Double Star.

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22: Virginity Lost.

POV Betty:

I never knew why I couldn’t get used to the wicked grip of fear and intimidation I feel every time I get near this odious cursed house.

I thought I could let my mind have some rest this night.

-“You told me he...won’t be here”. I tried to stay calm, catching my breath little by little. If I do something wrong, he’ll be mad and, there’s nothing like him when he’s mad.

-“I was wrong”. She simply shrugged.

-“What did you tell him?“. I closed my eyes, feeling my hands shaking in their sweats.

-“Nothing. You were at work, right?“. She smiled, hiding her true intentions behind her slanting eyes.

-“Come on Betty! don’t stay at the door. This home is yours too”. She pulled me violently towards her and slammed the door.

-“Honey, she’s here!“. She screamed, dragging me to their room. He was there, sitting on the corner of the bed and holding a beer in his hand. His eyes seemed glossy and drifted around the room as his gaze floated about their surroundings. His mouth hung open slightly and, the stench of alcohol was so awful it reminds me of how much this man was my enormous agony and how much I was powerless, frightened, abandoned.

He turned his gaze suddenly towards us, or to be more close, towards me.

-“Betty, say something! He’s angry!“. She whispered to me, her hand on my shoulder. My heart suddenly tightened; I was petrified.

-“Good evening, father. sorry for being late”. I pretended to say softly.

He started moving with not much determination, stumbling around with irregular footsteps until the smell of alcohol reached me harder.

-“Oh Betty, my sweet gorgeous Betty! Where were you? Do you know how much you made your poor father worried, Oh Betty!“. He ran his filthy hand on my hair then caressed my face slowly before pressing hard on my lips and my chin.

-“You wanted to leave me?“; he asked with teary red eyes as I was breathing in and breathing out heavily from my nostrils.

-“Answer me!“; he screamed. I tried to say no with my mouth but, he was still blocking it with his pressing thumb so, I shook my head painfully.

-“LIAR!“. The sound of the bottle smashed against the wall mixed with my intake of breath. He started pacing and mumbling nervously then; turned to the woman beside me, who had blood flowing over her forehead caused by shattered glass.

-“GET OUT!“; her body stiffened for an instant and, fear invaded her eyes more.

-“I SAID GET OUT!“; he was ready to hit her but, she hushed to the door.

-“Alright honey! I’m leaving! I’m leaving!“. She gave me one last reassuring smile then slammed the door behind her, abandoning me again.

-“Why do you hate me, Betty? Why? I gave you all my love, all my attention and, still, you want to go away from me?“. He knelt and started shedding tears like a deranged drunkard then, took me in his arms, making me want to vomit more and more.

-“Oh Betty! You don’t know how much I love you! What would I do if you leave me? Promise me you won’t do that again!“. He smiled broadly and, I found myself doomed to nod in silence, always in silence.

-“Do you love me?“. He asked with bright concerned eyes.

-“I do”; I closed my eyes, tortured by this unforgivable lie; I have no love for this man, absolutely none. I only feel deep hatred and disgust towards him. I am so angry! So angry! I have huge wrath taking over all the emotions I’ve ever felt in my abominable life, my father’s image will forever be broken and, it’s horrible to admit. I want him to go to jail, let him rot there for eternity as he did with my head and my body, like he made me feel, all alone.

He grabbed me like prey. I struggled, struggled, stammered:

-“Do you have to do this now? I have homework to do for tomorrow”.

He grabbed me by the hair and shook me in every sense, letting my hair down. I started crying and; he slapped me in the face, keeping saying: “Get up!“.

“You have such amazing flaming auburn hair, Betty! Don’t let me ruin it”. He wrapped his drunken arms around me. He started kissing my neck, eyes, lips passionately, without my being able to avoid his furious caresses and, while pushing him away, while fleeing his mouth, I returned him, despite myself, his kisses.

Suddenly I stopped struggling, and defeated, resigned, let myself be undressed by him, once again.

************

I don’t know how long it lasted but, for me, I felt like an eternity had passed. I stared at the man sleeping next to me peacefully; he would probably have a blackout when he’d wake up, forgetting half of what happened. I took my clothes from the floor and got dressed to leave this place for my room.

Once the door closed, I stayed on the bed, legs against my chest; I surrounded them with my arms, feeling dirty and horridly ashamed.

I was always close to my father; he called me his princess, introduced me to his dearest friends as his treasure, his pride, and his success, and, like any child, I was seeking this happiness, this love, and recognition and, he was giving me all that.

All I remember is that I was very little; I remember it because I had to climb up to get onto his lap. I remember the smell of the damp cellar, the cold tobacco, and the empty Pepsi bottles piled up on his workbench. I still can visualize in my head: the dirty windows and the dust that seemed to float in the air, highlighted by the rays of the sun and lifted by the drafts. These images, imprinted in my mind, defined me, the child who was trying somehow to distract herself from the fingers of her abuser, whom I felt digging into my little I’s privacy.

His evening hugs lasted all night sometimes and, it was more than just hugs, but for the tiny naive girl I was, it seemed normal until I grew up and started to found it more and more difficult to tolerate those eternal embraces. Ever since, every crack noise he was making when he was climbing the stairs, I knew exactly on which march he was.

The first time was violent, and the following ones were as brutal as the first. He kept asking me if it was good; I replied: “You’re hugging me but, I don’t like it too much; it’s weird” Such an intense manipulation that you feel obliged to do it while feeling the powerful sickness rising to your throat.

Forced to say words of affection to him and telling him “I love you” was like torture to me. I was often incapable of doing it, which tends to anger him a lot and, it scared me so much. The few times he was sober, he enjoyed making fun of me, complaining about the feeling like he was sleeping with a dead woman because I was stiff and didn’t take any initiative.

He was the father figure, yet, it was for my innocent thought, a habitual thing since my childhood as if it was part of my education. I had the impression of having a bad experience with something normal in the family; that’s why it was very complicated to realize that this act which has always been present and seemed normal to me, was, in fact, criminal and outrageous. And I think that the main reason he wasn’t threatening me before was that he had nothing to fear but, once I became aware that this situation wasn’t typical at all, the violence set in.

When I first met the school’s psychologist, I was thirteen. The voices inside me were screaming to say what was happening in the house of nightmares, crisis, violence, abuse, manipulation, and murderous sentences from sick parents. But, I didn’t dare to do so and, since then, I have never tried to speak; condemned to endure in silence.

Overtaken by the feeling of emptiness, I just got so sad, so mad at myself, I just wanted it to end.

I took all the drugs I found in the house, wrote a letter, and laid down on the bed, waiting for my time to come. I woke up in the hospital; I don’t know how many days I stayed in a coma but, my first reaction when I woke up was a painful disappointment asking myself endlessly: “Why am I still here?“. When his wroth eyes at the door of the hospital’s room met mine, I had the sour proof I had driven myself to suicide, and I had failed.

“You better say nothing or, I’ll kill you” The words he threw at me that day made me feel terribly guilty and, I believed him; I even still have nightmares from that.

Deeply entangled in a long painful complex awareness to the extent of the confusion of feelings, it was killing me inside and, that’s when my panic attacks appeared.

I was brought to reflect on myself and my life over and over again with this forever inability to feel fully happy; I knew and, I understood everything but, at the same time I didn’t, and this pain that I buried somewhere, at least where I could, suddenly exploded one day.

With this non-existent image of a dead little girl with just a growing body, I wanted to exist, like saying to people: ”Hey, look at me, I’m here" So that’s when I started to excel in my studies, I wanted appreciation, and of course an escape from this empty vision.

But even if my mind was wandering elsewhere, the body itself was still an object since the first time it happened when it became an object, like a rag doll trying to keep her limbs in so that nothing gets ripped off, struggling to survive daily, unsecured of the upcoming days.

My room’s door started to open slowly, letting the light come in.

-“It’s dark in here”; she sat near me and handed me a full plate. I shook my head.

-“I’m not hungry. I feel sick”. I squeezed my legs tighter. When it comes to my mother, sometimes she’s here, sometimes not. In both cases, she saw nothing and heard nothing. All she cares about is pleasing dad even if she’ll end up brutalized, undergoing his short-tempered foul mood.

-“Come on, it’s just pasta, and; you didn’t eat anything. Please have some”; I took a bite; reluctantly. I find it difficult to chew and difficult to swallow. While my dry mouth was trying to find the taste of my bite, to my surprise, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and, I tried hard to hide it; she put her plate on the bed and embraced my head with her arms.

-” It’ll pass, my good Betty. It’ll all pass, I swear it will”. As she was pressing her arms around my body, I was out there, alone, bereft, unmoored.

-“No, it won’t. This pain will never end”. Each day I feel a little less, and every day I bid farewell to another dream and, nothing beats this violent burning pain in my stomach and chest.

-“Don’t cry, my little girl. I’m here. Don’t cry”. She caressed my hair gently and kissed my forehead.

-“I want to take a shower.“; I said after a moment of mourning, wiping my cheeks with one hand; she let go of me, hesitant, and kissed my head again.

-“Can you bring me my bag. I left it in that...room.“; I asked near the entrance and, she got up from the bed, picking up the dishes by the way.

-“Sure. And I’ll bring you new clothes”. I nodded, nonchalantly and she frowned, wincing with concern in her eyes.

-“Thanks, mom”; I forced myself to smile but ended up grimacing in turn.

-“I’ll leave your plate here, in case you get hungry.“; she said, putting the food on my desk.

-“Oh, I forgot...“, she delivered me a small pill that I swallowed quickly.

I locked myself in the bathroom, fearful of an unforeseen evil to pop up, and rested on the shower tray, waiting for the water to wash this intolerable anguish but, there was not enough liquid to clean the sinful feeling out of my body and soul.

And the rain, falling relentlessly from night to daylight, was still not enough to drown the suffocating languor and void I was carrying.

O oppressed one: rest assured, justice will always prevail.

O oppressor: your day is coming when you will pay for the hurt and pain you inflicted cause what mercy can not restore; justice will eventually destroy.

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