| Biographical Non-Fiction posted November 1, 2023 | Chapters: |
...44 45 -46- 47... 
|
  |
The creep on the street
A chapter in the book Ghost
Molester
by Lea Tonin1
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.
Standing in front of the mirror, I noticed my scars were whiter today. The one on my chin, split when my face got introduced to a fireplace,
the one under my lip, where my tooth was pushed right through and poked out of my face, The one across my nose, a beer can was thrown so hard it stuck into the bone on the bridge. None of these injuries were treated, so they will be there reminding me of what was.
Yesterday's revelations still have me reeling. It almost feels surreal.
I knew it was going to be bad;
I just didn't realize how deep the cover-up went. The deliberate destruction of one's own children, the actual premeditation of how they planned to harm their children over years!
The road ahead could have its sharp bends, assisted by my mother who does her level best to discredit me.
I'll say one thing for her, she is consistent.
I choose to say nothing. My pen will do the talking as will the mountain of evidence standing behind me.
I'm not that child anymore...
*****************************
My ear was aching. There was a consistent buzz behind the lobe. The latest acquisition. I had mouthed off my mother, and that was not acceptable! Although this angered me, I was much angrier about an earlier incident.
He hadn't come home from work yet, which suited me fine. But the front door opened and I could hear crying. I walked across the living room and looked down the stairwell just in time to see my sister round the corner.
Following, I went down the stairwell to the bedroom and there she sat on the side of the bed wiping tears from her eyes.
"What's up?" I asked quietly. She laid it out for me, simple and to the point using the least amount of words as possible.
"Well, you need to tell mom," I said.
She looked at me doubtfully. "Yes, I know...try. She can't ignore this." I thought for sure she would do something about this. After all, it had nothing to do with him. My sister decided to approach mom.
"Mom?"
Mother looked at her.
"Do you remember a couple of weeks ago I asked you if I could help this man move into his house and you told me I could?" She asked.
Mother nodded.
"When I visit he's always in his underwear. The last couple of times he was naked. He told me he couldn't put his underwear on unless I rubbed this cream on him to settle his rash. I did that a couple of times but I felt funny. Then he asked about my younger sister. He said if I didn't keep rubbing the cream on him, he was gonna do stuff to her and hurt her."
Mother looked back at my sister and said,
" It's too late now. You should have told me sooner. Now I can't do anything about it."
I couldn't believe she said that. I'm sixteen and I know that's wrong. I'm a different girl now than the 14-year-old who left their house and the 16-year-old who returned.
I confronted her and said, "Really? You're not going to do anything?"
She told me the same thing she told my sister. It was too late.
"She's telling you now!" Raising my voice a bit.
"Don't talk to me like that!" She yelled.
I said "Wow" and walked away.
My dinner that night was a knuckle sandwich for daring to raise my voice.
"We have got to get out of here." I thought. I began to sift through my brain, like a homeless person would go to a garbage bin, looking for some clue that I might have thrown away or dismissed that would help us. I let these thoughts consume me while my stomach growled. A solution to all this would give me something to hang onto. Something to move toward.
In my mind at the time, it was over for both my mother and him. They were and are the enemy, and this is a triage situation.
Standing in front of the mirror, I noticed my scars were whiter today. The one on my chin, split when my face got introduced to a fireplace,
the one under my lip, where my tooth was pushed right through and poked out of my face, The one across my nose, a beer can was thrown so hard it stuck into the bone on the bridge. None of these injuries were treated, so they will be there reminding me of what was.
Yesterday's revelations still have me reeling. It almost feels surreal.
I knew it was going to be bad;
I just didn't realize how deep the cover-up went. The deliberate destruction of one's own children, the actual premeditation of how they planned to harm their children over years!
The road ahead could have its sharp bends, assisted by my mother who does her level best to discredit me.
I'll say one thing for her, she is consistent.
I choose to say nothing. My pen will do the talking as will the mountain of evidence standing behind me.
I'm not that child anymore...
*****************************
My ear was aching. There was a consistent buzz behind the lobe. The latest acquisition. I had mouthed off my mother, and that was not acceptable! Although this angered me, I was much angrier about an earlier incident.
He hadn't come home from work yet, which suited me fine. But the front door opened and I could hear crying. I walked across the living room and looked down the stairwell just in time to see my sister round the corner.
Following, I went down the stairwell to the bedroom and there she sat on the side of the bed wiping tears from her eyes.
"What's up?" I asked quietly. She laid it out for me, simple and to the point using the least amount of words as possible.
"Well, you need to tell mom," I said.
She looked at me doubtfully. "Yes, I know...try. She can't ignore this." I thought for sure she would do something about this. After all, it had nothing to do with him. My sister decided to approach mom.
"Mom?"
Mother looked at her.
"Do you remember a couple of weeks ago I asked you if I could help this man move into his house and you told me I could?" She asked.
Mother nodded.
"When I visit he's always in his underwear. The last couple of times he was naked. He told me he couldn't put his underwear on unless I rubbed this cream on him to settle his rash. I did that a couple of times but I felt funny. Then he asked about my younger sister. He said if I didn't keep rubbing the cream on him, he was gonna do stuff to her and hurt her."
Mother looked back at my sister and said,
" It's too late now. You should have told me sooner. Now I can't do anything about it."
I couldn't believe she said that. I'm sixteen and I know that's wrong. I'm a different girl now than the 14-year-old who left their house and the 16-year-old who returned.
I confronted her and said, "Really? You're not going to do anything?"
She told me the same thing she told my sister. It was too late.
"She's telling you now!" Raising my voice a bit.
"Don't talk to me like that!" She yelled.
I said "Wow" and walked away.
My dinner that night was a knuckle sandwich for daring to raise my voice.
"We have got to get out of here." I thought. I began to sift through my brain, like a homeless person would go to a garbage bin, looking for some clue that I might have thrown away or dismissed that would help us. I let these thoughts consume me while my stomach growled. A solution to all this would give me something to hang onto. Something to move toward.
In my mind at the time, it was over for both my mother and him. They were and are the enemy, and this is a triage situation.
This story is part of an auto-bio called Ghost. It can be found in my, portfolio. Feel free to read. A small note of caution. Some chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion is advised.
***Picture by IStock***
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. ***Picture by IStock***
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Lea Tonin1 All rights reserved.
Lea Tonin1 has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
