9.4.11 | Post by Sandy
(This is not for those who cannot digest stories of child abuse)
“What are you doing?” she asks her voice wary, cautious and really frightened.
“ Shhh! Hush!” he continues to run his coarse fingers over her creamy skin.
She is scared. He suddenly looks bigger, more ominous than ever. She begins to shiver, the room dark, a chill running through her five-year old body, goose bumps spreading all over.
“I want to go.” She does not like what he is doing. He looks at her, realising she is getting petrified. He slows down, playing with her, tickling, until she lets off a squeal of laughter.
“It is a fun game.” He cups the sides of her face between his palms and looks into her earnest eyes. She does not understand and it does not seem like fun at all.
He lifts her frock and she pulls it down. There is no place to run. He has her standing on the dining table.
“Give me a kiss,” he demands. She kisses him on his pimples-ridden cheek, quickly withdrawing. He asks her if he can now kiss her back. She stares at him, her fingers sweaty, clamping them tight.
“I don’t like this game.” She protests. “I want my doll back.” The bald plastic doll sits atop a shelf too high for her to reach. She is afraid she will fall. She looks around for her brother. She can hear him play outside. The doors are all locked.
“You kissed me,” he says, “I have to pay you back.” He lifts her frock and pulls down her underwear. She is too frightened to say anything.
She watches him as he runs his fingers from her ankle to her knee, his one hand lifting her other ankle and placing it apart. The fingers push against the thighs, insisting she spreads her tiny legs. She is cold. She feels colder than she has ever felt. Where is Mommy? She is wondering, praying someone will stop this. She is too scared to and does not understand what is happening.
He brings his fingers to his mouth, takes a dab of spit and finds his way back between her legs. She lets out a scream quickly stifled by his lips on hers. Tears are streaming down her eyes. Mommy? Papa? I’m hurting…burning.
He lifts her up and places her on the floor where he has laid out a towel, his fingers probing, hurting. The place between her legs hurts and she cannot do anything, she is barely able to breathe. His tongue is inside her mouth and she is choking, a rancid taste permeating her.
“Please stop. I do not want to play…” she sobs. He is too excited now to hear her. All he can feel is the bulge that is eager to be let out, eager to push in and be appeased.
He holds her down with one hand, tiny wrists turning red and then blue as the blood stops circulating the palm. She closes her eyes…maybe it is a dream. Her eyes fly open when the pressure of his fingers is released from her. She sees something pink and fleshy and is unable to comprehend why it is so big. she has seen her brother bathe. He is small. Why is everything big? Why is he playing this game? Why is he playing when she does not like the game?
He brings her hands to touch him. He groans with the feel of those tiny hands on him. It makes him harder. She is sobbing, “Please, let me go. I don’t like this game. I hurt. It is paining me. Please…”
He hugs her and tells her, the game is just begun. She will enjoy it, soon.
The next few minutes she burns, hotter than the tears that flow down her eyes, the pain is extreme and her muffled screams remain thus, his hand clamped over her mouth. He is making noises that drown hers. She is afraid of him. She has never been in so much pain or terror.
It is over.
She cowers as he stands up. Her body coils into a ball, shivering, whimpering. He pulls her up to rise. Her legs give way and she is unable to move. He lifts her up and takes her to the bathroom. He bathes her, the water cold, humming a tune, blissful. She can barely breathe or stand. She sits quietly while he dries her and changes her clothes, carries her to bed and tucks her in.
“Now sleep.” He whispers, “This is our secret. Do not tell anyone.”
She stares at him, eyes blurring.
“I will tell Mommy.” She retorts back. He laughs.
“Nobody will believe you.”
The doll sat there on the shelf, eyes unblinking. The doll that stayed with her over twenty years, unblinking, bald, without clothes on, until she finally gave it away. The hairless doll knew her secret. She was the only one who she spoke to; little insensible monologues of guilt and pain…
As for telling anyone, he was right.
He was right. Nobody believed.
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