And The Sky is Deeper Than a Dream
"She's been everybody else's girl, maybe one day she'll be her own." –Tori Amos, Girl (1992)
Throughout my teenage years and college, the red and green decorations, elaborate lights and gleeful squeals of children sickened me. It has always been a mystery until I started going to therapy after a car accident that made me forget things. Amnesia, what the doctor called it, and it was temporary. All I had to do was do a few therapy sessions and I would get better. Its been three months since the accident and I remember why the decorations in the therapist's office makes the room whirl and vomit taste more like salt.
_xXxXx_
"Think of it as an early Christmas gift, sweetie."
Those fingers felt like sand paper as my skin was rubbed raw. I could feel the dried peeling fingers touching where shocks of pain ripped through my body. I recalled the grunts and smell the stench of sweat and spoiled meat. There was the faintness feeling of rug burn from the shit-brown carpet and crumbs embedded to my butt.
It was the second most painful thing I experience within the twelve years of my life. I thought I he was using his hands and pulling me apart from the middle-up. If I cried then, I knew I would've got the belt. It ended there because I was underwater. Sadly being underwater didn't drown me like how I wanted it to be. What was I trying to accomplish when I clenched? Was it supposed to shrivel up and disappear? The answer was no, it only encouraged.
"Shhh, It's okay sweetie." Those same calloused fingers stroke my tangled hair, "Its all over. See? It wasn't that bad was it?"
The bile was yellow clump that smelled like sour rotted cheese. I felt like I was skinned and forced to sit there with my raw skinless body against the wall vomiting up my innocence and mac-n-cheese.
"Jesus Christ, be fucking happy that I made you a woman. It would've happened sooner or later."
The memory felt like it happened yesterday then there were the rotoscope cameos of the agents in fancy suits, former classmates, distant relatives and close friends. Their lips moved but I could not hear what they were saying. If only I could read lips but if I did then they would say, "Poor Madeline, She should know better than to make herself the victim."
_xXxXx_
In celebration of gaining back my memories and replace the traumatizing long-lost ones, my therapist invited me to have a girl's day with her. It was mistake. She was easy to trust because she's a woman and she's supposed to help me through my amnesia. I spoke comfortably like she was my own mother because she's a mother of two. Of course, she's responsible and wouldn't want anything happening to her kids like what she is doing with me. The day went so perfect. We had lunch together at a diner with the city skyline across the river. Bonded over a manicure/pedicure and wine. Window shopped in the city while drinking coffee. And exchanged gifts to be opened by Christmas. For once in my life, I enjoyed this special month of the year.
The Christmas lights of red and green intensified. I struggled helplessly. Shaking my head and kicking my feet. She was slightly taller than me and she was much stronger surprisingly. Her rough handling bruised not only my arms but also my self-respect. How could I let this happen so easily?
"It shouldn't hurt because this happened to you before, right?" She mumbled in my ear. I could feel the greasy substance of her lipstick staining my neck. Her nails, freshly done, scratched into my stomach. There may have been not blood but the feeling of the smooth hard nails running over my sensitive flesh felt bruised. "Madeline. My sweet little Madeline. I'll make those bad memories go away."
The sweet words destroyed the help I was capable of getting. She was my therapist, no only did she pat my back when I lost my memories, but when long lost memories resurface she told me it was okay to feel that way for any victim.
"A man hurt you long ago. Its okay though, I'm a woman."
Everything she said was soothing except how she touched me. How she over powered me onto my back and shoved objects in already tainted places. Soothing words caressed then pricked at my heart like the thorns of an ornamental rose bush.
"Oh baby. Shhh. Its okay." She said as her soft hands rubbed sensitive areas, "Stop acting like the victim."
Her lipstick and dull scratches added to the tattoos that I covered up long ago.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.