***Trigger Warning: Physical and mental abuse are portrayed in this article. Please proceed with caution.***

The entire world is made of darkness—my entire world. I’m the only one here.

But sometimes, a light flashes, and I’m pulled somewhere else. Someone is always with me. It’s the same person every time, speaking those scary words: you’ll be a good girl, won’t you? You’ll say nothing to nobody; it’s our little secret. Bend over.

I do as he says. He promises it’ll hurt more if I struggle.

“Nobody’s going to love you like I do,” he says as he presses his hands over my throat to keep me quiet. “Life without me would be worse.”

I have to take it and pretend it doesn’t hurt. Pretend it’s someone else getting hurt. Sometimes I shut my eyes and float away. It helps only a little. I wonder who I am.

The darkness welcomes me time and time again. It’s lonely staring off into nothing, but no one can hurt me here. I’m so alone. Sometimes I wish I had a friend.

One day comes with a flash of white light, and I’m sitting opposite someone new in a different place. She’s on a chair. I’m on a sofa. She speaks softly. I tell her I don’t know who I am. I want a friend. I want the pain to go away. She said she’ll help me. She asks for my name. I can’t answer.

 She asks me one day where I go when I’m not talking with her.

“I go home, I guess,” I said.

She prods. “But where is home?”

“It’s in the darkness. That’s…that’s where I’m safe from him.”

She tells me I have more friends than I know. I tell her she’s lying.

“Reach out in the darkness and let me know what you find. Then, you can let me know the next time we talk.”

I know I won’t see her again.

Another flash of white. Be a good girl. A flash into darkness. I fumble to wipe the tears from my face, ignoring the aches of my body. I don’t want to reach out. I’m scared.

A flash of white. Good girl.

Flash of dark, of light, of dark.

I stumble forward, reaching. A hand pushes me back. A low, male voice warns, “Don’t say anything. Keep it to yourself. You better keep it to yourself.”

Instinctively my mind whispers, brother.

But he isn’t kind like brothers should be.

Someone cries in the dark. I can’t see where it’s coming from. She sounds hurt, pained, afraid. I’m scared to reach out. What if Brother is nearby?

A flash of white. There’s a bloodied baby in my arms, doctors surrounding me, a man at my side I’ve never met before. My body hurts all over. He tells me how proud he is of me. Kisses my forehead, then the baby’s forehead. My baby.

I play along. I can’t tell anyone I’m too small to take care of a baby. What would they think of me?

A flash of white, and I’m sitting across another woman. She looks almost like me, but a lot older. When will I get to grow up? She introduces herself as a doctor. She asks me my name. I still can’t answer.

“What would you like to be called?”

Tears choke me. Good girl. I don’t want to be a good girl.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Another doctor introduces herself. She looks cool with short hair and tattoos, and I tell her so. She grins, thanks me, and asks why I repeated myself. I said I didn’t. She asks me my name. I cry so much she stops asking me.

Be a good girl. You’re my girl now, understand?

I want to fight back, but I’m too small. I don’t want to be good. I don’t know him. I want him to go away.

Something brushes the edge of my thoughts: Come back. Come back, then.

A hand latches onto my own from the darkness and pulls me into warm safety.

A girl with pink locks, much older than me. Instinctively my mind whispers, sister. This is my sister.

“Oh, Little One, I’ve been looking for you,” she whispered into my hair, and my heart breaks.

Little One. My name.

“Come with me. You won’t be alone anymore.”

Brother is there at the edge of a run-down house, plopped into the center of the darkness. The house isn’t pretty. The windows are broken, and the paint is coming off. Brother’s much taller and bigger than I remember. He pats me on the shoulder but doesn’t offer words. He turns and walks up the porch steps, looking out over us. Sister brings me to four others huddled by a campfire at the back. It’s brighter here than out there in the world.

“Kit isn’t here right now, and it’s her turn.” Sister said, “She has to take care of the baby.”

“Is it my baby?” I said.

“It’s our baby. Everyone’s baby. She’ll be your best friend when she’s older.” She guides me in between a boy with sandy hair and freckles and a teen girl with blue hair. My mind whispers, Johnny. Layla.

“We’ll protect you, Little One. No one will hurt you ever again.”

I get to see the doctor again, and I’m so excited to share the news with her, Little One. I finally have a name. She smiles and asks if I want to draw in her coloring books while playing a game. I say yes.

One day Sister disappears. Layla tells me Johnny and Sister chose to be together. So together, their name is now Jordan, and they’re much happier that way.

“Will I do the same thing?”

She shrugged. “Only if you want to.”

I don’t want to.

“I heard we’re getting a divorce.” She lights a cigarette. “About damn time we get out of that mess.”

I don’t know what that means.

“It means,” Layla taps, “No one’s going to hurt us anymore.”

For the first time, she smiles, and her eyes light up. “And we get to keep our darling baby.”

I tell the doctor we’re having a divorce and that everyone’s happy.

“That’s good to hear, Little One. You all have made amazing progress since we met.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, my legs swinging to move the swirly chair.

“Are you happy about it?”

“Huh?” I stop swinging.

“That means you won’t see Adam again.” I blink. She takes out a picture from the folder on her desk. A jolt of terror runs through my body. “He is the reason Layla filed for divorce.”

My hands shake. “You know Layla?”

“I’ve met quite a few of you,” she said quietly, flipping the picture over on her desk, tapping it. “You don’t like this man?”

I frown and nod rapidly. “He hurts me. Like Daddy does.”

Something gleamed behind her eyes — sadness. Pity, almost.

“Well, he won’t be coming near you anytime soon.” She says firmly. “Neither of them, I can promise you.”
 
It’s months later when Brother tells me. “He’s been dead for a while. Dear old Dad had a heart attack.”

I cry. He hugs me. “What is it, Little One?”

“He doesn’t feel dead. Why doesn’t he feel dead?”

“That’s what Doctor Jacobson is for.” He pulls back. He’s still extremely tall, but he’s not scary anymore. “She’s helping all of us get to the feeling that he is. He’s never going to hurt you again, Little One.”

Light is no longer painful—no more good girl times. I get to play with our daughter. She says she loves me like she loves everyone else in our family. She’s my favorite in the whole world.

Photo from Free-Photos via Pixabay.