A large Thank you as well for all the comments in the last chapter. They mean the world to me, I forget to put this in last night, but really they do!
To my guest-
Massive hugs, it's never easy and I hope you are doing well these days! Her parents will feel awful for sure!
Lils- Thank you! the Chapter was rather easy to write since I wrote it almost a year ago. Still, though it evokes a lot of emotions and memories even just editing it. I'm glad despite the content you enjoyed it!
July 2018
12 Weeks
"Rilla?" Ken asks as I come into my room. "What's going on?" As he passes me Owen as I motion for her. "What were they talking about?"
I can't vocalize anything as my lips quiver.
Ken gives up and just leads me to the bed and wraps his arm around me. "It's okay, whatever happened, it will be okay." He says quietly, as I try to calm myself down enough that Owen would nurse without fussing.
I don't even know if I can tell him? Am I allowed to tell him? How much did he hear?
"No-no pictures of her go to the public," I tell him, stammering slightly. "Even for your dad, Instagram, nothing," I say as I suddenly realize those pictures could be anywhere on the internet and that terrifies me.
"Whatever you want," Ken says, his voice laced with confusion. "Is this what's happening?" He asks me. "Someone took photos of you that you didn't know about?"
I can only nod my head, trying my hardest not to break down again. Not until Owen at least got a good amount in her. Ken seems to understand and doesn't press the topic.
Ken got up to get me some Kleenex when Jem came barging into my room, getting an eyeful of boob as I was in the middle of moving Owen to burp her and pulls me into a hug so that I barely have time to pull up my bra. He was still on the Island for a small vacation with Faith. They split their time between here and the Merediths. They must have filled him quietly as I nursed as he looked rather grim and angry around the eyes.
"Jesus, learn to knock, why don't you?" I blurt out without thinking. "Unless you want an eyeful?"
"I've seen far worse and had far worse on me," Jem says, standing there a moment, looking around the room, his old room, which he almost seemed much too big for now.
"I am so sorry," Jem tells me, and I look away from him.
"It's not your fault," I tell him.
"But it is! I was supposed to be watching you!" Jem shakes his head. "Instead, I was too busy on my phone."
"Or helping the Twins or Shirley on something as well," I point out to him as Owen gives me a large audible burp, which even gets a raised eyebrow from Jem as if he was proud of his niece for being able to burp so loud.
"Uncle Fred's partner is here," Jem says next as Ken comes back into the room, handing me a box of Kleenex. I don't want to tell him he should leave, but he seems to read my mind.
"I'm gonna head out. I'll text after dinner if it's fine to come back," Ken says, taking a quick moment to kiss Owen and ran a hand over my hair for a brief moment. Jem watches him leave with critical eyes.
"Is he always around for such things?"
"It's a boob, it doesn't bother me. Take her for me; I need to go pee," I shrug and hold out Owen to him. Jem takes her readily, and despite his mood, he smiled readily at Owen as I went to do my business.
I take Owen from him and follow him downstairs, Aunt Diana offers to take Owen, but I held on to her tight.
"This is Inspector Valerie Morris," Uncle Fred introduces me, and I nod my head to her who my parents aged female who had brown hair and a wedding band on her left hand.
"It's nice to meet you. Is that your niece?" She asks innocently.
"She's mine," I say quietly, which makes her grimace at her mistake of asking. "She's three months, twelve weeks," I tell her, and she nods her head.
"Inspector Wright caught me up to date with what is going on; can you tell us about Issac? What was he like as a tutor? Did he ever make you feel uncomfortable?" Inspector Morris asks me.
"It was years ago," I frown as Tank the hound comes up to me, sniffing, and lays at my feet grumbling. Which meant Shirley and Wynnie were downstairs most likely as well to witness all of this or hear it anyway?
"Just tell us what you remember," Uncle Fred says kindly and quietly. "Or we can do this in private?" He says, looking at my parents.
I look at them and shake my head.
"At first, it was he seemed normal, he just helped me with my homework but one day it was different, he would stand closer, and closer. Always apologizing for things. It weirded me out," I tell them. "I didn't know the words, I didn't know how to get you to listen to me because you wouldn't listen to me when I begged you for it stop." I find myself saying.
"Get what to stop?" Dad speaks up, his voice afraid. It's like a waterfall as the words tumble out of my mouth, as my tears fall upon my baby. I hold her tightly as I recount the memories that haunt the back of my mind, and with each passing minute, they look more horrified, sicker with each thing I add to the list.
Dad looks grey and angry, while mom looks as if she's going to be sick any moment. My ever-changing mood towards them, especially mom herself? It all came from this, and suddenly she understood why. I cuddle Owen, who seems to just understand and cuddle into me as I hold her to me and rub her back.
"I caught him upstairs once," Jem admits out loud, and I look at him with wide eyes. "I thought he was trying to steal or something. I didn't think—," Jem says, cutting himself off looking over at me. "I was supposed to watch you."
"You didn't know," I say weakly.
"He had some excuse of looking for the bathroom, that the downstairs was being used," Jem continues. "I threatened him if he ever came up here again without permission, I would clock him. Di had mentioned a few things being upturned or misplaced; I thought it had been him. I didn't even think about it being anything else."
"I didn't even know," I remind him quietly as Owen fussed, and I quietly moved to the floor with her and placed her on the blanket that was there for. I focused on her playing for a moment as the house was quiet.
"What's going to happen?" I ask directing my question to Uncle Fred, who looks at Inspector Morris.
"Well, there are no statute of limitations thankfully, if you wish to press charges or have evidence to do so," Inspector Morris. "It would mean you would have to testify in court, though."
"Do you think others will come forward?" I ask quietly as Owen wiggles about cooing over her arch of hanging soft toys.
"It's hard to know, but your mother has helped identify quite a few individuals, but it will come down to where they are geographically and where they are in their lives as well," the Inspector explained, as she watched Owen with a small smile.
I look to mom, who was still pale, Aunt Diana holding her hand. If it wasn't enough to name the victims, she had found her own daughter them? It seems like a cruel joke to go through such a thing, not knowing even where the pictures ended up? There was always the internet safety talk with us growing up; you had to be at least sixteen to even consider having a non-private social media account.
"I just want to live my life. I just want to raise my daughter without any more stigmatism. She's always going to have a teen mom for a mother, I don't want her to grow up while this is drawn out," I tell them as I fix Owen's little sock, pulling it back on her foot. "But if no one else does? What would that mean? He would go free?"
"Not potentially; if it all works out, we can still charge him from the crown for having taken these photos. There are a variety of ways we can potentially try and link the hard drive and computer back to him by the computer shop. They say they take a name and phone number when it comes to donations or trade-in for credit? While we might be able to prove he your tutor, there is the potential of his lawyer, using your large family as a way to discredit the claim. Make some excuse about the number of friends your siblings had coming and going of the house, but hopefully, we can make him the common denominator for a large group that will solidify it." Uncle Fred explains to me.
"We'll keep in contact," Inspector Morris tells us all. "If you do see him anywhere, don't approach him." She says to all of us.
"We won't," Mom says for us.
"What about the internet?" I speak up, and Inspector Morris looks over at me. "The pictures," I ask again quietly.
"We are scanning the dark web and any sites we know about for similar images. We don't know if it's a private collection, or if he had any intention of trading them. We will always tell you the truth to what we find if that is what you wish, given the circumstances, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary to not want to know." Uncle Fred explains to me gently.
"I know some excellent people as well," Aunt Diana speaks to me. "For everyone involved, it will take a family some time to work through something like this." She squeezes my mom's hands and looks at my dad.
I only nod my head as I look back at Owen, who has a rather smirky smile on her face. I sigh.
"Someone needs to be changed," I say, getting up off the floor.
"We won't take any more of your time. James, I might get you to come by the station once more to collaborate on your story? I hear you live in Halifax?" Inspector Morris nods her head.
Jem looks up swiftly, who had been quietly listening like Aunt Diana. "Yes, but I can make the drive back if needed. Though when residency starts, it may get a bit tricky, but I can figure it out if needed."
"Of course," She nods her head to him. "Do you need a ride, Wright?"
"No, I will bring Diana home and be back for paperwork," He tells her. "She's a munchkin Rilla," he comments about Owen. "She's very lucky to have you as her mother," he tells me.
I want to debate that but only nod my head before escaping with Owen up to my room.
I brush off dinner, then again, I don't think anyone would want to eat at this moment, beyond possibly my own baby. Instead, I watch Owen in her bassinet as she rolls over to her side in her sleep. Some days she was all over the place with her wiggling body. She was almost too big for her bassinet at this point.
"Rilla?" I hear mom call out. "Please?" She adds.
"Come in," I say quietly from my spot on the bed.
"She's almost too big for the bassinet now, isn't she?" Mom notices. "
"She's a long little bean pole," I say, pulling my legs up to my chest making room on my bed for her as a silent invitation. Coving my legs with my blanket as I was wearing a pair of pyjama shorts now.
"For all the things I imagined, for all the things I wondered what I did wrong that made you pull away from me as you did. I never, I never imagined it would be something like this, Rilla. God, I failed you in the most horrific way; I didn't even listen to you. I didn't even try to read between the lines to understand your objections. I never even thought, you were supposed to be able to trust me, and I let you down multiple times."
"You were worried about Walter," I remind her.
"That's not an excuse; I should have taken a few more minutes out of my day and asked questions. I should have taught you, all you girls how to communicate such things to us, to make sure we understood what you needed from us when it came to your protection." Mom says to me. "
"I don't blame you," I try to tell her.
"You do to a degree," Mom says, shaking her head. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be like we are. I wouldn't spend every other week wondering just who are you, why you are the way you are, and what I don't know about you. I failed you, I had one job to protect you, and I couldn't even do that. If I had just listened to you, looking between the lines, I could have prevented so much."
"Then I don't intentionally blame you," I rephrase. "Even if you did teach me how to explain, it was so subtle I sometimes wonder if I made it up some days in my head. I was eleven years old with an overactive imagination, caught in between trying to wear my clothing with unicorns and having to shop in the juniors section with Nan and Di as you fretted about every shirt I bought, trying to keep me eleven when clearly I didn't look eleven." I tell her honestly.
Mom looks at me intensely, grasping my hands. "How you looked, what you wore didn't give him permission to do anything to do you, Rilla. Your changing body didn't give him automatic permission to use you in such away. You did nothing to deserve any of this. None of this is your fault; if it's anyone's, it's mine and your father's for not seeing what was happening right in front of us. We should have arranged another day or arranged our days better. We shouldn't have left it to Jem or Joy to be in charge of you. You did nothing wrong, nothing. God, I can never apologize enough for this, but I am so sorry, so truly sorry." She stresses to me, which only makes the tears come afresh.
We both cry at this point, enough to bother Owen, who fusses in her sleep until I pick her up and cuddle her. Kissing her dark hair and murmuring how much I love her.
"With all this coming to light," Mom asks hesitantly, "When it comes to Ken,"
"Nothing changes about Ken, I won't believe anyone who tries to tell me otherwise. I wanted Ken. Ken has never made me feel anything less than safe, and I trust him. I'm not going to recount that night, that experience, and call it something else. If you want to get mad at someone, be mad at Isaac, be mad at Fred for trying to get into my pants when I slept," I blurt out. "But Ken, he's never been anything other than a gentleman."
"Rilla, what did Fred Arnold do to you?" Mom's voice catches. Clearly not prepared for whatever revelation I could throw at her, then again, I barely realized what I had said either.
"Nothing, I shoved at him and put him in place before he could try anything." I cut her off.
"Rilla," Mom says, sighing. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"The whole school knows," I shrug.
"What do you mean the school knows?" Mom asks, sharply as if she doesn't believe that she never heard of the moment.
"He was proudly projecting that he wasn't Owen's father, and I told him thank god for that since at least I wouldn't have to worry about Ken trying to get a hand into my pants when I slept," I tell her the edited version of that lunch break. "I think his girlfriend at the time broke up with him afterward, really don't blame her after his nose got broken in hockey? I don't know I didn't really pay much attention to him. Kinda had other things on my mind?" I motion to Owen.
Mom only nods; I am fairly sure that she's trying to figure out how she can punish Fred in her mind.
"Are you making me go to Aunt Diana's colleague?" I ask her.
"We think it would be beneficial for you," Mom says with a nod of her head. "Doesn't have to be forever, Aunt Diana keeps reminding me that beyond your phase of sneaking out and around and parties. You haven't really exhibited any extreme trauma from what happened beyond the walls you have up around from me not listening to you." Mom says.
I want to snort because they still don't see it through their rose coloured glasses.
"What does Dad think about all," I ask quietly.
"He's quietly fuming in the depth of despair, and heartbroken of course as we both are, and currently raiding the freezer for ice cream," Mom settles with. "Though your father does wonder if your strict regime with ballet and your diet could have been cause and effect," Mom adds on, giving me a look. "You do realize you that you don't have to change for anyone, that who you are is very pretty?"
"Dance gives me purpose," Is all I can say. "At least before Owen came along," I correct myself. "Now dance is a smidgen below Owen, but she loves watching me, and sometimes when I dance with her in the wrap, it's the only way to get her to nap," I tell her as Dad knocks on my door holding three bowls of ice cream in some form of magic trickery from when he waited tables to help pay the bills in college.
"It's strawberry, soy-free, I double-checked the ingredients," Dad tells me, handing me a small bowl. He then gives mom another the other one. I don't have the heart to tell him I don't want it. I stir it mostly, licking the spoon here and there.
I self-consciously curl into dad as he plays with my hair.
"We are truly sorry that we failed you Rilla that we missed all your signs," Dad says to me, kissing the top of my curls. We sit in silence for a good twenty minutes before mom speaks once again.
"Your fluctuating report cards, I can't help but almost see a pattern. I mean, you always needed a little extra help, but it was never worrisome to us." Mom starts with her though reassuring her. "Math and sciences, even social sciences like geography can be and are male-dominated for teachers, but the occasion you had a woman, your grades were instantly improved. I always put it down to possibly better teaching methods, sometimes women just are more sympathetic, and easier to ask for help. French was always a woman, the arts, English can be divided, history as well. Your fears made it difficult to focus in class because you were too hyper-aware of the possibilities in the back of your mind?" She ran caressed the side of my face gently. "Of all the times old Mr. Phillips complained about your lack of concentration, it was because of his teaching methods." Mom sighed. Knowing that he had a habit of hovering over students to make sure there were doing the work and not doodling.
I can only nod my head. Some teachers just gave up after a while when I wouldn't respond to their help. I wasn't rowdy or loud in class, so they just left me alone these days. Olivia spent a good chunk of time helping me when she could. He just walked the room. I feel my phone buzz and I reach for it.
"It's Ken, wondering if he can at least take Owen out for a drive/walk tonight after her nap finishes and she eats?" I say out loud
"You'll have to explain to him," Dad frowns and I look down at my hands.
"He knows, well he knows half of it," I tell them quietly.
"Pardon?" Mom looks at me sharply in disbelief that he could have known before them.
"He knows, and why and how is between us," I tell them, trying to end the conversation. I didn't want to get into the fine tunings of what this did to me. I don't want this to be a never-ending conversation either tonight. I just want to…I don't know? I sigh to myself.
"Rilla, we can't help you if you keep secrets from us," Dad speaks up as I curl myself up into a ball once more. "Why did you tell him?"
"He asked?" I say simply.
"He asked?"Mom repeats.
"He asked who hurt me, and I broke down," I shrug.
"He asked who hurt you, and you just told him? Is that all it would have taken, a simple question from us?" Dad says slowly.
"Probably not," I tell them honestly, and Dad only nods knowingly.
"Why did he ask? Was it about Fred?" Mom asks, to which Dad gives her a questioning look, and she gives him an 'I'll tell you later' look. I end up shaking my head. "Rilla? Please?"
I look down, I look at Owen, and I push back my blanket, curving my legs. I wiggle so my hips turn out in my pyjama shorts I threw on when I can up to my room. "It's been over a year, I mean it, I haven't in over a year. When we were at the beach, he rescued my handstand and trying to balance me. He saw, felt what I did to myself," I say quietly, and it was mom who makes the first move.
I heard her cry in the back of the throat when her fingertips felt my marks against the pale skin of my thigh. I try to calm myself, not wanting to shake from the anxiety of all of this, too many questions about why. Could I even explain my own reasoning without them over-reacting, would they ever let me be if they knew? Would they ever let me dance again?