Stitching these Wounds (Michael Jackson)

12. Despondency

tw - self harm, mentions of SA, physical abuse

[No P.O.V.]

•••

June 2nd, 1976

Tara paced around her room, anxiously biting her nails after a long day of school. The internal conflict she was having with herself kept her stomach in a constant knot. Upon hearing the news of Imani's torturous abuse, she'd felt guilt consume her entire being. She couldn't believe that she had missed that—that she didn't pick up on the signs. Thinking of all of the horrific nights that her best friend had endured at the hands of someone who was supposed to protect her, on top of already grieving her late father, made her nauseous.

It's not your place to tell anyone, anyway! Imani's words echoed over and over again and pounded against Tara's skull. She knew that it was Imani's decision on whether or not she wanted to come forward, but she couldn't continue to sit in silence, knowing that these events were still occuring. She'd sat with the information on her mind for over two weeks, and she knew that it was Imani's business, but by telling Tara, she'd made it her business, too—or so she thought. Nevertheless, the information was boiling inside of her, weighing down on her and threatening to crush her entire being if she didn't do something.

So, at the risk of her jeopardizing her trust with Imani, Tara pushed through her bedroom door before rounding the corner of the hallway that took her to the stairs, where she could see her parents' smiling faces from the landing that overlooked the living room area as she dreadfully walked down the stairs. She knew the police station was fairly close to her house, but she wasn't going to let her parents know that's where she was going; she, at least, wanted to spare Imani the shame, trouble, and embarrassment of more people knowing about her abuse. That's how Imani saw it, anyway, and as devastating as it was, Tara could see that. The closer she got to her parents, descending the stairs slowly, the more Tara tried to hide her grimace.

Mustering up the best fake smile she could possibly give, Tara directed her attention to her parents, who were watching reruns of The Jeffersons. "Hi, guys," she greeted them, attempting to swallow down any bit of disgust she had left.

"Hi, sweetheart," Tara's mother responded in a warm and gentle tone. She continued on further towards the door as she grabbed a pair of Flipflops from the shoe rack that was right next to it. "Where're you off to?"

"Yeah, where're you headed?" Tara's father's question mirrored his wife's tone exactly. They were often in-sync that way. They were cuddled up on the couch, Tara's father's arms wrapped tightly around her mother, and her mother's head rested peacefully on his chest. Even after twenty-two years of marriage, their love never wavered. While this was a happy sight to see, Tara's heart ached greatly for her best friend who could no longer experience this and who was now endangered and couldn't feel safe in her own home. The dreadful thoughts that infiltrated Tara's mind reminded her of her mission, and she knew that she couldn't waste any more time. Enough was enough.

•••

[Imani]

•••

June 2nd, 1976

Numb.

That's the best way to accurately describe how I was feeling in this moment. With as many times as this has been happening, he took away my ability to feel anything. I guess that was a blessing in disguise—it was better to not feel anything in the moment, even though the emotions would rise to surface level later in the evening. That was a better time to hate myself. But right now, I was focusing on surviving—getting through what was happening and sending my mind to a better place. Even so, I could feel his warm, hard breathing against the shell of my ear, which sent shivers down my spin as I lied there.