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“The night my father killed my mother’s murderer, he was out of his mind. Even at eleven years old, I saw that. When he took me to his room, he put me on the bed, kept one hand around my arm while he lifted my nightgown and tore my underwear off. I was terrified. I’d never seen that man before, and I didn’t know what he was going to do, only that I needed to get away. He let go of me to undo his pants, and I crawled off the bed, but even drunk, he was too fast and big for me. No matter how I cried and kicked and clawed at him, it wasn’t enough. It seemed to encourage him.”
Bile rose up my throat. I swallowed it down and fought the urge to stand. I didn’t want to hear the rest, but this was how we moved forward. She’d warned me her past was ugly. Nothing could have prepared me for this.
“He unfastened his pants and left the rest of his clothes on. I was so small, he easily smothered me while he brutally raped me. I cried the whole time, didn’t understand why he was hurting me. I’ve never experienced pain like that. It lasted for days.”
I dug my fingers into the arm of the chair and fought being sick. Anger and anguish twisted into one, strangling me.
“After that, I was terrified to come out of my room, afraid he’d do it again. My fears were justified. He continued for three years, but he wasn’t always rough. Sometimes he kept me in his room for days, drunk out of his mind. If he couldn’t perform, he’d touch me. Eventually, I stopped crying, stopped fighting him. He liked it too much when I did that.”
“Muriella,” I whispered. How could a man do that to his own child? Pure fire and rage like I’d never felt lit up my veins. I wanted to kill him, make him suffer the way he’d made Muriella suffer. And that frightened me. Violence was not my natural tendency. But she deserved peace, and I wanted to bring her justice, if there was such a thing.
“I never told anyone, but it wouldn’t have done any good if I had. Everyone is afraid of my father. They couldn’t have stopped it. It wasn’t until later I realized how lucky I was I didn’t get my period for the first time until after I got to New York. Otherwise I probably would have been pregnant by my own father,” she said with disgust.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I pulled her against me and rested my cheek on top of her head. My hold on her was probably too tight, but I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t cried since I was a little boy, but a few tears slipped down my face into her hair. The struggle to maintain composure for her sake was fierce, and my heart literally hurt where it pounded in my chest.
“Thank you for trusting me,” I finally said, my voice hoarse. “You’re not in this alone, Muriella. Whatever you need, we’ll do it together.”
Her face twisted between pain and gratitude as she wiped my wet cheeks. “I need you to treat me exactly as you would if this weren’t in my past, even in the moments when it catches up with us.”
I nodded, still amazed by her strength and glad she was referring to us as a united front. “You…” I pulled her against me and stared into the mocha eyes that held my soul. “I’m in awe of you, the woman you are. The heart that’s bigger than anyone else’s I know. You had me from the first second I saw you, and every single day, I only want more. There isn’t a thing in the world that will ever change that.”
Her eyes were wary, and instead of looking lighter after sharing her secrets, she appeared more weighted down. That was not okay. If it took all my life, I’d make sure that she knew the past was only a piece of her, and I loved that piece of her, even though I despised she’d ever had to go through such actual hell.
I brushed her hair back. The horror didn’t define who she was, even though sometimes she thought it did. I swore to myself I’d make certain she realized what a precious gift she was to me. One I would never forsake. Never take for granted. And love always.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Muriella
I’d never toldVivian or Daniel the specifics of what my father had done to me. I’d never spoken to a therapist. But I’d always been under the impression that releasing the words would somehow unburden me. I’d never really believed that, though, and now I was glad I hadn’t wasted my time and breath.
Because it hadn’t helped. At all.
Two days had passed, and I’d hardly thought of anything else. At random times, images I’d blocked for years attacked me. Miss Pennington didn’t bother to hide her annoyance when I had to excuse myself from the room for the third time in one day.
For the first time I could ever recall, I was relieved the school day was over.
I collected my tote and stopped by the break room to retrieve my uneaten lunch. The hallway was clear as I made my way toward the front door. I detoured across the courtyard to the sanctuary.
It was empty and quiet. I lit a candle for Mama and one for Carlos before I moved down the center aisle to the altar.
My bag slid off my shoulder as I hit my knees.
“Please help me forget,” I pleaded to the statue of Jesus, who hung on the cross behind the altar. “I don’t want it anymore. I can’t—”
The tears that clouded my eyes spiked my anger.
“Telling him was supposed to help. Make us closer. Unblock the path.”
I pressed my palms into the floor.
“He’s different toward me now. He doesn’t mean to be, but I see it when he looks at me. I can’t take it back or erase that ugliness from his mind.”
Nothing. I don’t know what I expected, but I thought I’d feel something or have a revelation.
“It was a mistake. I’m going to lose him because neither of us can get past it. I was better off before, when I’d accepted I couldn’t have a relationship or the children you know I want.”
I pushed to my feet. “I’ve asked for too much in my life. I’m grateful for the gifts I’ve been given, but to dangle what I want most right in front of me, only to take it away. It’s just plain cruel.”
