He promised not to leave the house.

I washed up in my private bathroom and then found some sweats—clean this time—and put them on. I climbed into bed, wishing for Jonah or even Lucy and her warmth against me. But I had to be strong to get through this. I was safe in the house. I had watched Jonah lock the doors.

I lay in bed for a few minutes, my heart beating in my ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It grew louder.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

 

“I could feel his heartbeat,” Gina said. “I could feel his heartbeat thumping as he held me.”

“And how did that make you feel?” I asked.

“Warm, at first. Secure in someone’s arms.”

“What else do you remember?”

“I remember the…hardness in his lap. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t want to be rude and ask. I didn’t want to anger him because I needed the closeness, and I didn’t want it to go away.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Is it true that some victims of childhood abuse don’t remember the abuse?”

“In some cases.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I think they are the lucky ones.”

I could not fault her observation, but I did have a response. “Whether you think so now or not, Gina, it is better that you remember. Blocking out painful memories comes with its own problems.”

“What kind of problems? It seems to me that ignorance would be bliss.”

“That’s the problem. Ignorance is not bliss. Perhaps a victim doesn’t consciously remember these things, but they are still inside, and they can manifest a thousand different ways, sometimes as personality disorders, sometimes other mental illnesses. Sometimes the victim goes on to abuse another. In the worst cases, the victim might take his own life.”

She shook her head. “I can’t imagine that. I would never do such a thing. He’s not worth dying for.”

“I know you won’t, and I’m very glad of that. But believe me, it’s better that you remember. Even if it’s painful. Then you can get through it. People have gotten through worse.”

“I can’t imagine that anyone ever had any worse,” she said.

“They have, but that’s not what you need to focus on. You need to focus on you. Your life. You’re here now, getting the help you need. It’s a rocky road, I know. But I’m here with you every step of the way.”

“I have trouble sleeping. For a long time, I didn’t. For a long time, I tried to just convince myself I was okay. Sometimes I was successful, others not as much. But now… It all seems so real, and I can’t escape it at night.”

“I can prescribe medication to help you sleep. Everything is easier to deal with when you’re well rested.”

“I…don’t like the idea of medication.”

“Sleep aids on the market today are nonaddictive,” I assured her. “Think of your inability to sleep as a symptom that needs to be relieved. If you have a headache, you take aspirin or ibuprofen, right?”

She nodded.

“So why not take something to relieve the symptom of insomnia?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “I don’t want to be scared. I don’t need to be scared anymore. My uncle’s dead.”

“I’m sure that’s a comfort to you. How did he die?”

“I don’t know. My parents just told me he was dead.”

“They didn’t tell you how? Was he ill? In an accident?”

“They just said he was dead.”

“Gina, would it be okay if I talked to your parents?”

“Why would you do that?” She visibly tensed.

“I certainly won’t, if you don’t want me to. But sometimes it helps me get a feel for the situation, to understand why this happened, why they allowed it to happen.”

“Because they didn’t care. They were never home. They left me with him.”

“Did you tell them?”

She shook her head. “Part of me wanted to. Part of me…”

“Did your uncle threaten you? Did he say he would hurt you if you told anyone?”

“No. He was already hurting me. He did say that this was a secret between us, that I was special to him, and that it was special to have a secret like ours.”

I nodded. She was a classic case. She longed for attention and affection, and when she couldn’t get it from the people she wanted it from, her parents, she took it from wherever she could. The attention from her uncle, though painful, was at least attention.

“So you didn’t tell your parents. Can you tell me why?”

“Like I said, part of me wanted to, but…part of me liked having a secret from them. Part of me… Oh my God, was this all my fault? Could I have stopped it if I had told them?”

I stood and walked over to her so she could feel my closeness. I gently touched her on the forearm. “No, no, never think that. None of this is your fault. But it was attention, even if it was unwanted attention. And I understand what you mean. You were a young child, and this was something that was yours.”

“Yes. That’s exactly it. Oh my God, was there a part of me that actually wanted it?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But not the sexual part. The close part. The being important to someone part.”

She swallowed visibly, nodding.

“At least he’s dead, and you’re safe now.”

“It’s funny. I know he’s dead, but I get phone calls sometimes. Someone calls and hangs up. On my caller ID, it just says ‘number not available.’”

My hackles rose. “Gina, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“I want you to ask your parents how your uncle died.”

“I don’t want to talk to my parents about this. They never really took me seriously.”

“I understand. But it’s important that we know what happened to your uncle.”

“Do you think there’s a possibility that he’s not dead?”

I shook my head, knowing full well I was lying. “I doubt that’s a possibility. But the more knowledge you have, the more you can be certain inside.”

“All right. I’ll ask them.”