Page 302 of S is for SEX

“I love you,” she said, still relaxing with her eyes closed.

“Remember what I said about needing to talk to you?” I asked.

“Uh huh,” she responded.

“Well, I have a simple question for you Kace. Well, I guess it’s a statement and a question,” I said.

She opened her eyes.

“Just like you said earlier, let me finish, okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

“My father Kace. He abused my mother. I had repressed the memory for my entire life. That day when we opened the chest, I had a mental breakdown. My mind brought all of the memories back, and I shut down. The second day, I went to a psychiatrist. He brought up a lot of points about my childhood. We don’t need to talk about all of them now, but I’ll tell you a few,” I took a deep breath and kissed her stomach again.

“My father used to beat my mother, and the only place I had to hide was in my room. I hid under a blanket that I thought was special. I thought it had protective powers. I thought if I hid under it, he wouldn’t beat me, and that he was also not really beating my mother. It’s taken me a month to realize some of these things,” I took another shallow breath and kissed her stomach.

“I hide in my hoodie as a result of my childhood. I find comfort there. It’s sad, but I know now it’s why I wear it. I’m not ready to stop wearing it Kace, but I think I’m getting better,” I kissed her stomach again as she wiped tears from her eyes.

“I hated my father for a while after going to the psychiatrist. But that speech you gave at the fight…well, it made all too much sense. I already felt that way, but you saying it made it sink in. I suppose my father was sick about my mother leaving. And his way of clearing his head was to fight the only way he knew – as a US Marine in a war that he couldn’t win. He died fighting. In a sense, he died fighting so he didn’t have to beat another woman. At least that’s what I’m thinking,” I paused and took another breath as I started to fill with emotion.

I got this.

“My grandfather did the same thing. I’m sure of it. He beat my grandmother until she left. I don’t remember it, not really. But I am starting to. Generations of abuse creates generations of abusers. The chain has to be broken, and rebuilt. It can’t merely be broken and left alone, or it’s all for nothing,” I explained.

With both hands and without talking, she wiped the tears from her eyes. It was all I could do to see her cry. I attempted to maintain my composure as I finished speaking.

I was almost done.

I took another breath.

“Now, the question,” I exhaled.

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