Twisted in You

by Fabiola Francisco

  “In a way, I felt sorry for her. She had this idea in her head of how it should be, but every time he got drunk she couldn’t deny that the dream she had chipped away a little more. Eventually, he hit and raped her. And a small part of me was grateful for the nights he would fuck her because he wouldn’t touch me.” Her voice cracks and she pulls her lips between her lips trying to hold in her tears, but they escape. When her body trembles, I reach out to her, but stop halfway, before I touch her.

  “I felt so guilty for thinking that, but she married him. I shouldn’t be taking that shit from him when it wasn’t my choice.” Her voice rises a bit and she brushes her tears away furiously. “God, I’ve never said that aloud.”

  “It’s okay . . .” I whisper and bring her to me in a hug. I hold her tightly and don’t focus on her arms hanging limply by her sides. “It’s okay, Red,” I repeat into her hair.

  “When the drinking started to milk the bank account of every penny, my mom had to work, some nights working double shifts, to be able to keep a roof over our heads. I wanted her to kick the bastard out, but that didn’t fit the perfect image of the American home. That’s why that first day you got to Chasing Freedom and you spoke to me with alcohol-laced breath, I wanted to die all over again.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me. It set me off because of what I was used to. You didn’t know. Not that you were pleasant.”

  We stay like that for a while, me holding her, her breathing shaky and raw. I sigh in relief that Mikayla told me what she did. Over and over again I tell myself that I can’t imagine what she lived through. Although I have lived some shitty stuff, I never went through what she did.

  “I think I’ve forgiven her.” Her voice is hoarse. I look down at her, noticing faint freckles across her nose that I’ve never seen before.

  “That’s good.”

  “It is. I still resent her sometimes, but she’s dead and I can’t hold on to that anymore. It is what it is.” She sits taller, breaking the hug, but still leaning into me. When she places her head on my shoulder, I sigh in contentment.

  All I can think about as I lean into Tyler is how calming it feels. Right when I needed him, he had wrapped his arms around me. I wasn’t expecting to say as much as I did when he first asked about my mom. I can’t believe I admitted I was glad when she’d get my step-dad’s attention. Talk about something bypassing my brain and spitting out of my mouth.

  My breathing evens out, but I don’t move. Tyler’s scent envelops me, and I melt into him. Lately, I seek his comfort more often. Whether it’s seeing him or sitting in silence in the same room, I feel better when he’s around. I’m still working on myself, but what I feel towards him is something I’ve never felt before. I don’t know how to grasp what exactly it is because it’s so new, but his presence is something I want to grasp tightly.

  I realized the intensity of it when I acknowledged that I trust him wholeheartedly. I haven’t fully trusted anyone before him and Sam, and I don’t feel about Sam the way I feel about him, which tells me these feelings are more than friendship. However, I’m not ready to be that person to him. I need stability and confidence that I am going to be okay, before I can even think about being someone else’s security. He is my yang, though. The light that shines in the midst of all the bad that exists.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be. Ever. I’m glad you told me. Thank you.” I sit up and blink up at him. My fingers graze his cheek softly, as if feeling him for the first time. Tyler closes his eyes and leans into my touch, sighing softly.

  After a few seconds, I pull my hand away and look towards the plates on the coffee table. I grab them and take them into the kitchen without another word, heading outside to paint.

  “Hey, Red, are you almost done?” The afternoon has gusted by and I look up at Tyler. The sky is tinted in reds and oranges as the sun lights it on fire on its descend.

  I scrunch my nose, but keep on brushing the canvas. “Yeah, why?”

  He gets closer now, looking at the painting. “That’s good. Do you want to grab dinner? I need to get out of this house for a bit. It’s starting to feel like Chasing Freedom.” I know he’s joking, but he’s also right. When I don’t have a reason to leave the house, I stay locked up in here. Being a functioning member of society means living outside of these four walls and work.

  “Sure. Let me finish this and clean up.”

  Tyler laughs and runs a finger down my jaw. “Good idea.” He holds up his finger to show the paint I had on my face. I shrug and focus back at the painting.

  Once I’m done for the day, I take everything back inside and get ready for dinner.

  We walk into a burger joint smelling of perfectly grilled meat and fries. My stomach growls as I inhale the scents. We each order a soda, and the waiter, who Tyler knows, looks at him with confusion.

  “I’m glad we took a car and not your motorcycle.”

  “Why?” Tyler asks, amused.

  “Not sure that thing is safe. I don’t know how you drive longer distances on it.”

  “It’s perfectly safe. One day I’ll take you on it. We’ll do a short drive, so you can get used to it.” I’m shaking my head quickly before he even finishes that sentence. His chuckle bounces off the walls, but this is no joking matter.

  “Relax, I’ll go slow.” He leans forward and puts his elbows on the table. His smile comes in slow and lazily. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll ride down the street.”

  “Not happening.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  Tyler teases me some more about my fear of getting on a motorcycle. I don’t see how they’re safe.

  Eating out of the house is a welcomed experience, compared to hiding behind the for walls of Tyler’s home. Well, not that I’m hiding, but I don’t know anything around here or anyone except Tyler. I guess I do need a friend. Once Tyler leaves on tour, I’ll be in the house alone for a few months. I shake my head to stop that thought. Right now. Focus on right now.

  Sam had invited me to try the kickboxing class she goes to a few days ago. Tyler took it personally, since he had been helping me with self-defense, but he’s busy and going to a class is a good way of meeting people. My body hurts, and I know I’ll be sore in the morning, but it was worth it. It was women only, which eased my nerves, and they were friendly. It’s obvious Sam has been doing this for some time.

  Before leaving, I purchased a ten-class package that was on special. It feels good to have financial independence. Not that I’m making much, but it’s enough for me at the moment, considering I don’t have any real bills. Eventually, I will find a higher paying job so I can afford a place on my own.

  “I’m glad you like the class,” Sam says when we stop to grab a quick bite to eat.

  “Yeah, thanks for mentioning it.”

  “I started when I first moved here. It’s a great form of therapy.”

  Little by little, I have gotten bits of Sam’s story, but it’s all still so vague. My curiosity is deep, but I don’t dare ask her. All I know is that her mom was abused by her father, like me, and she killed herself. That detail, and Max—her happy middle—is all I know.

  “Did you like living in Amsterdam?”

  “I did while I was there. Sometimes I miss it because it’s such a beautiful city, and I took it for granted more than I wish I had.”

  “Have you gone back since you moved?”

  “No, I have been busy with school and work. Besides, there’s nothing left there for me to see.”

  “I still admire you for living abroad.”

  “I had no choice,” she says grimly.

  Before I can say anything else, she smiles and says, “Not today.” I nod, respecting her privacy, and finish my dinner.

  I thank Sam for the hundredth time when she drops me off at home, and we plan to meet for our weekly session in two days.

  A warm shower is exac
tly what I need to ease my muscles and calm me. I am bustling after the workout.

  “How was the class?” I jump back and tense when I come down after my shower. “Sorry, I thought you saw me here.”

  “You scared the shit out of me.” I place my hand on my chest and sit across from Tyler on the living room floor, noticing a notebook in front of him. “The class was good. Empowering. I know you were upset, but I need this for me. You can still help me learn some tricks, but it was good to be in a room of women all working on techniques for self-defense.”

  “I know. It wasn’t my place to get mad.” He lifts his shoulders and writes something in the notebook.

  I leave it at that and watch him for a few minutes as he does his thing. His album releases soon, which means I need to expose my paintings somewhere. Tyler made me sign all the ones I have already completed, including the one he hung in his office.

  So that I wouldn’t back down, Tyler contacted a local gallery and asked if they would display my paintings on consignment. Of course, they said yes, so in two week’s time we will be taking my artwork over to them.

  I have not dared ask him when he leaves for his tour, but I know it is only a matter of time before it happens. The thought crosses my mind daily. As much as I try not to, it creeps back up, causing me to get anxious. I can stay with Sam so I won’t be alone, but it’s not about being alone. It’s about being away from Tyler.

  I head up to my room, hoping a night’s sleep will clear my mind.

  I watch as Sam talks and talks about some kind of therapy. Her lips are moving, but the sound is mute to my ears.

  “Mikayla?”

  “Yeah?” I open my eyes wide.

  “Were you listening?”

  “No,” I confess and shake my head. “Sorry.”

  “Okay.” She puts her hands on her lap and looks closely at me. “Tell me.”

  I spit out my words on an exhale. “I told Tyler something recently that I had never said aloud. He asked me about my mom, so we got to talking about her, or I did. I confessed that I was grateful the nights he would take her instead of me, because that meant I would be safe from his touch. God, I’m a horrible person.” Moisture runs down my face, but I brush it away fast enough so it doesn’t leave a trail of evidence.

  “You are not,” Sam says softly. “That is a normal reaction for anyone in a similar situation. It’s defensive.”

  “I . . . It’s not that I wanted her to die or get harmed. I was so tired of fighting a losing battle.”

  “I know, Mikayla. No one thinks you wanted her to die.”

  “There’s something else . . .” I look away and suck in my tears. Ever since I confessed that to Tyler, something else has become more present in my mind. More than it already had been, eating at me little by little. I’ve resisted the temptation to shut off the thoughts with a blade, but I am not sure how much longer I’ll hold off for if I don’t tell Sam.

  I open my mouth, but my throat closes, not daring to release my admission.

  “Take your time,” Sam says when she notices the trouble I’m having. I nod and close my eyes. I shiver in disgust and recoil.

  “I . . . I had . . . Can I write it?”

  “I would prefer if you spoke it, since it will help open your channel of expression. If you truly cannot, then you can write it.”

  I nod again. I think telling her this will help. From what I read online, it’s normal, but that doesn’t help me feel better about it.

  “I had an orgasm,” I say hastily, almost a whisper. The tears stream down my face and my body twists. I wrap my arms around my middle, rocking back and forth.

  My throat is raw. I rub the top of my hand across my nose. I take the tissue Sam hands me a tissue. I lean forward, my chest almost touching the top of my thighs and feel the guilt and revulsion consume me.

  “Mikayla,” Sam says gently and places a hand on my back carefully. I snort and wipe my nose with the tissue. I finally look at her, avoiding her eyes.

  My breath comes in shakily.

  “I need you to listen very carefully. Biologically, our bodies are created to feel. We have receptors that send signals to the brain, whether it’s pain, tickles, or pleasure. We are wired that way. Unfortunately, that doesn’t shut off because the experience is unwanted. Sometimes, our body is separate from our emotions. It’s not that it betrays us, but it’s physical. Our body responds to touch.”

  I look at her, feeling helpless. How can my body have reacted that way when I was petrified and angry and resistant?

  “You cannot beat yourself up over this. If you research it, you will find this is common amongst people who are sexually abused. The guilt will not let you move forward. Forgive yourself for something that was out of your control,” Sam continues.

  For years, I felt disgusted with myself for having felt any type of pleasure. I hated it. I tried so hard to turn it off, but I couldn’t. I hate that my body reacted that way when I didn’t want it. The first time I had an orgasm was the first time I cut myself.

  Disgraceful.

  Dirty.

  Ashamed.

  Sam continues to speak, and I listen to about half of what she says. Before she leaves, she tells me to work on looking at myself in the mirror without seeing shame and forgiving myself.

  Days go by quickly. Tyler and my relationship is one that shifts between light banter and teasing to deeper moments that snap our emotions. The more I see him in his element, the more I am drawn to him. I don’t like that I’m unfamiliar with these sensations. I hate that I still can’t get past the abuse.

  I’m ready to.

  I’m so fucking ready.

  This time around, mirror work has been more successful. I am working on overcoming the guilt and shame. I am working on forming who I am as a person without the abuse identifying me.

  I owe Sam a lot. This is all with her help.

  Tyler leaves on tour in September. He already has all the details. His first concert is here in Nashville with a new band. I think they’re called Rebel Desire. Something like that. Apparently, they’re good. Tyler showed me a couple of their songs and they have a different sound than him. That could be good, but what do I know about the music industry?

  After living here for two months, I’m going to miss having him around. There’s a month and a half left before he leaves on tour, and I’m scared of what will happen when he does. For his good and mine.

  I sit on the sofa in the dim lit room and stare at the scar on the inside of my left wrist. I run a finger down the skin. It’s more sensitive, even after all these months. The other scars from when I’d cut are gone, only a couple faint ones here and there.

  My head snaps up when the door opens and I see Tyler walk in. When he sees me on the couch, he bounces back a bit.

  I scrunch my eyebrows. “You okay?”

  “Yup, you scared me.” He walks up the stairs without another word and disappears into the hallway leading to the rooms.

  When he walks back down a few minutes later, he’s changed. The expression on his face is somber. I watch him pace across the living room and then grab his hair with his hands, tugging at the roots.

  “Red . . .” His voice is harsh.

  I begin to breathe faster and stare at him, worried. “Yeah?” I ask carefully.

  “Something happened.” I sit up straighter, giving him my full attention.

  “What?”

  “I had a drink . . .” His sad eyes look up at me, but I’m frozen. “Are you going to say anything?”

  “Why?” I squeak.

  “We were celebrating the tour, me being out of Chasing Freedom, with the band. Joe brought out a small bottle of tequila. At first I said no, but I watched as they drank a few shots and they kept shoving it in my face. I caved.”

  “You celebrated being out of rehab by drinking?”

  “It was one shot. Half a shot. Fuck.” He pulls his hair tighter. “Tell me it’s going to be okay.”

  I shake my head. Th
is is too much. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t be there to make sure you know everything will be okay every time you fuck up.”

  “I didn’t fuck up!”

  “Don’t yell at me, Tyler.”

  “Mikayla,” he pleads. “I didn’t fuck up,” he says weakly.

  I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say or think. Just like that, he fell backwards.

  “It was one drink. I was able to control that. I didn’t need another. I’m in control.” He’s rationalizing with himself. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to be in his situation, but he could be stronger than that.

  “You’re an idiot.” I stand.

  “What?”

  “If you think you’re in control because you had one shot and didn’t want another one or get drunk, you’re a damn fool!” I begin pacing, my breathing is fast and hard. I crouch and place my head between my legs, trying to catch my breath.

  “I’m not a fool,” he fights back.

  I can’t take this. I’m not strong enough to handle this.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “What? Where? Hell you are.”

  I walk past him, but he grabs my arm. I look at our connection and slowly move my eyes up to meet his. “Let go,” I say slowly, punctuating each word.

  Tyler releases my arm and drops to his knees.

  “I’m sorry,” he begs. “I wanted you to know. I didn’t have to tell you, but I wanted to. I’m sorry, Red. Don’t go.” His voice cracks and I look away.

  “I can’t be here to fix your problems.” I grab the keys off the table and my purse and leave.

  What happened? I stare up at the ceiling, lying on my back where I was kneeling when Mikayla left.

  Left. She left.

  Will she be back? Where did she go? How long have I been lying here for?

  I drank.

  I close my eyes. I’m a worthless piece of shit. If I can’t resist one sip of liquor, how can I expect to deserve someone like Red? Fuck, I punch the floor next to me.