by L. L. Akers
“I think with the history of abuse in my family, my sisters and I should never again let such a gap grow between us. We’re stronger together than we are apart,” Olivia said quietly. “Even after we grew apart and suffered alone through the terror of our individual abuse and got through it, we still took too long to finally confide in each other, to actually just whisper the words to each other. And we haven’t said them out loud outside this room either. We’ve just survived. We come to these meetings and try to work through the program, but we still dance around the words as if they’re too taboo to say aloud.”
“Very good, Olivia,” Mr. Knight replied. “That’s what I mean by accountability. If you ladies want to avoid ever being in the same situation again, you need to lean on each other. Talk. Listen. Be more than sisters; be each other’s accountability. Help each other look for small signs that you may be opening yourself up to abuse again.”
Olivia lowered her eyes back to her shoes.
“Anyone else?” Mr. Knight asked.
“I’d like to share,” said Gabby.
“Go ahead, Gabby,” answered Mr. Knight.
“I agree with Olivia. I think we need to say it again, out loud. I feel like I’ve been afraid someone will hear and judge me... judge us. I don’t want to keep avoiding the hard words until they become distant memories and we forget why we’re really even here, what actually brought us here. We need to remind each other,” Gabby said quietly.
“Okay. That’s important stuff. Let’s just switch gears, then. We can get back on accountability after we go around the circle one time. Let’s reintroduce ourselves with our names and say aloud why we’re here,” Mr. Knight suggested. “And say it strong and firm, ladies—not weak. You are not a victim anymore... You are a survivor now.”
A moment passed of everyone looking at everyone else, not wanting to be the first to speak, or willing to speak—but worried about timing—being brave enough but interrupting someone else who spoke at the exact same time, only to lose their courage before the other finished and it was their turn.
The senior member of the group finally cleared her throat, giving an unspoken signal that she was going first.
“My name is Cindy. I was raped by my uncle, my mother’s brother, from the age of thirteen until fifteen. He told me I was worthless and my mother wouldn’t care because I’d given her so much trouble. He lied. I told my mom and she stopped the abuse. I am a survivor.”
“My name is Kim. I was physically abused—beaten and burned with cigarettes—by my drunken father. My clothes hide my scars, but they’re still there, inside and out. He threatened to beat my mother and burn my baby brother if I told. I told my teacher anyway and she made him go away—to jail. I am a survivor.”
“My name is Olivia. I was physically and mentally abused by my ex-husband. I tried to leave him several times but always went back. He threatened to kill me by putting me into a concrete box if I left him again. I left him anyway and divorced him two years ago. I am a survivor.”
“My name is Gabby. I was raped, then mentally and sexually abused by my boss who was twice my age. He threatened me first with my job and my husband and then my life. If I told or stopped letting him have me, he said he would just take me and keep me in a wooden box in his cabin in the woods. I couldn’t get over my fear and shame and tried to kill myself. I lived, and told my husband everything. My husband stopped it, and he told the company president and my boss’ wife... two years ago. My abuser lost his job, his wife, and his kids, but I am a survivor.”
“My name is Emma, and I was sexually abused by my mother’s boyfriend when I was a little girl. I traded my childhood for freedom to get away from that little girl, but I still wasn’t free. He haunted my every waking and sleeping moment. I tried to drown my secret in alcohol before finally confronting him. I told him I was going to expose him to his new wife who had brought her three young girls into their marriage. I couldn’t live with the thought of those kids going through what I had. He threatened to put me in a coffin and bury me in Texas if I told, but I did anyway. I saved his new stepdaughters from the same abuse. I am a survivor.”
“My name is...”
Listening just outside the door, their mother crumbled quietly to the floor, holding her hands over her ears. She didn’t need to hear anymore. Her heart was shattering, and her world was crumbling around her. Why? Why didn’t they come to ME?
The girls had grown apart for a few years... distanced themselves. They all had separate lives. When Gabby and Olivia started coming back around after Gabby’s near suicide two years ago, regularly visiting both her and Emma and eating dinner as a family again, she heard their whispers to each other when they thought she was busy cooking—thought she was out of earshot, and the fact that they changed topics when she walked into the room wasn’t missed either. She’d been so glad to have her girls back together, close to her and each other, that she let them have their secrets. They seemed to be handling it fine on their own.
Then she felt there was something her girls weren’t telling her. Olivia and Gabby starting picking Emma up every other Thursday evening for girls’ night out. But she wasn’t invited. Emma swiftly sobered up, so she figured out there was more to it than what she was being led to believe.
The thought then fixed itself in her mind that the twins must be going with Emma to AA meetings, which yeah... great! She’d support anything that helped Emma. But after the first year, this didn’t make sense anymore. Emma didn’t discuss the drinking with her, so she didn’t ask, but she could clearly see Emma had been sober too long to still need her sisters to hold her hand through an AA meeting. They had to be going somewhere else, and they hadn’t told her where. She’d felt left out—and she was too proud to ask.
Even though they were young adults now, she had to know their secret—where they went like clockwork every other week. They’d just left again when her boyfriend happened to bring a used-car home for her to look at. He’d been pushing her to buy one since her last attempt at a test drive that had resulted in a wreck when her illness incapacitated her a month ago. She’d gladly said she’d take it for a spin. She had thought it must be fate; the timing was too coincidental. She’d quickly run out to follow the girls before they got to the end of the road. They wouldn’t recognize the car; she’d never seen it herself before then.
Now she knew. My girls... sneaking off to go to group support? Weren’t we enough support for each other? Why didn’t I see? Why didn’t I speak up when I heard their whispers of fear and fists and boxes? Had she somehow given them the impression they couldn’t work it out together... that they needed to share with strangers?
This was a concept she was unfamiliar with. She’d never shared any of her injustices or hardships. She wasn’t raised that way. In her generation, these things were private and handled by yourself. Group support? That was always reserved for alcoholics and drug addicts. She’d never heard of support for anything else.
She’d been strong enough to finally stop her own abusers. They saw that. So why had they let it go so far as to be threatened with their lives?
She had to get away; she didn’t want them to see her. If they didn’t want to share with her, she didn’t want to be caught sneaking up on them and finding out on her own.
She ran down the hallway, slamming the bar with both hands to push open the heavy double doors, racing the tears threatening to seep out. She couldn’t let anyone see her cry. She was Mom—strong, ten feet tall and bulletproof, as her girls used to say about her. She’d just made it through a life-threatening illness, but she wasn’t feeling so bulletproof now. The shock of what she heard was making her physically sick. Everything made sense now. The psychologist had dug into her psyche for the last month trying to piece together why she’d mentally placed herself captive in a box through her delusions, and she had adamantly told him she didn’t know where that came from... but she did know.
As she leaned against the car, she realized she knew more
than she’d let herself believe. Maybe she had downplayed it to her girls and didn’t give them the support they needed to stop it sooner because she didn’t know how. No one had ever done that for her. Who would she have learned it from? But they were still young—young enough to be abused again. She couldn’t walk away this time.
She turned back to the school and feverishly hurried in, hesitating outside the door to listen for a break in turns. She didn’t want to interrupt anyone who found the courage to say those words out loud. She could wait a few more minutes; she had waited this long...
Mr. Knight thanked Kate for sharing, then looked at the next lady in the circle when the door unexpectedly opened, drawing the immediate attention of everyone in the group.
It was more than a loud interruption; it was a tear to their safety net, a crack for their secrets to float out and away to the world. It caught everyone by surprise, making them feel exposed. That door shouldn’t open during group. It was upsetting to everyone, especially Olivia, Gabby, and Emma. They were thunderstruck to see their mom standing in the doorway, breathing heavy with her tear-soaked face, looking straight at them.
Mr. Knight, always unflustered and composed regardless of the situation, calmly said, “Ma’am, please shut the door.”
She did as he asked, stepping a few feet into the room to stand directly in front of their circle, staring at her girls, still breathing hard and eyes glossy, tears threatening to overflow. Her hands kneaded each other as if she didn’t know what to do with them or where to put them—nervous and upset.
Mr. Knight smiled a hello meant to reassure her. He was seasoned and at a glance could spot all the signs of someone who needed support.
“May we help you, ma’am?” he asked, immediately seeming to know she hadn’t just wandered into the wrong place; that she was exactly where she needed to be.
“Yes, sir. I’d like to share,” she answered hesitantly, without taking her eyes off her girls.
“Okay. Come on over and have a seat. We always welcome new members,” he replied pleasantly while looking around for an empty chair he could bring into the circle.
Before he could get up, she shook her head.
“No thank you, sir. I think I need to stand for this.”
She took a deep breath. Everyone was looking at her, the only one standing—alone. She felt alone... silly, for thinking she could just barge in to this group and be acknowledged and accepted.
Time seemed to stop as she looked at each of her girls, one at a time, holding their gaze for just a moment... really seeing them this time. The girls each met her gaze with trepidation, and she could see they were afraid, not knowing what she would say to these people—their support. There was raw emotion showing all over their faces.
She took a big breath, and let it out slowly. “I was abused more than half my life. I cycled through abuse as if it were a normal thing—something I’d come to expect and just live with—until I realized I didn’t want my kids to see that anymore.
“I stopped it myself. But they saw too much. The cycle continued through them. I came uninvited to this group tonight. I’ll admit... I followed my girls. Then I snuck up on y’all to see where my girls have been going,” she said, a touch of defiance staining the edges of her confession. She finally looked around the room at the other ladies and Mr. Knight.
“But those are my girls right there,” she said emotionally, pointing at her daughters, “and dammit, I belong here with them. I’m a survivor too,” she finished, waiting for her comeuppance, knowing sneaking and spying probably wouldn’t win her any fans here.
Mr. Knight nodded his head at their mother’s speech and snapped his fingers. Once, then again and again repeatedly in a slow rhythm, and the other ladies soon followed until the echoes of snapping fingers rang throughout the room—a melody of acceptance from the kindred souls to their mother’s ears. This was their version of quiet, respectful applause for a first-timer sharing.
Olivia, Gabby, and Emma were frozen to their chairs, still shocked and staring at their mother, but they added their applause too, snapping until their fingers were tired, tears spilling down their faces.
When the snapping applause died down and a hush settled over the room, their mother still stood alone in front of the group. Olivia, Gabby, and Emma abruptly stood up too. They met her halfway across the floor and without any words, threw themselves into a huddle—their circle complete—sobbing in relief and acceptance.
Emma was the first to speak. “Mom, we’re all glad to have you here. We would have asked you to come, but you never seemed to want to talk about it,” she said, her voice breaking. “We’ve just somehow come to misguidedly think you could handle your problems and we’d handle ours.”
Their mom sadly thought about what Emma said and realized it was true—had been true.
She nodded back at Emma to show her she agreed. Her voice was still tight over the lump in her throat. But it was time to talk—really talk. She was ready. She cleared her throat and swallowed loudly.
Their mom looked up from their emotional circle, tears still coursing rivers down her face. She smiled gratefully at the other people in the room, this community of kinship that had accepted her so quickly into their midst, no questions asked.
“Sir, I think I will take that chair now, please.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.L. Akers is originally from the Midwest where she grew up climbing trees, haystacks, and haylofts—escaping into other worlds with a good book. She enjoyed playing cow-pattie hopscotch and outrun-the-bull with her siblings. She now lives in the South, the silly wife of a serious man, and mother of: one very gifted and fetching male-tween, a chubby beagle that looks astonishingly like a mini-cow, a deranged terrier as well as five Koi fish, a herd of tiny but boastful lizards, and dozens of obnoxiously loud serenading frogs. After a career in human resources, she now pursues life as a recluse writer; hanging out at home in her PJ’s with her iPad, Burt’s Bees lip balm and her posse of creatures. Regardless of her self-isolation, she can still be lured outside for brief moments by the scent of freshly mowed grass and a bowl full of cherries.
Contact her at [email protected] or Twitter or FACEBOOK.
Thank you!
Thank you for reading Book one of The Let Me go Series. Did you like it? If so, please consider leaving an honest review at the mighty ‘Zon (or where you purchased the book) and on GoodReads to help new writers like me whose books are buried at the bottom of the pile, gathering dust and fading away until they see a little love from the readers!
A NEW SERIES!
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BOOK TWO:
Captured Again, Copyright © 2014 by L.L. Akers
Cover Art and Design 2013 by Liliana Sanches
http://princess-of-shadows.deviantart.com
Acknowledgments
A thousand thanks to my twin sister, for going first this time, showing me it could be done. My pride of your success is immeasurable. Thank you for encouraging me to try, even if I fail. But thanks most of all for always realizing our lives are not a competition or a race, but more a sharing of what we could do and who we could become... with imagination and perseverance.
A bazillion thanks to my grumpy-bear hubby, for making it possible for me to change careers and follow my dream, even though it meant working for almost-free, locking myself in my office—day-sleeping and night-working—always in my PJ’s. For all the “good mornings-good night
s” that crossed at 5:30 a.m. that you never complained about: thank you. I love you for that, as well as your infallible faith in me.
And since my son may stumble upon this book—when he is much older (as this is New Adult Genre!), thank you, and I love you, for being patient when it seemed like Mom was forever too busy ‘working.’
A special thank you to my two delightful nieces—who as kids—advised me with their heartfelt but very profound words. I have reminded myself of these words from the mouth of babes in times of stress: ‘Well, it’s not the end of the world, Aunt L.’ And ‘Aunt L., the world isn’t full of unicorns jumping over rainbows, pooping skittles!’
More Acknowledgements
To my Beta’s: Evelyn Shope, thank you for your extensive evaluation of my book and suggestions for a re-write of one crucial chapter... I took that advice! Tammy Crago, thank you for getting through the book while on your vacation with a house full of kids. Your uplifting words of encouragement are treasured, and I’m sorry I brought you to tears (in a good way). Russ Knight, thank you for your time and help—and your faith in my book—as well as the impact your company has had with so many lives.
Cassie McCown, at Gathering Leaves Editing, I’m glad you liked my story and it made you cry (again, in a good way!). You did a great job copy-editing. If there are any mistakes in this book, they’re all mine! I kept writing, tweaking and editing even after I’d said for the hundredth time... it’s done!
Liliana Sanches, at Princess of Shadows... Wow. That’s all I can say about your unbelievable talent. You really understood the underlying elements of the story and created the perfect image to mirror it. I’ve had so many comments on the beautiful cover design. Thank you!