Page 109 of True Colors

“O-okay. I-is that it?”

Now, I want him to leave because one stupid, dumb apology out of him, and I’m already melting. I’m ready to say, ”Fine, just don’t do it again.“ That’s how desperate I am—and it reminds me of the little Anouk who so eagerly wanted to believe that people can change.

“It’s okay, Mama. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay, Daddy, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“I’m okay, officer, just don’t hurt my mother.”

He’s about to come closer, but I hold my hand up. He stops.

There are only a few steps between us. There’s also a chasm.

“I fucked up. I’m so sorry I hurt you.” He’s sincere, I have to give him that. But apologies are a dime a dozen. I know it better than anyone else.

“I’m so sorry, Anouk, Mama will never hit you again.”

“I’m sorry, baby, Daddy is going to keep you safe.”

“I’m so sorry, Anouk, the system failed you, but it’s going to be better from now on.”

I keep my arms crossed.

I need Finn to come back.

My cues are all screwed up. I need someone to tell me what’s going on because I can’t see it through the anxiety that’s building.

I’m afraid that whatever Luther and I had has died.

I’m afraid that I’m going to be foolish and weak and accept his apology.

I’m afraid. Period.

“Baby, Anouk⁠—”

“Y-you m-made me f-feel sm-small.”

I hate that I’m stuttering when I want to be eloquent and articulate—show him how well I can speak.

But that’s not who I am.

I’m damaged. I accept that about myself. I wish Luther could have.

“I—"

“You said that h-how I speak makes me a r-risk to your career,” I continue.

“That’s not⁠—”

“Y-you kn-know why I st-stutter. You know my speech doesn’t work on command. When it hits, it hits—whether I’m prepared or not.” I interrupt him again, this time, my voice wobbles with unshed tears, “And y-you s-still….”

I am shaking a little now. It’s grief. My mind is starting to realize that my love story with Luther, the one that I never thought I’d have with anyone, is ending—or maybe it was never real. I thought I could trust him. I thought he loved me. But you don’t treat people you love the way Luther treated me.

He swallows hard. “I was afraid.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “Y-you w-were afraid?”

He nods slowly.