Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Mom, fifteen years ago something happened that I never told you about, and it’s about to come out.”
My mother goes still, her pointy-tipped spoon hovering over her grapefruit. She places the spoon down, pushes her plate away, and sits back in her seat, eyes fixed on me.
“Go on.”
I draw up enough breath to force the words out. Words I thought I would take with me to my grave.
“Kyle Manchester raped me.”
I look up when there is not so much as a gasp. No sound, just those blue eyes looking back at me unblinkingly.
“Did you hear me, Mom? Kyle—”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken, dear.”
Shock and disbelief drag my jaw down and open.
“Mistaken?” Something I can’t even call a laugh, it’s so humorless, barges past my lips. “It’s hard to be mistaken about a man forcing you to have sex, Mother.”
“Sofie, I’m just saying that things get out of hand. People take things the wrong way.”
“Exactly how was I supposed to take sexual assault?”
“This was fifteen years ago, so why are you just now coming forward? Why didn’t you tell us then?”
I drag my mind back to that night. To Kyle dropping me off at the house like everything was normal. Like my wrists weren’t ringed red from his belt wrapped around them. Like my breasts weren’t on fire with marks from his teeth. Like I wasn’t limping from the pain between my legs.
I’d felt filthy, and as soon as the door closed, I’d raced up the stairs to shower. I was a cliché, the victim huddled under a stinging spray of water that couldn’t reach the parts that felt most unclean. I’d wept against the shower wall until my voice withered in my throat, and all I had left were whimpers and moans. I don’t know how long I sat on my bed in my robe, catatonic, but eventually I knew I needed to tell my parents what had happened. I shuffled up the hall to their suite, but stopped at the door.
“You and Daddy were fighting.”
“What?” My mother allows herself a small frown, not a deep one, because too much expression wrinkles skin.
“You and Daddy were arguing when I came home. I heard you, and I just didn’t.”
“So you didn’t tell us you were raped because you heard us arguing?” Her face is skeptical, her voice condescending. “What were we arguing about? What was so important that you couldn’t interrupt to tell us something like this?”
“I don’t…I don’t remember.” My memory dredges up their raised voices; the anger and urgency of that argument, but no details. So many things about that night hide from me in the shadows of my subconscious.
“Now, Sofie, does that make sense to you?”
I can’t explain to her that I always felt like an intrusion in their lives, like they weren’t sure what to do with me now that they had me. Like they were just biding their time until I was gone. And that night, when I needed them more than anything, when I scrounged up the courage to go to them, I couldn’t make myself intrude. Couldn’t interrupt. Maybe I thought they wouldn’t believe me. It was probably because I thought they wouldn’t care.
As our eyes lock across the table, I realize for the first time that my mother is not an ally; I know that I was right on both counts. This isn’t normal. A daughter tells her mother she was raped, and there should be tears. There should be hugs. There should at least be questions, but my mother acts like she already has all the answers.
“You knew.”
Nothing on her face gives her away, but she blinks twice, a quick succession of reflexes. The only uncontrolled things about her.
“Sofie, listen to me.”
“Daddy told you.” Hurt climbs the walls of my belly, scaling my insides until it swells in my throat. “You’ve known for weeks and never even asked me about it.”
“Your father did mention that you were confused about some events from the past with Kyle, yes.”
“And you didn’t even call me?” My voice rises, cracking the serenity my mother cultivates in this room for her morning meal. “You didn’t even check to see if I’m okay? Or to hear my side of the story?”
“Sofie, things have been so hectic with the ballet and opera fund-raisers, and—”
“Just stop.” I blink until the tears recede. “Don’t pretend this is normal. That we’re normal. We are not typical. This isn’t right.”
“Sofie, Kyle is a very powerful man, and you know he and your father have extremely important dealings right now.”
“Kyle Manchester is a rapist, and I’m not the only woman he’s done this to.”
“But you’re the only one who’s talking about it, aren’t you?” All civility drops away, and I realize my mother is angry with me.
“Be straight with me, Mother.” I bounce her stony expression right back at her. “What’s going on?”