Page 24 of Twisted Salvation
“I know,” he says. “Why don’t you want to be with your dad?”
“Huh?” I ask.
“Why don’t you want to be with your father?”
“He hurts me,” I say.
“How so?”
“He rapes me. He has since I was little. Anytime he gets me alone, he hurts me,” I say.
“When was the last time?” he asks.
“A few weeks ago,” I say. “Leon wasn’t home one night, so he came over while I was sleeping.”
“Tell me about that.”
“He woke me up by taking my shorts off. I don’t fight him because he will hit me, so I just lie there. He wore a condom and used lube,” I say tearfully. “I didn’t want that. I just wanted him to go away. I kept asking him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He just kept going. When he finished a few minutes later, he just… left. Leon got home shortly after and tied me to the bed, leaving me there after he raped me.”
“When was the first time?” he asks.
“Uh. When I was four, I remember he made me use my mouth to… lick it. I threw up and then got into trouble for it.”
“When was the first time he forced you to have penetrative sex?” he asks.
“When I was eight,” I say.
“He always used a condom?”
“No,” I say. “He started using a condom when I had my first period. He said I didn’t deserve to have babies because I would make another useless child like Mom did.”
“How do you think things will go if you end up having to live with him?” I ask.
“I will kill myself,” I say bluntly. “I will die before I let him touch me again.”
“You know how serious a statement that is, right?”
“Yes,” I say. “I don’t want to die. I don’t think I ever did. But I would rather die than have him or Leonevertouch me again. I think Leon will try and kill me again, though. I’m scared they will hurt me, and I’d rather be in charge of how I get hurt than them.”
“Honestly, is your statement accurate? You won’t be in trouble if it’s not, but these are serious allegations, Myra.”
“It’s true. I don’t get why he didn’t cut as deeply on the left wrist, though. Why would he do that?” I ask.
“Why do you think he did?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he hesitated about killing me. I know I don’t have a degree like he does, but all I can think of is that he felt bad—which I doubt—or he planned it that way. Maybe he didn’t want me to die fast,” I speculate.
“Let’s talk about Dominic,” he says.
“Okay…”
“How long have you known him?” he asks.
“Since I was eighteen,” I say. “I was afraid of hurting myself, so I went to talk to him. I wanted to know if I was crazy.”
“What did he say?” he asks.
“He said crazy people don’t know they’re crazy,” I say. “He asked if I’d be willing to talk about why I thought I was crazy. He had me come in once a week after that.”
