Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“How old were you when this first happened?”
“…Six.”
“What is his name?” She pointed to the one in the middle.
“Luis.”
“And who is he?” She pointed to the one on the left.
“Carlos.”
“And the last one. Him?”
“Andres.”
“Are any of these men your father?”
“No.”
“Are any of these men related to you at all?”
“No.”
“A partner of your mother’s?”
“Former boyfriend… the one in the middle.” He pointed at the picture from where he was seated, and she could practically feel the hatred beaming off his body as he did so.
“Who have you told about this?”
“My mama. And my favorite teacher, Ms. Florence.”
“Just those two? Not even your sister, Melanie, knows?”
He shook his head, then grabbed a cigarette from his nightstand and lit it. She let him sit quietly for a moment, as smoke ebbed from his mouth.
“You told me you and your mother are on bad terms. Is it because of this?” She made sure to keep her voice even, but direct. It was important that the words she chose be delivered carefully, and her tone not be too aggressive. She was dealing with a volatile situation, and one bad move, or a triggering question, could send him reeling.
“Yes, amongst other things.”
“Did you tell your mother soon after it happened?”
He nodded.
“Did she believe you?”
He swallowed, placed the cigarette in the ashtray, and began to pick his cuticles. “Nope.”
“How long did this go on?”
“Too long. Several years…”
“And the other two men. Were they your mother’s boyfriends, or friends, too?”
“No. Both were friends of Luis. She barely knew the other two.”
Her heart began to beat faster. “They all did these things to you together?”
“Sometimes. He’d pass me around to them, like some toy. Occasionally, he was there when they’d do it. They’d take me into my room, or my sister’s room when she wasn’t home. In my mama’s house. Under her roof.”
“And where was your mother when these men were molesting you?”
“She’d be at work or asleep. Other times, Luis would take me to them. Drop me off at their houses. Then come get me after they were finished with me. I don’t know for sure, but I imagine he was gettin’ paid for that.”
Her stomach dropped. She felt sick all over, as if she’d suddenly come down with the flu. SHIT. This is a rabbit hole. This is some dark, depraved shit. She hadn’t even scratched the surface. She’d only touched the window of the house of horrors.
She took a step towards him, then another. He flinched and his eyes tapered. So she stopped.
“Why did your teacher, Ms. Florence, know? Like, what were the circumstances surroundin’ you tellin’ her?”
“I had gotten in trouble in school. Not her class, a different one. I always got in trouble, so that was nothin’ new. But what had upset me this time was the teacher calling me ‘Freckles.’ I hated that.” He cured an itch along his nose before continuing, “He knew I hated it, too. Everyone did, but he called me that over and over again for some reason. Messing with me. One time, he caught me on the wrong day. I picked up his pointer stick—you know, the ones back in the day teachers used, and started hittin’ him with it. WACK! WACK! WACK!” He started making a swinging motion, as if he were reliving it all, right then and there. “It was an adrenaline rush to hear it thumpin’ on his skin. It felt so good to beat him to the point that he was screaming and beggin’ for help. I loved it…”
His lips curled in a sinister grin. “They wanted to expel me, but Ms. Florence smoothed things over somehow. She then took me into her classroom, alone, when I returned from school after being suspended for it. She and I were talkin’, like we’d do every now and again, and I felt comfortable with her. I always felt comfortable with her. She just had that way about her. Somehow,” he shrugged, then released a breath, “she, uh… she figured somethin’ must’ve happened to me. She was tryna unravel, I guess, why I was so angry all the time. She asked me if I had been abused when I was younger. Just came right out wit’ it. I was like fifteen when she and I were havin’ this conversation, so understand, it was way after the fact.”
She nodded in understanding. She also noticed he was talking much more without prompting when she brought up Mrs. Florence. Interesting.
“At first, I said no. I got defensive, too. She knew I was lyin’. She said the word abuse, you know, not sexual abuse, specifically, but I went straight to that. I started hollering at her, talking about I ain’t gay. All this and that… I also remember in the back of my mind thinkin’, even if I told ’er the truth, she wouldn’t believe me. Just like my mama didn’t believe me. Then, she … she told me a story about her uncle messin’ with her one time. She started rubbing my back and said if I ever felt scared like that, it was okay. Boys get touched wrong, too, but we just don’t talk enough about it. I stopped lying. I started cryin’…”