Maya (Book #3)

Chapter 47

Dreams and memories rolled through my mind taking turns in the spotlight, making reality feel distant. I was no longer sure that I was safe in my bed at home when the world I saw from my past felt equally legitimate. Time in my bedroom at my uncle's house had caused the visions to shift and become more accurate. The dresser that seemed so far from the foot of my bed as a child was only a couple of feet away. The closet which was enormous was now diminutive as if a doll stored her belongings there.

A new dream began in a curious way. I was standing in my childhood bedroom as my adult self, and I saw the door open as it did in all my nightmares. Then shockingly, I saw myself walk into the room, much younger and more fearful, and sit on the bed. I wanted to reach out or say something, but I could tell by her vacant yet lonely expression that she couldn't see me. I saw my uncle walking through the room with the younger me, sitting on the bed and explaining something I didn't want to hear. I closed my eyes while his words became violent and tried not to scrunch myself up into a ball.

The images filtered through my mind like an old movie reel, clicking and changing as a new film began. Suddenly we were in the living room, and he was pointing to the stairs with his face smashed up in anger and fire in his eyes. His friend, the police officer, was standing beside him looking bored, but I was focused on the prominent veins on my uncle's neck that protruded with every harsh word he shouted. The younger me must've been less than 4 years old but she obeyed without question, scurrying up the stairs before pausing in the hallway. We sat down at the top step, and she spread her legs to move her dress aside. She looked beneath it as if looking for something important and then began to cry.

In that moment, I wanted to reach out and comfort my younger self more than words can describe. I longed to wrap my arms around her and whisper the words she wanted to hear like "you matter" and "this is not okay". I wanted to grab her hand and walk her down the stairs and out the front door before anyone noticed she was missing.

Before I could take any action, she wiped her face free and breathed in, puffing out her chest. I always did that when I wanted to look brave or figure something out. Her brown eyes were filled with tears, but I could see the resolve in there. She was preparing herself to be strong.

Little me abruptly crept down the stairs taking gentle, quiet steps and poked her head over the banister. She angled her head and stretched her neck, trying to listen to the conversation happening in the other room. Her brown eyes were wide, and her face was smooth. She didn't look afraid to listen in, just curious. I could tell this version of myself was only just beginning the journey of abuse. I wouldn't have dared to take the risk of listening in if I knew what my uncle was capable of doing.

As she got into range, I heard the words she could hear. My uncle and his friend seemed to be fighting, speaking to each other in sharp, terse sentences.

Because this version of myself couldn't see me, I hoped that this rule would hold true for the others. I inched past her on the staircase and snuck into the room where they were speaking. I half expected them to spin and glare at me, demanding that I leave or hurting me on the spot. Instead, they stayed facing each other and conversing about whatever had upset my uncle.

"I didn't say you could do that," my uncle said between clenched teeth. His arms were folded over his chest and his biceps bulged menacingly. He tapped his foot on the floor and I was struck by how different he looked. His hair was much darker than it appeared now, and his face was smoother, even in his state of anger. His eyes looked nearly black, but I was sure that's just where the gap in my memory existed. His clothes looked blurry and discolored like I couldn't recall them either.

Officer Walker stood tall with his large hat balanced on his head, wearing his typical charcoal gray uniform. You could just make out the corner of his gleaming badge poking out of his coat. His eyelids drooped as if he were bored, but there was a lazy smirk on his face. He stood with a relaxed posture as if my uncle's icy words weren't affecting him in the slightest.

When my uncle finished speaking, he laughed.

"You told me to go play with her, what was I supposed to do?" he asked, still grinning. There was something slimy about the way he spoke, like each word that dripped from his mouth was covered in repulsiveness. 

Uncle grabbed his head with both hands and gripped it, closing his eyes, and making a sound beneath his breath.

"She's mine. You don't touch her," He hissed, pointing towards the stairs. I became conscious of the fact that he was talking about me.

"After all I've done for you?" the cop asked, pressing his hand to his heart, and looking crestfallen. My uncle scoffed and Walker laughed, snapping back to his cocky smile in seconds.

"Look, thank you for what you did, but I paid you already. You don't get her, too." Uncle emphasized.

The smile dropped from the officer's face, and he suddenly became deadly serious. He squinted and languidly moved closer to my uncle before poking him in the chest sharply.

"I saved you. You owe me." He said dangerously, with a face so frightening it gave me chills. His badge gleamed as he stepped into the sunlight, shining a light into my uncle's dark eyes.

"I owe you nothing!" my uncle shrieked, making younger me whimper. I turned around and saw her peeking around the corner, watching the scene play out as I did. Neither of them seemed to notice.

The officer smiled a twisted smile and slowly began to speak. "I could always go back... Tell her that it was someone else, and the people she's looking for are still alive. I could tell her the truth." He whispered truth like it was a dirty word, and my uncle's eyes went wide with fear. The corners of his mouth turned down and his shoulders sank. He knew his friend was willing to do it.

I didn't know who he was talking about or what he meant, but it was clear that my uncle did. This was a trump card, and it was played to win.

"Fine," Uncle agreed, begrudgingly. "You can... come over, sometimes. But I expect to be paid for what I'm offering, and you can't take photos or keep evidence of any kind."

His voice was pathetic and quivered as he spoke. Officer Walker shook his hand and walked towards the door.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you," he remarked calmly as he opened the door. When he turned around, his eyes lit up as they caught sight of the younger me in her pink satin dress. Her body shook and she took hesitant steps back towards the stairs, putting her hands in front of her to conceal her body.

"I'll see you again soon, angel." He said, giving her a wink and tipping his hat. He slammed the door shut behind him and my uncle walked around the corner, looking furious.

"DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO GO UPSTAIRS?" he bellowed at me, eyes bloodshot and bursting with anger. He grabbed me under one arm, and I began crying as he walked us up the stairs and towards my bedroom. My mind spun with new revelations and fear for the little girl who didn't know what had just happened. I ran to protect her, but it was like swimming against the tide; a force pulled me back slowly into reality where I lay crying in my bed. My tongue hurt and the taste of blood was thick in my mouth, metallic and sweet. I ignored it to jump up and began pacing to scrutinize the dream or memory I had. It felt real, so I decided to believe it was a memory for the time being.

What did all this mean? Why had I stored this memory? Why did it feel like a turning point for the abuse?

I realized as I considered the exchange that I knew nothing of the man who had taken care of me for years. He was weak and he was afraid, and he took his pathetic anger out on a helpless little girl. He pretended he was strong because he could punch a vulnerable target. He pretended he was confident because he could intimidate the one person who relied on him. I saw what Charlotte and the boys had been talking about.

I had faced the abuse and survived. I had overcome the pain despite the flashbacks and memories and feelings the abuse had given me. I wasn't weak or worthless or incapable. I had fought demons older and stronger than me, and I lived. I didn't give up. I was courageous. I made a conscious effort to get out of bed in the morning even when it felt impossible. Even when completing the most mundane of tasks seemed inconceivable, I did it anyway.

I was strong. It was my uncle who was weak.

I knew what I had to do.

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A/N This is my favorite chapter I've ever written