I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t in a position to talk about what was happening without proof, or a safety net. My mother would be ruined if I told my aunt what was going on. I didn’t want to be responsible for my mother losing her house. If she wanted to leave him, that was one thing, but forcing her to leave her comfortable life behind was something I couldn’t do, no matter how much I wanted to escape.
My aunt leaned over the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Is he...does he...does he hurt you?” she asked cautiously.
The room shook when I heard the question. I started to panic wondering if I said too much. Had she picked up on the breadcrumb trail? I swore to myself and wished that I hadn’t said anything about the dance.
“No. He’s just overbearing and overprotective,” I lied as best I could. I had told myself that lie so many times that it almost sounded natural.
She sighed and put her hands on the counter. “If he is hurting you, I want you to know that you can tell me.” Her arms were locked as if she was bracing herself. She fully expected me to tell her that something was very wrong with Phil.
I tried to smile, but ended up somewhere between a grin and a pout. “I know that I can talk to you if there is something wrong. I appreciate it,” I said diplomatically.
She stood up and crossed her arms. “I remember taking you to the library and sitting on the floor with you as I tried to get you to read my favorite books. Sadly, you had no interest, but I liked spending time with you. I hope you know how important you are to me,” she said sincerely.
I thought about all the times she had taken me to the park to play or taken me to the movies. I wished that I didn’t have to keep my perfectly constructed walls between us, but it had become a survival instinct to keep everyone out.
Tears threatened to overwhelm me, so I quickly stood up and headed for the bathroom. “You’re important to me too,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking.
When I got home late Saturday afternoon, I was wearing my new sneakers that Sarah had bought me and I was feeling almost normal—until I came out of the bathroom and found my purple sleepover backpack in Phil’s hand. He was opening the front door and tossing it on to the front porch.
“What are you doing?” I asked, confused by this new game.
“Well, you didn’t bother to call home the entire time you were gone, so I figured that you didn’t want to live here anymore,” he said snidely.
My throat closed up when I saw his patented pout. He was pissed but pretended as if he was indifferent. He used this tactic when he wanted to punish me mentally. He would make it impossible for there to be peace in the house when he was annoyed by something. He acted cold and distant, as if his feelings were hurt, but really, he wanted me to apologize for some imagined slight. He enjoyed the power he had over me and would use it to get something he wanted. The game made me sick. I wanted nothing more than to take my bag and leave, never to return, but that wasn’t how the game was played.
“What are you talking about? I was with my aunt. We watched TV and shopped at the mall. I was only gone for one night,” I said, throwing up my hands. I acted dumb to see how far this would go.
“I didn’t know where you were. You didn’t call home and tell us where you were. You could have been dead for all I know,” he shrugged as if he had been up worrying all night about my safety.
I wanted to shout at him and tell him to relax since the cops weren’t knocking on our door, but apparently, that wasn’t proof enough that I hadn’t exposed his secret. This was a power move to remind me what would happen if I did tell and I wasn’t in the mood for it.
“Us? Mom knew where I was,” I said, crossing my arms, annoyed that he was bringing my mother into this.
“No, she didn’t. She had no idea if you were sneaking out of your aunt’s house or if she had taken you somewhere you weren’t allowed to go. You could have been in a car accident for all we knew,” he babbled irrationally.
This was the real reason for the fight. He was afraid that I was using my aunt to take me to see my new boyfriend. I wanted roll my eyes at his weird obsession with me, but I remembered all too well the bruises on my sides from the last time he was angry with me.
I took a deep breath. “I’m informing you that I’m going to my room to unpack. Is that sufficient warning as to my planned whereabouts for the next ten minutes?” I asked, tired of his drama. I moved toward the staircase, but he stepped in my way.
“No, you are leaving. You live in this house because I allow it. If you don’t follow the rules, then you won’t live here anymore,” he retorted.
I wanted to punch him in the face, but knew it would only make things worse.
“So what am I supposed to do? I should just go live in the streets?” I asked, trying to figure out what he wanted from me.
“I don’t care. You don’t respect my house or my rules, so you can go live wherever you want. I can drop you off at the bus station and you can pick a location,” he shrugged.
Tapping my fingers against my jeans, I waited for him to move. When he refused to budge, I called his bluff.
“Fine. You can drop me off at the bus station,” I replied indifferently.
“Fine,” he replied.
I was walking out the door as my mother came down the stairs. “What is all the yelling about?” she asked, though she didn’t seem like she cared. She had gone to lay down after she picked me up from Sarah’s because she had a headache.
“He’s taking me to the bus station so that I can live in the streets because I didn’t call home during my visit with Aunt Sarah,” I stated.
My mother put her hand on her face, shocked by this new development. “What are you talking about?” she yelled. She looked at me and then to Phil.
“She can’t stay here if she doesn’t obey the rules,” he huffed.
She put her hand on her hip and glared at him. “What rules did she break? She was with my sister. I knew where she was,” she yelled, her anger starting to come out.
He ushered me toward the door, ignoring my mother’s protests.
I obliged him by grabbing my bag and heading down the front steps. I wondered how this was going to end, but I had a backup plan just in case. If he did take me to the bus station, I would walk to the police station, which was only a few blocks away. If Phil planned to screw with me, I would bring his world crashing down, though I doubted that he would go that far.
“Where are you going?” my mother yelled from the stoop.
He refused to look at her as he blocked my view of her. I headed for the car and reached for the handle. There was some objective to all of this, but I couldn’t see the point of making me get in the car.
Running toward the car, my mom stopped short when Phil backed out of the driveway before I even had my seatbelt on. I doubted that we were going to the bus station, but I was concerned about what he really wanted. Being in the car with him was another power play he enjoyed. I was trapped and had to listen to whatever lecture or rant he decided to torture me with.
I watched my mother running down the street as Phil zoomed down our 25 mile an hour street doing at least 50.
“What do you want?” I asked, annoyed that he was being such a child about a sleepover.
“What did you say to your aunt?” he sneered.
“Absolutely nothing,” I said honestly.
“I don’t believe you,” he yelled. The car tires screeched as he took a turn too hard.
I quickly pulled my seat belt on, afraid that this was going to be a bumpy ride.
“Do you see any blue and red sirens in front of the house? No. Though, if you keep driving like someone who has just abducted a minor, someone will pull you over and I will tell them that you are kidnapping me. I’m sure my mother’s testimony will convince a judge. How many years is kidnapping and endangering a minor? It has to be worse than the charges that you’re really afraid of,” I smirked.
My shoulder slammed into the door when he too
k another wild turn. I grunted and winced, but refused to tell him to slow down.
“Do you think this is a game? Do you have any idea what will happen to you if they find out about the things you do to me? They will believe that you wanted to do all of them. Your friends will never look at you again. Your family will shun you. Can you imagine your mother’s face when I tell her how you seduced me?” he laughed cruelly.
All I wanted to do was scream and punch him until my knuckles bled. I knew he wasn’t bluffing. He would tell the world that I came on to him. Without proof, I didn’t have any defense. This was his primary threat anytime things didn’t go his way. He knew he had me trapped.
“What do you want?” I asked as my eyes burned with unshed tears. I had no other way out other than to negotiate for whatever he wanted. I hated him and hated myself, but I didn’t have a choice.
“No more sleepovers. You won’t see your aunt again. I don’t want her taking you to see your boyfriend whenever you feel like it. You can lie all you want, but I know you are sleeping with someone else. No more dances. I don’t care what you say; you were dressed up for someone. No more movie nights at Megan’s, and your planned make out sessions,” he said, running through his prepared list.
The more he talked, the more my chest and throat tightened up. This was a squeeze play. Sadly, I hadn’t seen it coming and I wanted to kick myself. He’d had all Friday night and Saturday morning to devise this plan and create his terms. I wanted to fight back, but I had nothing. I had no way of defending myself.
“No afterschool activities...” he continued.
I held up my hands. “You can’t take that away. The guidance counselor is the one who suggested them for my college application. She’ll know something is wrong if I suddenly decided against joining the clubs she suggested,” I said, choking. I gasped for air, hoping that my argument was strong enough for a small bit of freedom.
“Fine, but you are going to a local college. No leaving the state. You will come home every Friday night and I will drive you back to school late Sunday night. You keep forgetting that you belong to me. I will continue to remind you of that until you start to believe it,” he said defiantly.
I lost control of my tears and began to sob. He had taken away everything, including my escape plan. The car felt like a tomb. Something inside of me died, knowing that I would never get away from him. When the back of my neck began to tingle, I knew something was very wrong. I lost control of my neck and my head fell back against the headrest. My face was numb and I couldn’t do anything but moan. When my jaw locked up and started to hurt, I freaked out.
“What’s the matter with you?” he growled. I couldn’t see him, but I felt the car sharply pull over. “What’s wrong?” Instead of sounding angry, he sound concerned.
I felt his hand on my forehead and my head was turned so that I could see him. I saw the panic on his face. He saw that I wasn’t faking and that I was having some kind of episode. My hands tightened up and I couldn’t stop gasping for air and moaning. No longer able to speak or control my actions, I cried and screamed. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I felt like I was dying.
“Okay, calm down. Just breathe. I’ll take you home if you stop this. You have to calm down. You can see Megan, but you still can’t have any boys over. I’m sorry for what I said, just breathe,” he said moving his hands around, trying to figure out what to do.
I tried to do what he said and breathe. I opened my hands and forced them to stay open. I gulped down air as I continued to cry. I was happy to have Megan back, but I was still freaking out about everything else. I couldn’t imagine living like this for the rest of my life.
“Please, you have to be all right,” he pleaded.
I wasn’t sure if we was more afraid of having to take me to the hospital when they might do a physical exam or afraid that the police would get involved if I was having a stroke.
As the minutes dragged on, I slowly got control over my breathing and neck. I was able to slow my sobbing until it was more of a hysterical laughter. My hands were shaking and I felt lightheaded, just as I had at the dance. I vaguely wondered if this a higher level of panic attack. Whatever it was, I never wanted to experience it again.
When I finally stopped shaking, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and sat forward.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes wide with fear.
“I think so,” I whispered, still hiccupping.
I put my head against the cool window. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. All I wanted to do was go home and go to bed.
“She’s going to call the cops,” I said, hoping to scare him enough to take me home.
Without a word, he started the car and turned around in the middle of the street. I didn’t know exactly where we were with my eyes closed, but it took less time for us get home than it did to drive around. He must have been circling the block, his favorite way of driving me mad. He would go in circles so that I was close enough to home that I could walk, but he would refuse to let me out of the car. His mind games were sick, but I smiled at the thought that I had won this round, not that I ever wanted to repeat this episode again. I did, however, take gleeful pleasure in seeing the terror on his face, knowing that he was forced to back down from his threats.
Pulling into the driveway, the curtains in the front room moved, and my mother came bolting down the steps. Phil was out of the car and intercepting her before she could see me. He looked like he was trying to calm her down. Her arms were flying in every direction and I could hear her yelling through the sealed window, though I couldn’t understand what she was saying.
I opened the door and practically fell out of the car.
“Oh my God!” she yelled when she saw me stumble out of the car. She darted around Phil and grabbed me before my knees gave out.
“She’s fine, she’s just upset. I explained the rules to her and she agreed to do a better job of respecting them,” he said innocently.
She put her hand against my forehead and looked into my eyes. “Let’s get you inside. It’s going to be okay.” She removed the bag from my hands and guided me back to the house.
Pushing me toward the stairs, she tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead. I felt as if I might throw up, but I happily put my head on my pillow.
“Thank you,” I whispered when I felt the cold sheets through my clothing.
“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” she said, brushing the hair off my forehead. She softly closed my door and stormed down the stairs.
The screaming lasted through most of the night until I heard my mother’s door slam at some point. I hoped that this was some kind of breaking point and she would finally acknowledge that Phil was a sociopath, but I didn’t get my hopes up. Whenever they had really bad fights, I would wait to hear the blessed words that we were moving out, yet somehow, Phil would manage to smooth things over long enough for my mother to calm down. I often wondered what would finally cause her to leave him, especially since my complaints about him weren’t enough to make her pack her bags.
Though I was in and out of sleep from sheer exhaustion, I thought about what Phil had said about going to a local college and coming home every weekend. I couldn’t help but cry into my pillow. I had won the battle, but lost the war, unless I came up with a way to stop him that didn’t involve compromising my health.
When I woke up in the middle of the night, I wrapped a blanket around me and went to my happy place in the woods. Frost was covering the ground and the log, and I could see my breath. I had to find a way out. I had to change my fate, but my brain wasn’t helping me. I couldn’t think of how to get through the tangle of lies and half-truths Phil had threatened me with. I needed proof that I was the victim, not the pursuer, which was the hardest part of the plan. The thought of defending myself against some sleazy lawyer while Phil sat with a smug smile on his face burned my insides. I needed the world to understand how depraved he really was. I need them to understand
that I was his prisoner and that I was the victim.
A sound like glass breaking pulled me from my desperate thoughts. I saw motion in the kitchen of Zack’s house. The kitchen light and one of the upstairs lights was on. It was around midnight, so it was conceivable that Zack’s father was still awake. When a woman screamed, I stood up wanting to help her. I locked my knees, angry that I couldn’t do anything to help. More glass broke and I heard another voice yelling. It was Zack. Whatever was going on, it sounded bad. I thought about calling the police, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Even if they arrested Zack’s father, he would be out on bail and most likely furious that someone had called the police. I remembered what Zack said about his mother believing that his father was allowed to take his stress out on them because he provided for them. It sounded like Mr. Anderson had a lot in common with Phil. They were both manipulative scumbags.
I sat back down and watched the house, wishing that I could help Zack. I waited until everything finally settled down a half an hour later when the lights turned off.
In the dark, I pondered my life. I was scared that I could have died today; either from my airways closing off or from Phil’s reckless driving. I was furious that my entire life was being planned for me without my consent. It was ridiculous that I couldn’t spend time with a boy that I liked without having to lie about it. I was shocked that Phil believed he had so much control over me that he could dictate where I went to school and whether or not I could see my aunt.
Sitting there on my log, I decided that I’d had enough. I need to stop waiting to be rescued by someone. It was time to stop hiding from my life and start fighting for what I wanted.
Chapter 13
I managed to get through the rest of the weekend with less personal drama than the beginning. My mother was still furious at Phil, but he did what he could to placate her. He didn’t exactly back down during their fights, but he was more reserved with his comments. He seemed rattled by my episode in the car. He left me alone for a few days because he was afraid that I would tell my mother about my terrifying episode.
We Were Ghosts--The Secret Life of a Survivor Page 13