Page 41 of All Your Firsts Without Me

“When I wroteAlone in the Dark, I knew it had to be perfect. I wanted it to speak to you on the off chance you might hear it.” He sits forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “So, I went to the compound.”

Anxious energy swims through my veins. My fingers tap at the edge of the table. Is the air getting thicker? I tug on the collar of my shirt, struggling for oxygen.

“April,” he says calmly. “It’s okay. We don’t have to go if it’s too much.”

“I don’t know.” I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down hard. “David and I had talked about me going back someday, but I knew he couldn’t get down the stairs and I’m not strong enough to go by myself.”

“If you need time to think about it, I understand. There is something there I think you should see, but if now’s not the time, then that’s all right.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

He nods, pulling my hands into his. His thumb brushes over my skin gently.

David and I discussed many things that might help me get some closure. I think I can do this. I’ve survived so much worse. It’s just a basement.

“I’ll try.”

His brilliant, white smile makes me happy with my decision.

He holds my hand as we drive out to the compound. It’s a little over an hour away. Not one word passes between us. I guess sometimes there are no words.

When we get to the edge of the property, dust rolls past usas his tires skid to a stop. He turns to face me. “You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie.

The memories are flooding back with the familiar scenery around me. It’s as lifeless as I remember. Bland. Dull. Dusty. Except back then, there would have been a few people milling around. Now, only tumbleweeds roll across the landscape.

He pulls up to the main house. The one I lived in. Westin shuts the engine off. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m in no hurry.”

Graffiti covers the shattered home. Words like freak, child abuser, Satan’s son, and worse paint the outside. The words are bright and colorful, such a contrast to their meaning.

I open the jeep door, signaling my readiness. Westin hops out and is at my side in a second. He guides me inside, holding the front door that is falling off its hinges to the side for me.

Mice skitter across the floor as we enter. Westin pulls a flashlight out of his back pocket, shining it down the stairs that lead to my old prison. “Watch your step. Some of the boards are a bit loose.”

I nod and follow behind him carefully. The door to my prison is open, exposed, not hidden like it used to be. When I step inside, the memories crush me. Westin holds me up with a strong arm around the waist. “Look,” he whispers in my ear. He shines the light over the walls.

Dear Girl in the Basement,

Thank you for giving me the courage to tell my mom that my coach was hurting me.

Love,

Leslie

My hands cover my mouth as I stifle my cries. I slide further down the wall.

Girl in the Basement,

You gave me the courage to leave my abusive husband.

Love, A battered wife

I can’t believe all of these messages are for me… because of me.

Dear Girl in the basement,

You gave me hope to beat my addiction.

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