Page 17 of Mind Maze

No, dummy. For you.

My eyes flutter as the past comes roaring in. Memories, real and palpable, slice through my mind, cutting the bindings of suppression. Years of therapy, force-fed down my throat, is purged in an instant.Heels clicking on the hardwood floor as I desperately hold my breath so she doesn’t find me. The relief of her disappearing after what feels like hours of her searching. Overwhelming sleepiness as I crawl back into bed.

Then, peek-a-boo, I found you!

Dread. Horror. Disgust. Pain.

I remember the way her fingernails would probe and push into places they didn’t belong. The silent tears. The hatred for her doing it and for me for allowing it to happen. The scent of her perfume clinging to my sweaty nightgown afterward. The blood that would sometimes get left behind.

Shame overshadows the fear.

Why didn’t I run? Why didn’t I fight back? Why didn’t I tell anyone?

But I did tell someone.

They did nothing.

My memories are murky after that. There’s a void and then my memories tell me it was all a fabrication. Something I made up. This monster—this woman—didn’t exist. It was a nightmare. A childish dream. Medicine helped rid my mind of her, which I was happy to have. Therapy retrained my mind into thinking it didn’t happen. Eva came along, with her gentle, sweet nature, and looked after me without hurting me like the monster had.

And now that monster is back in my life.

A smack to my cheek jolts me from my racing thoughts. The monster is gone and in its place is Caius. Concern is the only emotion on his face now. His thumb swipes through the wetness on my cheek as I choke on a sob. I’m suddenly struck with the need to confront my father.

I untangle myself from Caius’s hold and take off out of my room before I lose my nerve. The scent of savory garlic chicken floods my nostrils. It’s one of Eva’s favorite meals, so Rosie makes it for our family often. By the time I’ve reached the dining room, the food has been plated and served. Rosie is back in the kitchen while Eva and Dad quietly eat without us. I rush over to Dad’s side and slam my fist down on the table beside his wineglass.

The utter look of surprise on his features would be comical if not for the rage and betrayal exploding through me.

“You lied to me,” I hiss, more tears welling in my eyes. “How could you do that, Dad? I was six years old!”

He quickly morphs his features into a fierce one. “Sit down, young lady. You will not speak to me this way in my own home.”

Is he serious right now?

“No,” I shout, voice quaking. “We’re not shoving this under the rug again. I remember what happened. It wasn’t a stupid dream, Dad.”

I hear Eva trying to soothe some calm into me, but I ignore her completely. She was nothing more than a prop to help me cope. I’m disgusted she still stays with him now that I’m no longer living in their home.

Caius stands close behind me, but he doesn’t intervene. He’s probably enjoying the total collapse of my sanity right now.

“Are you taking your medication?” Dad asks in a sharp tone. “Do we need to call Maura? Eva, call M—”

I whip around to jab a finger at my poor stepmother. “Do. Not. Call. That. Woman.”

She freezes, eyes darting between me and Dad, clearly unsure what to do. I save her from his wrath, drawing his attention back to me.

“Why did you make me think I was crazy?” I demand, bottom lip wobbling. “I wasn’t crazy. It happened. Many, many times.”

Dad’s nostrils flare and then a look of resignation passes over him. “I didn’t make you think anything, Romy. I was trying to help you.”

I shrink back, nearly stumbling if it weren’t for Caius hooking an arm around my waist.

“Help?” I choke out, disgusted. “It didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse.”

Dad shoves his plate away and tosses his napkin onto it. “This is hardly a topic for dinner.”

“I don’t fucking care!” I bellow. “May as well get it all out in the open now!”

Caius doesn’t urge me to calm down, which strangely endears me to him. All my life I’ve been told to sit down, shut up, and remember the good things. If I bucked against my father in any way, I was guilted or shamed until I fell back in line. And if I had the audacity to keep pushing on the pain of what happened to me, it was more therapy and more meds. He made sure I was brainwashed and drugged so I’d leave it alone.

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