully. If only she could scratch deep enough to pull off the beautiful porcelain skin he loved so much maybe she wouldn't have plunged the knife deep down into his abdomen and her mother could still bare to look at her.
The look on her mothers face when she came in after hearing his scream and seeing her naked husband lying beside her 9 year old daughter with a knife plunged deep inside him fueled the itch. Her glare sent shivers down Liz's spine. It was a mixture of pity, disgust and accusal, it made Liz even feel more dirty.
She tried, she put on those huge floral night wears but it didn't deter him. Not even the cut marks she made on the inside of her thighs could stop him.
Liz wanted to scream but settled for the scratches, this time directing her fingers towards her face, "18,17,16,15."
At six her mothers husband started coming to her room. Three years was long enough for his itch to be satisfied right? But he wouldn't stop. Like hers, his itch was deeper making sure he took every available opportunity to lay between her thighs.
The ceilings above her bed post were thirty two, she knew cause she counted every single time he was on top of her.
Not all rape is loud with shouts and screams. Sometimes its quiet especially when the perpetrator is someone with whom you should be most secure with and your young brain can't register what's going on.
"Elizabeth its okay now. You're safe now child."She pulled Liz hands away from and held it firmly between hers. Cut off from her only source of release, Liz tapped her feet even more violently rocking back and forth.
When she finally raised her head up, Liz stared at the older woman and felt her throat clogged with tears, wondering why she stared at her like she was still beautiful. It wasn't pity in the older woman's gaze for her, just a watery smile.
Why?Why? She didn't scream the words though. She never screamed.
"Tell me what happened when you are ready." Mrs Robinson adjusted the square glasses that hung on her round nose then hugged Liz closer to her. She smelled of strawberry, cinnamon and a hint of roses.
"He said to keep quiet," Liz shivered as she muttered slowly, her journey began that day or perhaps it ended.
****
Short Prologue for a little backstory.