Page 68 of Saving Tracey
"No,” my dad said in that same tone he had used to answer the last question, not even phased by the questions that his lawyer was throwing at him.
"Then, Mr. Olive, could you explain to us the hand and fist-shaped bruises covering your daughter's body, as well as the obvious sexual abuse she obtained?" His attorney gestured to the screen on the wall where all of the pictures were on display that Mrs. Freeman had taken when I had been admitted to the hospital.
My dad looked at me, his eyes cold and filled with so much hatred that I visibly flinched in my seat. I saw him fight the smirk wanting to take over his face, but he eventually shoved it down. I could taste the acid in my throat.
I had to keep my composure. I had to make it through this day, at least.
"Tracey had a boyfriend that she kept from me—my boss's son, Kaleb, I believe his name was.” My jaw dropped open in astonishment. “When she started flinching away from me and became increasingly withdrawn, her mother and I tried to help her. The boy made Tracey go to the hospital and lie about her mother and me abusing her. We only wanted to help her." The fake concern in his voice sounded so legit that I almost gave up on this whole thing.
I was never going to be able to put him away forever.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wrapping my arms around myself. My dad was good, I would give him that. I had never anticipated him using Kaleb to get out of trouble.
A few more questions were asked, and my lawyer went up to ask him the same kinds of questions. When I was called to thestand, I was light-headed, and I was regretting ever eating that morning.
"Miss Olive, you have made claims that your father has abused you, am I correct?"
I nodded my head. "Y-yes," I said, trying to make my voice come out strong, but it cracked.
"Miss Olive, were you scared of your boyfriend and therefore blamed the bruises and sexual assault on your parents instead so he wouldn't hurt you anymore?"
I shook my head. “I—I wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend," I admitted. "I didn't have any friends. It wasn't allowed."
My lawyer looked at me with pity for a moment but quickly recovered his features. "Miss Olive, many children go behind their parent's backs and do things they're not supposed to. Would you categorize yourself as one of those children?"
I shook my head at him. "No, sir. I was too afraid of my dad.”
"So, are you telling me everything that your father said was a lie?"
"Y-yes,” I stuttered, swallowing hard when I felt my dad's angry stare on me.
"Miss Olive, would you care to recount to us what happened on the night of July 9, 2007?"
Tears filled my eyes as the painful memory played through my head as if I were reliving it all over again. Shame washed over me, and I didn't dare look out into the crowd to meet Trevor's eyes—or anyone else’s for that matter.
I was too fucking ashamed of what he did to me, what I allowed happen because I was too afraid to fight back.
"I-I was just doing my h-homework," I stated, tripping over my words as I went into my own little world. My throat began closing up. Tears trickled down my face, but I didn't move to wipe them away. I clutched the edge of my seat so tightly that I began losing feeling in my fingers.
"My mom and dad had just got done arguing about bills and money. I always hated when they argued because he would always hit her." I could still remember the terror I felt when I heard skin collide with skin and my mom's cry of pain, begging him to stop hurting her.
"I remember hearing the back-door slam, and my mom's silent cries from the kitchen. I left my homework on my desk and went to go check on her." I could still see my nine-year-old self tiptoeing into the kitchen holding a box of band-aids. I had just wanted to help her—fix her cuts. "Mom was on the floor, leaning against the cabinets, and she was holding her face. Her nose and lips were bleeding."
A sob ripped out of my chest, and I clamped a hand over my mouth, trying to calm myself down enough to tell the story. I had already told it once today, but repeating it again was so fucking painful. I couldn't stop, but at the same time, I was dying to not have to say anything more.
"I didn't hear the backdoor open, and my mom didn't bother to tell me he was back. I wasn't supposed to be out of my room." My tears were landing on my lap by this point, but I wouldn’t look up. "He grabbed my hair, and he yanked me up off of the floor by the handful of hair he was holding. I remember screaming, begging him to let my hair go. He was hurting me." Another sob ripped out of my throat. "He slammed my head on the countertop and wrapped his hands around my throat." I rubbed my throat, still feeling as if his large hands were still constricting my airflow.
"He was yelling at me, but I couldn't hear anything. My ears were ringing, and my head was throbbing. I had black spots in my vision." I still didn't look up at anyone. I was getting to the hardest part of the story to tell, the part where I had to stop when I was telling the lawyer because it was too hard to recount. I had to do it this time, though. I had to tell; if I wanted any chance atputting my dad behind bars for good, I had to uncover this dark truth.
"My mom didn't say anything. She just watched with practically no emotion as he slung me on the floor. I was wearing a nightgown, and it rode up to my waist when I slid across the floor." This night was the whole reason I never wore nightgowns or dresses. I didn't dare look a skirt's way. "H-He kn-knelt on the f-floor beside m-me." I whimpered, stuttering, my chest feeling as if it were being squeezed to the point it was getting hard to breathe.
"He had th-this scary l-look in his eyes, and h-his p-pants got tight when he g-got hard." I heard a few gasps from Angelina, Glenda, Olivia, and Krista.
"H-he gripped my wrist and p-pulled my hand to his pants, d-demanding m-me to p-pleasure him." My shoulders shook as I sobbed into my hands. I was crying so hard that I could barely speak. I was stuttering and tripping over my words by that point, but I had to continue.
"I-I didn't know wh-what t-to d-do. I was n-nine,” I cried, practically hyperventilating I was crying so hard. "H-he got a-angry b-because I was d-doing it wr-wrong." I could still see the anger on his face as he began stripping his clothes off. "He r-ripped my n-nightgown off and m-my p-panties."
I wrapped my arms around myself, still feeling him gripping my thighs, still feeling him ripping me apart on the inside. "I-I remembered b-begging for my m-mom to h-help me, t-to make h-him s-stop. She j-just l-laughed and t-told h-him to proceed, that I-I deserved it. I f-felt l-like I-I was b-being r-ripped apart."
