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“No, sir,” I answered, hating the proximity. “But I’ve missed a lot of school, so the only way to ensure that I wouldn’t miss any additional instruction was to go to my class as normal and take the test after school.”
That was the truth, too.
My teacher had offered to let me take the test during class today, but we were learning something new, and I didn’t want to risk not getting the lesson. So, when I explained my fears to her, she offered to let me take the test after school. I didn’t live far away, so not getting the bus wasn’t a big deal. I took the test and walked home afterward.
Evidently, that was the wrong thing to do.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a little brat, you wouldn’t need to miss school,” Jimmy remarked.
“Yes, sir,” I agreed. It was always better to agree with him than to tell him he was the one responsible for my missed school days.
The worst part about it, though, was not knowing how he’d respond to my agreement. In some cases, the ones where I got lucky, he’d proudly repeat it and move on. In other cases, the ones where I wasn’t so fortunate, he’d think I was mocking him.
That was never a good thing, and he made sure I knew how much he didn’t like my response to him. The problem was that Jimmy didn’t like to let me know by verbalizing it. He thought the best way to communicate with me was to physically assault me.
Unfortunately, that was precisely what he believed was the best course of action today, too.
Because without saying another word, Jimmy took his hands to me again. It wasn’t a simple slap across the face, either.
It was brutal. There wasn’t a question in my mind that school was going to be out of the question for the next several days.
My body fell to the ground, the force of the blow making it impossible to remain upright. And for the remainder of the time he spent assaulting me—there was no concept of time in the middle of it all—I did what I could to shield the most vulnerable parts of my body from the attack.
It never felt like enough.
The pain was excruciating.
And somehow, my mother never woke up to see it happen or to stop it.
I had to endure. I had to power through, just like always. I reminded myself that it could be so much worse.
Sometimes, in the middle of him doing whatever it was that he was doing to me, I’d find a way to think about that. It was easier to focus on something other than what was happening to me.
None of it ever made me feel better, but I found I was able to get through it better by not paying attention to Jimmy.
So, I focused on my mom. I used the time to try to figure out how she could have so little care about what happened to me. She knew what Jimmy did, and she never did a thing to stop it.
Even if she believed that I deserved it when he hit me, I wondered what she managed to tell herself when she knew he was doing more than that. She’d seen it happen.
I’d never forget the first time Jimmy sexually assaulted me. It happened a little over a year ago. I was almost thirteen, and I’d been standing in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes. We’d just had dinner together, a rarity in our house. My mom had gotten up from the table and walked into the living room, where she’d spend the rest of her night in front of the television with a bottle of alcohol.
Jimmy hadn’t followed her. Jimmy remained in the kitchen, and at first, I thought I’d imagined what happened. I felt something brush up against my butt. Initially, I had told myself that Jimmy had just walked past me too closely. It wasn’t like it was out of the realm of possibilities, considering the kitchen wasn’t very big.
But then, as I continued to wash the plates, I realized Jimmy had crowded me at the sink. He stood behind me, placing one hand on the edge of the counter, pressing his whole body close to my backside, and resting his other hand on my shoulder.
I was already terrified of him, and for that reason, I couldn’t bring myself to react or say anything. In fact, I continued to wash the dishes. He pressed his body in harder against mine, and his hand at my shoulder drifted down my chest.
My body had just started going through changes, and my breasts were starting to develop. Jimmy covered one side with his hand, squeezing me there while he pressed his groin into me.
I could still remember how badly my insides trembled when he was touching me and desperately wanting him to stop.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that my mother had forgotten her bottle of alcohol in the kitchen, he might have continued. As soon as she entered the room, Jimmy stopped. He moved away, and I looked over at my mother. She had stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, and she was staring at me.
There was no doubt in my mind that she knew what had been happening. She knew what he’d been doing, and she didn’t say a damn word about it.
I had a feeling she was just as afraid of him as I was, but that still wasn’t a good enough excuse, in my opinion. I was her daughter, and it was her job as my mother to protect me.
She never did.
