TRIGGER WARNING: sexual abuse
My Dad was my hero. From the moment I was born, we were inseparable. We did everything together. He taught me everything I know. We were two peas in a pod. I was his little angel. Daddy’s little angel. He was my best friend. And best friends do this all the time. It’s okay. I’m just going to touch right there. How does it feel? It’s okay, sweetie. Best friends do this all the time. I’m just going to touch right there. How does it feel? You’re safe with me. The monster won’t get you. Just let me touch right there. Does it feel good? The monster was already there.
I used to think every little girl had secrets with her dad. Secrets that couldn’t be told at the dinner table. Secrets you couldn’t tell your friends at school. Secrets that made you piss your bed when you heard footsteps outside your bedroom door. Dad said secrets were what made us special. That nobody would ever understand the kind of love we had. And I believed him. He was my best friend. And best friends always have secrets.
Sometimes I was too afraid to sleep. If the monster would catch me off guard. But I was more afraid of being awake and encounter the monster head on. I hugged my stuffed bear tight every night. Never forgot it. By morning, it would be on my bookshelf.
I would count footsteps. Recognize which floorboards creaked. If it was the loud one right outside my room or the softer one outside my parents’. I wondered if other little girls knew the different pitches of the floorboards in their house. None of them even knew what a floorboard was.
In the morning, Dad would make pancakes. He’d kiss my forehead, ask if I slept well and gave me a wink. I nodded. That was what he wanted. I always gave him what he wanted.
That was the worst part. Knowing I’d feed his illusion.
When I was nine years old, I finally realized what my Dad was doing to me. I tried to tell my mom, but I was a naïve nine-year-old. Naïve and stupid. Naïve and dumb. The first time I told Mom, she was folding laundry on her bed. She was holding one of Dad’s shirts. I remember that. I remember the shirt. His stained pajama shirt. I saw that shirt a lot. I remember that shirt. I remember her hands on the fabric when I told her what Dad had been doing.
She stopped folding.
For a second, I thought she was going to hug me. I thought she’d say I was brave. I thought she’d say she was sorry. I thought she’d promise he’d never hurt me again.
Instead, she asked if I even knew what I was saying. If I understood what I was accusing him of. I was just a naïve nine-year-old. I didn’t know anything.
All I knew was I hated the sound of my bedroom door opening at night. I hated it. I was terrified of it. Little girls should be afraid of monsters, not their bedroom door. I guess I was afraid of both.
I remember saying sorry.
I was the one who said sorry.
Mom sort of resented me the years after that. But Dad never did. He’d come in my room every night to make sure I was okay. He’d ask about school. Put his hand on my thigh. Ask me about dance. Put his hand down my pants. Ask me to stay quiet. Put his finger in my mouth. I couldn’t do anything but take it. He was my dad. He was my best friend. I was just a naïve nine-year-old. And no matter who I told, no one believed me for the following four years.
Until I made them.
I’m 13 years old now, getting ready for court. I stare in the bathroom mirror. I don’t recognize my face. A tear streams down my left cheek. Another follows on my right. Then more follow as the sink starts to drown in my sorrows. I hear a knock on the door.
“Lily?”
It’s my cousin Beth. I’ve been staying at my Aunt and Uncle’s place leading up to my trial date, as requested by Big Lawyer Guy. Beth and I are as close as cousins could be. I can remember us dancing around the living room when we were little. We thought we were professionals.
When we were nine, apparently, she did something bad to my dad. I never knew what it was. He just told me never to speak to her or of her again. I mean, what bad thing could a nine-year-old do to a thirty-something-year-old man? I never questioned it, though. We would still sneak around at school. She never told me what happened either.
My Uncle came to our house around that same time. I remember the way he and Dad argued in the kitchen. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I just remember Dad laughing.
“Come on, you can’t even look your brother in the eye.”
My Uncle didn’t say anything. He just stood there. Quiet.
It was strange. My Uncle was twice Dad’s size.
I’d never seen him look so small.
“Lily, can I come in?”
“Give me a sec.” I rip a sheet of toilet paper off the roll and dab it under my eyes. I smile in the mirror to gain back what little confidence I had before.
“Come in.”
She opens the door and gives me this look. The look someone gives a lost puppy.
“Oh, Lily. Sweet Lily. You’re going to be okay.” She comes in for a hug.
We’ve never been the type of cousins that hugged. But this, this felt refreshing. She breaks the hug and holds my face in her hands.
“You’re going to be okay. I believe you. And I’m with you every step of the way.”
I don’t say anything but give her the look of understanding. She leaves me be, and I stare back in the mirror. What makes me think anyone in this courtroom is going to believe me? The voices start flowing through my head.
“She’s lying.”
“She’s a little kid. What does she know?”
“She’s just a naïve little girl.”
“Why would she ruin her family like this?”
These voices have been in my head for a while. They filled my dreams as I tried to sleep. They turned my dreams into nightmares. My Dad would come in my room every night and save me. He was my hero. He was my best friend. And best friends do this all the time. It’s okay. I’m just going to touch you right there. It’s okay, sweetie. Best friends do this all the time. I’m just going to touch you right there.
The voices wouldn’t stop. Until I made them.
At age six, they got worse. Dad saved me.
At age nine, they got worse. Dad saved me.
At age thirteen, they stopped. Dad stopped.
I drive to the courthouse with my Uncle and Beth. It’s silent the whole way. Like they know they’re sending me to my imminent death.
I meet Big Lawyer Guy outside of the courtroom doors.
“You ready, kiddo?”
He’s trying his best not to make me nervous, but I see the sweat stains through his shirt. I give him a nod with a little smile, and he opens the door.
It looks just like an episode of Law and Order. There’s a jury and the random people who sit in the back. The jury is made up of four women and eight men. I don’t know how I’m supposed to convince them. How can I make them believe me? My own mother couldn’t believe me. They’ll see me as a stupid little girl. A naïve little girl.
The Big Judge Man walks in and sits on his throne. It doesn’t take long for me to be called to the stand. I feel too exposed up here. Like they know my body. Like they know my truths and lies. I scan the courtroom while I speak to avoid looking at the jury. I see my Dad. He has this dead look in his eyes. I’m no longer his little angel.
I place my hand on the bible and raise my right hand.
“Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
“I do,” my voice cracks.
My voice cracks like my pubescent self. My Dad was so happy for me when I told him I first got my period. He told me I was finally becoming a woman. A mature woman. He liked that. He liked me mature.
Question after question is asked as I continue to read the jury’s faces. What makes me think they’ll understand my pain? My trauma. The trauma I endured for seven years of my life. My body was never mine.
“Lily, did you ever tell your father to stop?”
I stare at my hands. My fingers are shaking. My palms are drenched in sweat.
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
I swallow hard. My throat feels tight.
“He said I was hurting his feelings.”
The whole room goes silent. I can hear my legs bouncing on the floor.
“Did he ever tell you not to tell anyone?”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice. I just nod.
“Can you tell the jury what he said?”
I look at Mom. She won’t look at me. She just stares at the floor. Like I’m not even here.
“He said nobody would believe me.”
Big Lawyer Guy stops. I can still see the sweat stains on his shirt. This doesn’t help my nerves at all.
“And did anybody believe you, Lily?
I shake my head. No one believed me. I was just a naïve little girl. I didn’t know anything.
“No.”
“Not even your mother?”
My throat closes up.
“Especially not my mother.”
I finally leave the stand. Avoiding eye contact with everyone as I take back my seat. Then, my Mom gets called.
“Krista Hardvoc, you may approach the stand.”
She won’t look at me. Not even once. She looks at the judge. She looks at the lawyers. She looks at the twelve strangers who get to decide what happens. But not at me. Never at me.
Does she remember that day in her bedroom? Does she remember the little girl standing by her bed, begging her to listen? I wonder if she remembers.
I wonder if she knows I’m still there. Still standing by her bed. Still waiting for her to listen. Still waiting for her to believe me.
The remaining minutes in the courtroom feel like hours. Until time finally stops.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“Yes, we have, Your Honor.”
“Will the defendant please rise?”
Big Lawyer Guy and I both stand. My body starts to shiver. But it’s not even cold in here. I continue to sweat through my shirt. The temperatures of my body are not colliding but working with each other to torture me. I don’t feel like myself.
“And how does the jury find?”
I stare at the jury as the foreperson stands up. I stare at their lips as the words come out.
“We the jury find the defendant… guilty.”
I am no longer myself.
The Big Judge Man stands. He looks like God looking over all the little people in the world. Like Godzilla looking down at the citizens of Tokyo that he’s about to destroy.
“During my many years in this courtroom, I have witnessed many cases of unimaginable cruelty. But I have never had one as heartbreaking as yours.”
He stares me in the eyes, and I feel my soul drop to Hell below.
“It is the ruling of this court that the defendant be placed in a juvenile detention facility until the age of eighteen, at which she will be transferred to an adult corrections facility to serve the remainder of her sentence for the murder of Gary Hardvoc.”
I hear the sighs of the courtroom. Like the jury failed them too.
I look over to my Dad. I don’t know why he’s smiling. He’s the one who’s dead.
