“I had a wonderful mom, Sky. You would have loved her so much. Her name was Dawn and she loved my brother and me with everything she had. My brother, John, was ten years older than me, so we never had to experience the sibling rivalry growing up. My father passed away when I was nine, so John was like the father figure in my life rather than a sibling. He was my protector. He was such a good brother and she was such a good mother. Unfortunately, when I turned thirteen, the fact that John was like a father to me became his reality the day my mother died.
“John was only twenty-three and was fresh out of college at the time. I didn’t have any other family willing to take me in, so he did what he had to do. At first, things were okay. I missed my mother more than I should have and, to be honest, John was having a hard time dealing with everything laid out in front of him. He had just started his new job, fresh out of college, and things were tough for him. For both of us. By the time I turned fourteen, the stressors of his new job were really getting to him at this point. He began drinking and I began rebelling, staying out later than I should have on several occasions.
“One night when I came home, he was so angry with me. Our argument soon turned into a physical fight and he hit me several times. He had never physically hurt me before and it terrified me. I ran to my room and he came in several minutes later to apologize. His behavior the previous few months as a result of his alcohol abuse already had me scared of him. Now coupled with the fact that it had caused him to physically hurt me…I was terrified of him.”
Karen shifts in her seat and reaches down to sip from a glass of water. I watch her hand as she brings the glass to her mouth and her fingers are trembling.
“He tried to apologize but I refused to listen. My stubbornness pissed him off even more, so he pushed me back on the bed and started screaming at me. He went on and on, telling me that I had ruined his life. He said I needed to be thanking him for everything he was doing for me…that I owed him for having to work so hard to take care of me.”
Karen clears her throat and new tears form in her eyes as she struggles to continue with the painful truth of her past. She brings her eyes to meet mine and I can tell that the words on the tip of her tongue are almost too hard for her to release.
“Sky…” she says, achingly. “My brother raped me that night. Not only did he do it that night, but it continued almost every night after that for two solid years.”
I bring my hands to my mouth and gasp. The blood rushes from my head, but it feels as though it rushes from the rest of my body as well. I feel completely empty hearing her words, because I’m terrified to hear what I think she’s about to tell me. The look in her eyes is even emptier than how I’m feeling right now. Rather than wait for her to tell me, I just come out and ask her.
“Mom…is John…he was my father wasn’t he?”
She quickly nods her head as tears drop from her eyes. “Yes, baby. He was. I’m so sorry.”
My whole body jerks with the sob that breaks free and Karen’s arms are around me as soon as the first tears escape my eyes. I throw my arms around her and grasp her shirt. “I’m so sorry he did that to you,” I cry. Karen sits next to me on the couch and we hold each other while we cry over the things that were done to us at the hands of a man we both loved with all of our heart.
“There’s more,” she says. “I want to tell you everything, okay?”
I nod as she pulls herself away from me and takes my hands in hers.
“When I turned sixteen, I told a friend of mine what he was doing to me. She told her mother who then reported it. By that time, John had been in the police force for three years and was making a name for himself. When he was questioned about the report, he claimed I was making it up because he wouldn’t allow me to see my boyfriend. He was eventually cleared and the case was dismissed, but I knew I could never go back to live with him. I lived with a few friends until I graduated high school two years later. I never spoke to him again.
“Six years had passed before I saw him again. I was twenty-one and in college by that time. I was at a grocery store and was on the next aisle when I heard his voice. I froze, unable to breathe as I listened to his conversation. I would have been able to recognize his voice anywhere. There’s something about a voice that terrifies you that you’ll never be able to forget, no matter what.
“But that day, it wasn’t his voice that had me paralyzed…it was yours. I heard him talking to a little girl and I was immediately taken back to all those nights he hurt me. I was sick to my stomach, knowing what he was capable of. I followed at a distance, watching the two of you interact. He walked a few feet away from the shopping cart at one point and I caught your eye. You looked at me for a long time and you were the most beautiful little girl I’d ever seen. But you were also the most broken little girl I’d ever seen. I knew the second I looked into your eyes that he was doing to you exactly what he had done to me. I could see the hopelessness and fear in your eyes when you looked back at me.