Page 25 of With This Lie

Dani

I ameleven years old making myself toast in the kitchen. My mother has gone to the grocery store to pick up some things and I hear a knock on the door. I expect to open the door and find my mother with her hands too full to open it herself, but I don’t.

“Is Charlotte here?” a man asks. His voice is rough and he’s smoking a cigarette and his eyes make me uneasy. He’s swaying back and forth and catches himself with his hand before hitting his face on the door jam.

“No, not right now,” I answer.

“Well, where is she?” he asks, urgency and anger growing in his tone. His face is getting too close to mine and I pull mine back a little.

“She’ll be back any moment, she’s just gone to the store,” I say.

“Well, I’m coming in to wait,” he says, pushing at the door with one hand.

I try to hold the door in place, but my small body is no match.

The door gives way and he walks in, swaying some more. He looks around and back at me. “So, who are you?” he asks.

“I’m Danielle,” I answer quickly.

“Are you her daughter?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, voice as small as my body.

“How old are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing up and down my frame. He tilts his head at me like he’s looking for something specific.

“Eleven,” I say. I back away toward the kitchen and put the counter between us. He watches me and tilts his head to the side again, studying the way I move.

“Have you gotten your period yet?” he asks.

My face starts to get hot at his question and I can feel my heart pounding hard in my chest. I don’t want to answer his questions. I don’t want him to be here. I want my mother. I shake my head at him.

“No? Really? Shouldn’t be too long now. Then you’ll be a woman. But if you ask me, I like it like that. The way it is now,” he says.

And I don’t understand his words. “The way what is now?” I ask him. I hear my toast pop up and I ignore it. I don’t want to put my back to him.

“Your body. It’s still a girl, still so innocent,” he says.

He’s walking toward me now and my hands start shaking. There’s nowhere to run to get away from him. The doors in our house don’t lock. He stands in front of me and his body towers over mine.

“I think I should go to my room while you wait for my mom. She’ll be here any minute,” I remind him.

My words don’t seem to stop him, and he rubs my shoulder while he glares at me. He looks down the front of my shirt and taps the top button with his finger.

“Maybe I should help you,” he says. His fingers begin to unbutton my shirt.

“No, please don’t,” I beg.

He’s not listening to me. I reach up to push his hands away and I can smell beer on his breath, and this is all wrong and I’m trying not to panic. He pushes my hands away and grabs my wrist.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that you should be polite to guests?” he asks.

There’s no use trying to resist him. I can’t wiggle free and I can’t stop him. I keep my head down and I feel him pull my shirt off. I have a training bra covering my flat chest. I don’t know what to do.

“Please stop,” I say, my words nearly a whisper.

He bends down and buries his face into my neck and hair and inhales deeply. “I’m going to do whatever I want to you and you can’t stop me. Don’t worry, I’ll pay. I always pay,” he says.

I feel him press his tongue against my neck and licks up to my cheek. I close my eyes and feel like I might faint right there on the kitchen floor. I feel his hand on my back.

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