Unlovable

Chapter 11

After I told Mrs. Lester everything, she hugged me tightly to her again whispering kind things to me. The sorts of things I only could have dreamed my own mother telling me. She sent one of her workers to get a police escort back to Phil’s flat and was sure to double the security around the place. She actually scolded Phil for not having more even though I thought it was too much. But that’s just a protective mother for you.

Before we docked, Phil’s mum informed Mr. Lester of why I ran off and why I wouldn’t talk about my past. His face lit up with anger making me flinch and shut my eyes tightly waiting for a hit. I opened my eyes when I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder as he apologized for scaring me. He promised to find my dad and send him to jail for a long time so I won’t have to ever worry about him. I thanked him but didn’t really believe it until a month or so later.

“You look amazing, Sweet.” Phil smiled standing behind me as I looked at myself in the mirror.

My bruises have faded and the cuts have healed. The angry hand marks are gone and I didn’t look like a starving third-world country child as I gained enough weight to make me look and feel healthy. Today was my court hearing. Apparently Mr. Lester wasn’t lying when he said he’d see my father in prison. I stood in a black suit complete with a bow tie while Phil stood behind me wearing his black suit and a matching tie.

“I’m nervous.” I admitted looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“Just be yourself. Remember what your therapist said; tell them everything and don’t let him intimidate you. He’s not going to hurt you anymore. Not with me around.” He promised burying his nose in my neck giving it a kiss.

I turned around lifting my hands and placing them gently on the back of his neck guiding him in for a proper kiss. I wouldn’t quite say we’re dating, but I know we’re more than friends. Even though I have my own bedroom in Phil’s—our—flat, I usually end up sneaking into his room to cuddle with him. This way when I do have nightmares, he’s always there to make it better until I can fall asleep again.

“I think I’m ready.” I told him pulling back giving him a small smile.

“Then let’s go.” He replied sliding his hand into mine leading me out of the flat.

The trial was torture. I couldn’t help but look at my dad and to say he looked pissed would be the understatement of the millennium. I tripped over my words a lot, but lucky for me, the judge was very patient letting me know it’s okay to take a moment to gather myself. I’d occasionally look over to Phil who’d give me a hopeful smile silently encouraging me to continue. Sometimes I’d look over to my dad as well, though I tried not to look for long fearing he’d attack me right in the courthouse. Of course he didn’t, but the paranoia was always there.

They ended up showing pictures of me at my worst. Once the yacht docked a month ago, I was sent with Phil to take pictures of myself to be used as evidence. They had me take my shirt off and pinned my hair back so they could get pictures of my neck and chest. As the images flashed on screen in the PowerPoint made by Phil’s lawyers, I felt too sick to look so I studied the crowd instead. Some covered their mouths gasping while others whispered to each other about how bony I was and how horrible my bruises, cuts, and burns were. Most of them seemed disgusted with my body as was I. The only person who seemed not to be bothered was my father, who wore a smile on his face proud of his work.

After many hours of going back and forth, a decision was finally made. My father was sentenced to 25 years in prison and lost his parenting rights. Even when he does get out, he’s not allowed to see me or come find me as I’m legally not his anymore. He shot me an angry look as he was taken away and as much as I hate to admit it, I felt bad. I don’t care that he abused me and hurt me every day of my life. He is—was—my father. My dad. I know that good guy is buried within him somewhere. There’s just got to be some good left in him. Before he walked out the doors to his jail cell, I was able to talk to him.

“Hi dad.” I whispered, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. “I know you’re mad at me. And I’m really sorry I told. I don’t want this for you anymore than you do. But I want you to know I still love you. And I forgive you.”

“I don’t need forgiving from a shit son like you. I’m fucking glad they decided I’m not your dad anymore. I don’t love you and I hope you rot in hell!” he shouted as the guards dragged him away.

“Bye dad.”

***

“That was the saddest film ever.” I sniffled hugging Phil tightly.

“I know. But it was so good.” He replied wiping his tears away.

We’d finished watching “Marley and Me” thinking that it couldn’t be as sad as people were claiming it to be. I hadn’t been sleeping well since the hearing a week ago. I’d stay up all night just not feeling tired and if I did fall asleep, it’d only be for a few hours. My therapist assured us that it was a normal thing but if it persisted, she’d get me sleeping pills. The thought of taking a drug to force me into sleep terrified me so Phil decided trying a film to get me sleepy and I have to admit, it did work a little.

“Can we get a dog?” Phil asked kissing my temple.

“No, we’re not getting a dog.” I laughed playfully hitting him. “I’m sorry.”

I leaned over and kissed right where I lightly hit him before then rested my head on his rising and falling chest.

“It’s okay.” He nodded leaning over to kiss my cheek as I closed my eyes, brushing my hair off my face. “Just go to sleep, Sweet.”

I nodded and listened to his heart beating rhythmically in his ribcage as his breathing started to slow. I poked an eye open to see him already falling asleep, a soft smile plastered on his face. I got up to grab a blanket from my room and came back to see him wide awake crossing his arms at me.

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” I said dumbfounded holding the heavy duvet in my arms.

“You should be too.” He rebutted.

 “I was getting a blanket. I’m sorry.” I sighed looking at my bare feet.

“Don’t be sorry, just come here.” He smiled lying on the couch and scooting back so he was pressed against the back rest.

I lay down next to him and snuggled in close. My legs were bent at the knee allowing him to slide his knee into the crook of my own like a puzzle piece. I felt his chest pressed up against my back as his arms hung lazily around my waist. He pulled the duvet over us tucking me up to my chin kissing right behind my ear.

“Goodnight Dan. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I whispered.

And I mean it. I feel the meaning behind the word. Love. To love or be loved, wanted, and accepted. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. Some people find love within their family, or with a pet. Some find it with another person, like I have with Phil. They say you can’t love someone until you learn to love yourself, but I don’t think that’s true. Loving someone is putting their interests and needs before yours because in the grand scope of things, their interests and needs are also yours. But I am trying to find the good in me that Phil sees. My therapist agrees that I’ve been doing well so far, but I’ve got a long way to go. But for the first time in my life, because of Phil, I know that I am not unlovable.