personal blog: simon
my heavy foot as I speed to get home. for once, it’s the only place I can feel safe.
Bryan. Bryan. Bryan. here we go.
as Bryan lifted his touch from my skin, the ‘constellation’ of my freckles, and parted his lips from mine, his intense stare hovered over me as if he was reading me. a stare that gave me chills.
I was young and I fell for him in that brief moment, unable to hold a lie and I answered with honesty when he asked, “how long have you been at…?”
“at the group home?” I finished his question and answered, “four years.”
“you left home, just like that?”
“that must have been hard?”
his stare didn’t waiver. my answers only made me feel like a child and he braced his folded fingers to my cheek. I knew he wanted to know and I prepared myself to tell the whole truth. “and then you met Jacob… and then you met me.” he eased the conversation and leaned to his side resting on his arm, his chin in his palm, as his thumb brushed against my nostril. “fourteen.” he said my age when I left home with astonishment and understanding. “same age as Jacob…” Bryan didn’t finish his thought but I knew what he meant.
“yeah,” I nodded and as if answering two questions at once.
“so, who harmed you?”
and I blurred it out with ease, “my father.”
my father, but I didn’t go into details. I stated the who, the what, and the how, at least the main course of the how, but it was enough for Bryan to embrace and hold me for the rest of the night. that was the end of the play, my control, my seduction. I didn’t want him to see me after that and as much as Bryan made the effort to talk to me the following day, I distanced myself and attached myself again to Jacob’s side.
I felt so contaminated and that is how I thought Bryan saw me, and that is how I think anyone would see me if I spilled the truth. It’s best to keep it shriveled like a rotten larva deep inside of my mind. only the nights hear my screams and my gasps for air. only the nights sprawl their fingers and gut me out.
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© simon whittle — second act