Warnings-This chapter contains some difficult subjects about sexual assault, abuse and photographs of a sexual nature. This wasn't an easy or fun chapter to write, but having lived through my own experiences of being a sexual assault victim as a teenager, I know that it happens far too often to young girls, and sometimes no matter how much we try to explain, to break away from the situation we can't because the people who are supposed to protect us are too blind to see what is in front of them when we try to tell them.
We are not alone and we are all together in this as we heal from our pasts.
July 2018
Three months/12 Weeks old
It was Saturday morning when Ken picks me up and we drive into Charlottetown to do some shopping for the baby. From the top of the morning, she had been cranky. Cranky enough that I went through my journal trying to decide if I had eaten something accidentally with soy in it again. It adds to it all since any time we go shopping together for things for her it's an experience
Either because she's crying, or because we seemingly look together with a baby. Which gathers a fair amount of comments and stares from people who can't mind their own business.
"Diapers, size 2," I tell Ken as he grabs the largest box there is.
"I thought she was a size 1?" Ken responds.
"They're getting a bit snug," I tell him. "She's been eating like crazy, she finally tipped over fourteen pounds when I weighed her on dad's scale this morning."
"Growth spurt?" Ken asks as he grabs some baby wipes, unscented plainest ones available as if they were the ones that she preferred. I never thought babies could be so particular but she was. "Genie refill is on sale?"
" Probably?, and yes please," I tell him as I bounce on my heels as she cries into my chest. "It's just Walmart Owen, you liked Walmart last time," I tell her.
"You didn't eat anything new did you?" Ken nonchalantly asks me so I wouldn't take it the wrong way.
"She's just grumpy," I tell him with a sigh. I do my best to ignore the stares and comments from passing by customers. Yes, I have a baby, yes I'm seventeen, and clearly, the father is older. Yes, I know my baby is crying, but she doesn't want to be quiet so if I can deal with it, so can you.
Those are the thoughts that run through my head when I see people look at us.
"What else do we need," Ken asks looking at the cart.
"Diaper, wipes, genie refill," I run through the cart and my own list I have. "She needs some basic onesies for underthings all her six-month clothing is printed with something on it. Just need some basic white ones, though I swear one more growth spurt and she'll be popping snaps on the 3-6-month-old" I tell him with a sigh. "And some booty paste, that is almost out as well. Gotta keep that tushy rash-free, though she does enjoy naked playtime," I tell him.
I had taken Dad's advice and left her to play around naked for a good half hour a day when she developed a bad diaper rash.
Ken nods and we turn towards the clothing, all the while I'm trying to console and soothe Owen in her carrier. I grab two packs of the size we need as Ken gets sucked into all the little clothing.
"Look it has dinosaurs!" He exclaims holding up a pink and purple dinosaur leggings and long sleeve shirt set. I shake my head. "Six to nine months probably?" He asks me.
"If it lasts until fall it will be nice," I tell him with a sigh. "She's going to be tall like you," I tell him.
"Well, you're usually taller than your shortest parent and I do have a good foot ten inches on you. I am 6'2," He reminds me as if I could ever forget that I only come up to his shoulder. "Though you are the shortest of the bunch of your family."
"Nan and Di are about 5'6 and I got so close to their height, and then nothing. I'm shorter than mom, so your little phrase doesn't mean much," I tell him a matter of factly.
"So you're just an anomaly then," Ken teases me as he put the outfit in the cart. I don't have the heart to remind him that she has dozen of little outfits as I breathe a small sigh as Owen quiets down a notch. Maybe she was finally wearing herself down? Actually, take a nap?
"Do you want me to take her?" Ken asks as we make our way towards the pharmacy area. I shake my head.
"Let's not chance it, she's finally giving in to her nap," I tell him as I grab the diaper rash cream and quickly grab some mousse for my hair while I was there.
"Let's just get out of here," I say to him as I quickly double-check my banking app on my phone and make sure that I still had money in there. Which came from the child benefit and what Ken gave each month for Owen.
It would be really nice to work one day again, to leave the house without packing a diaper bag. I buy the majority of the purchases, though Ken buys her outfit that he picked out himself and a few little books that had different textures in them.
We load up his car and I get Owen in her car seat as stretch out my back and crack it, my cropped tank top riding up higher as I bent backwards. I was wearing it with a pair of high-waisted leggings. It was something different to wear beyond nursing tops. I actually almost felt normal in it. Normal as one could feel three months having a baby. Though it seemed my hips were permanently wider, and my waist refused to dip below a certain number on the tape measure. The only thing I managed to not do since my six-week mark was measure my ever-changing breasts because depending on the hour it could be a different number.
Our next stop is the dance shop which I was most excited about, but first I needed to nurse her which would most likely solve most of her crying.
"Oh my heavens, let me have a look at her!" Tessa exclaims when she sees me enter the store.
"She just went down for a nap," I tell her as Ken places the seat on the till counter to give Tessa a better look at Owen.
"Oh she is precious," Tessa says to me. "Looks like she has a good appetite from those baby rolls."
"All she does is eat," I tell her with a sigh, "more so than usual but dad says it's just a growth spurt," I tell her. "But I can usually feed her about 6:30-7:00 am, do a bit of a workout until she wants to join me. Though lately, she wants won't nap without another round of nursing" I sigh and explain to her.
"You don't actually dance with her?" Ken asks rather sharply, unaware of how I spent my mornings.
"It's just barre work, she's fine in her carrier. Some stretches, so light footwork she likes it actually." I tell them.
"Probably remembers the sensations from when you danced early on," Tessa hums and nods her head. "If Rilla is taking care, it's perfectly fine Kenneth. I know a few studios who run baby and barre classes on the mainland." She tells him, still, Ken doesn't seem to like the fact that I was.
"So is this a visit or a shopping trip?" She asks, knowing that my siblings gave me a hefty gift card.
"I need to be fitted for pointe shoes," I tell her. "Old ones still work, but I think my feet are a size wider?" I tell her. "And I don't know if we can make them last longer than what they used to?" I ask hopefully.
"You know how I feel about putting young girls in Gaynors," Tessa tuts me.
"But I'm seventeen now?" I look at her.
"Stick to your Grishko's for another year. Until you build up the strength in your feet once more and then we can discuss Gaynor's," Tessa tells me not budging. Tessa loves Gaynor's but never lets young girls or students wear them unless it's a last resort sort of a shoe.
"Fine," I say sighing.
She measures my feet and goes to find some shoes for me as Ken looks around the store with Owen trying to get her sleep a little.
"You can go to the bookstore if you want," I tell him.
"It's fine, they aren't even open yet," He tells me sitting down. Looking at the cut in half pointe shoe on display with Owen on his shoulder.
"Is this was shoes are actually made of…glue and paper?" He asks looking at me.
"Some of them yeah," I tell him and Tess comes back with a few pairs and I put the first pair on and walk over to the barre as she sits by my feet.
Ken watching in strange fascination as we decipher was looks best, and what feels best on my feet. I can see his brow crinkle at all the terminology and issues that we talk about. He probably thought it be easier in his mind?
"How's your big toe feel, any pressure anywhere in the shoe? You don't feel like you're sinking?" Tessa asks as I stand on pointe parallel, holding on to the barre.
"It feels good, I can still get over the box easily but it's not ridiculously hard like the last pair," I tell her.
"Well, you're still in the same shoe, the same size just a smidgeon wider but pregnancy will do that to your feet," Tessa tells me knowingly. "Pretty shoes for pretty feet."
I buy two pairs, with ribbons and elastics and I swear I almost saw Ken choke at the price. I didn't even have the heart to tell him that Tessa still gave my employee discount. Not to mention the discount for one of the pairs being slightly flawed in the satin fabric, (which I didn't see, but she said she couldn't sell them to anyone else).
"You said you went through two pairs a month," Ken says still mentally calculating in his head.
"Sometimes three if I there was a recital," I tell him. "At least in the past year before Owen, when you first start it can take ages to make a pair dead. It only gets expensive the longer you are in it, and the better you are at it. Summer intensive last summer was about 800, plus board for the two weeks in the dormitory." I tell him. "I know it's a lot and I only got to go because Dad made enough for me to go."
"I can cry over the cost in the future if she dances like you one day" Ken jokes, but there is a slight edge in his voice when he said like you. As if he's frightened, that her being a dancer one day will make her messed up with an eating disorder just like I was.
It's enough to plant or sprout the seed that has been in his head since my birthday. So when stopped by the old Government house to walk around the large gardens, with Ken this time wearing Owen on his chest it finally came out.
I can see the questions in his eyes as he pulls me to sit down on the bench side him in the shade. I don't know what he will say first, but at this point, I'm prepared for everything and nothing all at the same time.
"Who hurt you?" That is what he settles with.
"Who hurt you, because I keep wracking my brain to why and it's all I can come up with. The disordered eating, I can understand, dance, teasing, you journal full of scattered numbers that only make me think was logs of calories eaten and burned. I can understand that to a degree these days, but those marks. Rilla, it wasn't just one, it's dozens of them scattered in a place that no one would think to look. They aren't new, but they were deep enough to leave a mark." He finishes
I was not ready for this as I look down at my hands in my lap. I go back to those days, sitting at the dining room table, frustrated at whatever homework I had, that blasted math homework. At first, it was an accident, or it seemed like it, but then it happened again. His breath on my neck, how he always pulled off each brush off as an accident. How his hand, fingertips would ghost over the edge of my side, up over my bra line, around the cup. Up the straps of my tank top, and down my back. Enough to think I was just imagining it because I was a kid and he was in high school.
Still, I begged for help to stop. I didn't need it.
I didn't know the words to use.
Saying he was weird did nothing. Saying he was creepy only made mom chastise me for calling him names. He was a perfectly good young man that every teacher raved about and parents loved.
I would race upstairs afterwards, to change into my dance clothes. Trying to get away from him fast as I could. Still, sometimes I felt watched whenever he was around.
Then one day he didn't show up, calling saying he that he couldn't help me anymore and I was happy. Relieved, but it stayed with me because every time I looked in the mirror at my developing body, it reminded me of him. It was easy to use dance as an excuse, to lose the baby fat, to try and stop my breasts from growing larger and larger.
"Why can't I just be a messed-up teenager? Why does it have to because of something?" I ask him.
"Because I feel like if it was just that, you wouldn't try and hide it as you do," Ken responds simply. "You know can tell me anything, I think we've passed the point of secrets when she was born?"
I look up at the garden fountain, my stomach twisting as I felt my body shake.
Who hurt me?
I look at Owen sleeping in her carrier against Ken's chest. Would I want her to ever hide such a thing from the world? To feel like she couldn't trust me? Like I couldn't even trust my own mother? Would I want her to live with what I lived with?
So I sigh.
"I had a tutor when I was eleven who was supposed to be this nice boy, he was good at math and science. All the parents, teachers raved about him, but he wasn't." I say quietly. "He always stood so close. I begged for him to go away, I cried, screamed, I tried to express how uncomfortable I was but mom would have none of it. 'Don't be mean Rilla, he's a perfectly nice young man. Calling people creepy or weird isn't nice.'" I mimicked mom's voice.
"Rilla…" Ken said his voice cracking slightly with emotion.
"He would always look over my shoulder, I could feel his breath on my neck. Then every once in a while he would accidentally brush against me in some way. He would always apologize, but then it felt like each week that passed it was just more and more, but he was a good boy, he wouldn't do that. Still, I couldn't…I couldn't make sense of the words to use, I didn't know the words to use to tell my parents why I didn't like him, beyond not liking him. To make them stop and actually listen to me" I silently cry.
"Fuck," I hear him under his breath as if a part of him was hoping that he was overthinking everything.
"Then he was gone, and I should have been happy, moved on, but he still felt there all the time. When I looked around dance class, and I saw how much different I was from the other girl's development-wise. They didn't need bra's, they didn't have to shop in the ladies dancewear because suddenly I was too big, too developed for the girl's section. My own body betrayed me and I hated it if I was only like the other girls. Maybe I wouldn't have had to feel his fingertips that traced around the cup of my bra after all. It was easier to remind myself of my faults if it hurt, if my thighs didn't touch it wouldn't hurt me. No one could hurt me."
He pulls me into a bone-crushing hug or as much as one he could with Elowen between us. God Elowen, the more I think of her, the more I think about those days, god I want to protect her from the world. I would never let her not be heard, I would always listen.
"You did nothing wrong, nothing you did was wrong. You were a child and he knew that." Ken said trying to reassure me. "You can't blame yourself, you did nothing wrong."
He ends up buying us ice cream from the ice cream shack, as we sit down at the harbour. He doesn't say what he wants to say, that I need to tell them. That I need to because I already spent so many years slowly pushing them away.
"How long ago was the last time?" He asks something that had also been on his mind.
"September?" I say unsure of my calculations.
"Before or after?" He asks, meaning when I found out I was pregnant.
"I think about the same week?" I say quietly. "I think I wanted to, or maybe I even had the intention to, but something stopped me?"
I don't want to admit to him that Owen was probably some self-conscious cry for help in its own way. Because I do love her god, I love her so god damn much, and she's so much more than what I believed her to be to me.
But to keep the pregnancy as I did, when I was clearly letting everything eat away at me. It almost sounds like I didn't think about anyone but me. It sounds selfish to destroy dreams and lives for my own selfish gain.
There's a car in the driveway I don't recognize when he drops me off.
I don't expect my parents to be in the living room with Aunt Diana and Uncle Fred, looking as if someone died. Aunt Diana was a trauma counsellor after all, and Uncle Fred, well he worked within the RCMP.
"What going on?"I asked unsure of what was going on.
"Ken, can you take Elowen upstairs and read her a story?" Mom asks him ignoring my question.
"Again what's going on?" I ask and mom and dad look at each other and then Aunt Diana and Uncle Fred as if they don't know how to approach this.
"Come sit down, dear," Aunt Diana said patting the spot beside her. There was a folder on the coffee table, with a number written on it.
I watch Mom looked at Dad, who looked greyer than usual.
It was Uncle Fred who speaks next.
"Rilla, your mother has been helping the RCMP on a case for the past few weeks. It was going well until she happened upon ones that made her leave the room midst of what seemed to be a panic attack. She had been helping us identify victims of an unknown suspect after someone had found a hard drive full of things in an old computer at a group yard sale. I asked her because her time as a principal meant she knew faces. When I went back into the room that she left I saw the images that she had left the screen on," he said passing me a folder.
Inside were photos of a younger me, an eleven-year-old me through the cracks of the doorway of my old room I shared with the twins. Half undressed as I had been pulling on a leotard in one in my small training bra, another where I had been in my underwear.
I let them fall to the floor in shock.
"No one knows we have this, and your mother gave us our first actual lead to who this may have belonged to." Uncle Fred explains to me.
"Isaac," I say his name and Uncle Fred nods his head, already knowing the name of my old tutor. I stare at the plants my mother kept in the living room.
"I'm sure this is a shock to you, which is why Diana is here she knows people who can help you process this." Uncle Fred looks to his wife.
Do they think it was just photos? God, how do I tell them it was ten times worse than what they could possibly imagine?
"I want my baby," I say standing up as Owen cries out above us, that Ken is trying to console her but it wasn't working.
"Rilla," Mom called out to me.
"Let her go, Anne," Aunt Diana tells me, mom. "I'm sure this is a shock to her, as it was to all of us. We'll be here when she needs us, and ready to talk about it."
"Rilla what's going on?" Ken asks as I take Owen from him crying as I cradle her tightly to my chest as I curl up on her bed. I can't make a sound, the sounds of floors creaking in my mind, the feeling of his breath, it haunted me. Now knowing that he stole more from me, he managed to take even more of me than I ever thought possible?
"Ken maybe it's best if you come back in a few hours or tomorrow?" Mom tells him quietly from my bedroom doorway.
I've toyed with this storyline since the beginning, unsure if I wanted to write it in, but I kept going back to why? why the rebellions, sure she could have just been a normal teenager, but everything, her coolness/relationship with Anne, her body dysmorphia, disordered eating, it had to come from somewhere.
Remember we are strong, brave and our pasts don't define us unless we let them.
Tina.