Page 52 of Can You Take It?

By the time I finally do answer, it’s with a nonchalant shrug. “People see what they wanna see.”

Richard doesn’t push the issue, probably thinking that my evasiveness is just my way of avoiding a deeper conversation. He has no idea that there’s a dark reason behind my distrust of cops, and I intend to keep it that way. The less he knows, the better.

“You really did seem to connect with that little girl.”

“Yeah, I’ve always had a soft corner for kids. They remind me of what’s good in the world, you know?”

The next question slips out, even though it’s practically burning a hole in my mind. “Do you want kids?”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I can see the sincerity in his gaze as he answers, “Yes, I do.”

I don’t know why I feel a pang of guilt at his response. It’s not like I want this Mr. FBI to be a part of my life, but for somereason, his answer hits me harder than I expected. I quickly look away, staring out of the window to hide the unexpected turmoil inside me.

We drive in silence for a while, and just when I think the conversation has taken a backseat, he throws my question right back at me.

“What about you? Do you want kids?”

I keep my eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside, pretending not to hear him.

August 12, 2005, at 2:45 PM

Tears stream down my face uncontrollably as mom holds the burning knife in her hand. It’s glowing sickly red, and I know I’m in deep shit.

“Mom, please, just let me go!” I scream. But my words fall on deaf ears as she doesn’t even seem to hear me. She’s lost in some other world of her own making.

“Mom! Listen to me! Let me go!”

She’s not hearing my pleas or my screams. The blade in her hand is a horrifying sight, and I’m trapped with a woman who’s become a monster.

I keep yelling, but it’s like shouting into a void. She’s not my mom anymore. She’s just a deranged stranger, and I’m just a helpless kid in a nightmare, praying for someone to wake me up. But there’s no one to save me.

I can’t believe what’s happening as I watch in horror. My mother drives the knife into my stomach. I can feel it cut through my skin, the pain searing through me like a white-hot poker. But I can’t even scream. All I can do is cry and plead for her to stop.

“Mom, please, stop! It hurts! I can’t take it!”

I can’t understand why my own mother would do something so cruel. The room seems to spin around me, and the pain is overwhelming.

“Mom, please, please, stop! It hurts so much!”

But she doesn’t. The blade continues its merciless path, cutting deeper and deeper into my flesh.

It’s hard not to dwell on how incredibly unfair this is. I’m just a little girl, and I should be playing with toys and laughing with my friends, not enduring this unimaginable pain.

My sobs grow louder as the pain becomes unbearable. “Mommy, stop, please! I can’t take it anymore!”

I can’t escape the agony, and I can’t understand why my mom is doing this to me. All I want is for it to stop, for the pain to go away, for my mom to be the loving mother I used to know.

The room starts to blur, and I’m growing weaker with each passing moment. My vision dims, and the world becomes hazy around me.

“Mom, please…” I murmur one last time. I don’t know if she can hear me anymore, but I can’t fight it. I can’t take the agony, and everything goes dark.

“Izel.”

“No,” I mutter, shaking my head as if I could shake away the memories of that awful ordeal.

I look away, pretending that everything is fine, just like everyone has pretended for so long. My mom disappeared years ago, leaving me with my grandparents. That’s the story everyone believes, the story everyone’s been told. No one ever bothered to dig deeper, to ask the real questions. They all bought the lie, and I’m left carrying the scars, both physical and emotional, in silence.

Richard and I walk into the house, and the weight of the unsaid hangs heavy between us. I can feel his concern, his worry,and his desire to help, but I can’t let him in. I’ve carried this burden alone for so long that it’s become a part of me, and I don’t know how to let it go.

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