Page 44 of Haunt Me

“It’s ok, Eden.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you ever apologize,” I nearly snarl, then try to reign my sudden anger in. I can’t seem to control myself around her. The idea that she feels she must apologize for the fact that her dad is forcing her to hide herself… it makes me rage inside. “Besides,” I add more calmly, “we’ll know we said these words. No one can take that away from us, right?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “We’ll know.”

There is so much sadness in her voice it’s almost unbearable, and I have to turn my head aside so that she won’t see the devastation on my face. Back at the woods, before she goes home, I play her Beethoven’s 5th on my violin. It helps calm us both—and it helps to make this day about something other than pain. It is now a day I played Beethoven for her. I’ve played it to her so many times; it’s her favorite.

This is our song, I think.Beethoven’s 5th is our song.

How cool is that?

….

I will read later on the news sites that the medical team who took care of her testified in the trial that she was so malnourished that she hadn’t been menstruating.

However, that’s not accurate. I am the only one, apart from Eden, who knows that she had had her period exactly three times until she got out of that monster’s den, and that all three times she nearly fainted in my arms. I don’t know if that crap can kill you, and I was too stupid and clueless to actually look it up back then.

You don’t think, ‘oh, this girl has got such a violently painful time on her period, I might as well call the police because she isprobably living with a monster who has stolen her from her family and is keeping her his prisoner’. At least I didn’t.

She went through all of it alone.

She didn’t have anyone to help her through it but me. And that’s not how it’s supposed to be. She should have parents, cousins, siblings, friends, teachers… And me, if she wanted me. But not just me. I didn’t know back then how wrong that was. I hadn’t realized it until now.

I now remember that day as one of the saddest of my life–including the day my dad died. This was somehow sadder. I didn’t know why then, but my instinct was right.

It was such a sad day.

The truth was staring me in the face, but I couldn’t see it.

At least I could see one thing: This girl.

She had now become more important to me than my own family.

More important to me than air.

I knew that suddenly but surely, as one knows that the water has closed over their head and they are about to sink and drown.

So anyway, six years later, I will read the article and stop half-way. Then I’ll pick up where I left off, and read the whole thing through. Then I will read it again.

And I will remember. And I will cry and cry.

Isaiah’s Phone

Mom: How is your girl, Zay? She ok?

Isaiah: Yeah. Thanks, Mom. Your advice really helped. I’m clueless about girl stuff. Well, I used to be. I have now educated myself.

Isaiah: And she is not my girl.

Mom: Whoever she was, I am proud of you for taking care of her like a brother would.

Isaiah: I am NOT her brother.

Mom: Ah, now we are coming to the truth of the matter.

Isaiah: Hey, no fair! You got it out of me!

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