Surprisingly, sleeping in that old tree fort wasn't the most uncomfortable of experiences. I certainly dealt with worse. It was possible the company had something to do with that, despite being the reason I was unable to fall into a sound sleep.
Meghan graciously shared a spare blanket that I threw down beneath me so I didn't have to sleep directly on the old wood. A few splinters wouldn't bother me, but I would gladly avoid them if I could.
It was oddly quiet in this section of town. I was used to falling asleep to people shouting and quite often the headboard of the neighboring bedroom banging against the wall. That was when I pulled out my headphones and drowned it out with some trashy garage metal that I couldn't understand but was oddly drawn to. The tree house was like a vacuum, sucking all the sounds of nature into a silent vortex. It was almost like I was in a completely different world, far away from my problems. I could see why Meghan spent the time she did up there.
I drifted off easily, my head resting on my duffel, but made it to the brink of REM before feeling the tug of my consciousness back into the waking world. It made my body heavy, but the odd sounds that were coming from somewhere in the fort had me jolting awake as if I had one of those falling dreams.
My eyes snapped open at the sound of Meghan whimpering. I turned to see her jerking in her sleep. I began to sit up, watching her closely. For a long time all I could do was stare, disturbed by how similar she looked to my mother from all those nights I was drawn to her bedside. I couldn't see her face in the dark, but from the noises coming from her, I'd bet her face was streaked with tears too. It was painful to hear and I knew whatever Meghan was dreaming about was just a painful to see.
"Meghan." I called her name gently, trying to coax her awake.
"Hey, wake up." I scooted across the floor to her side. I didn't want to touch her. I learned it was never a wise idea to try to shake a dreaming person awake, especially if they were having a nightmare. Unfortunately, she wasn't hearing me and I couldn't in good conscience allow her to continue suffering, so I reached out to her.
"Meghan." I placed my hand on her upper arm, giving it a small squeeze to urge her awake. "Come on, wake up."
As I expected, she awoke violently, in full defense mode and ready to fend me off. Before I got a blow to my face, I jerked back quickly.
"It's okay! It's me. Ty." I held my hands in front of me, ready to defend myself if need be.
She was breathing heavily as she sat up, letting out an involuntary groan of pain and holding her hand against her side.
"Ty? What the hell? Didn't anyone ever tell you to leave sleeping dogs lie?" She sniffed and was wiping at her face as I reached for the camp light again to flick it on. She removed her hand from her side when I did, sitting up taller and turning her face away from the light.
"I decided I'd rather take my chances with getting bit. That seemed like a pretty wicked dream. Are you okay?" I sat back to give her some space.
"I'm fine. It was just a dream." Clearing her throat, she turned to face me again, but avoided direct eye contact.
"What was it about?"
"Why, you wanna analyze it or something?" Pushing the blanket from her legs she shifted over to get her water bottle next to her pillow, a motion I noticed she made more complex than it needed to be by moving her whole body, rather than just leaning over to reach for it.
"No, but it seemed pretty bad. You were crying out loud and twitching. Scared the shit outta me. I thought someone else was up here."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I don't really remember what it was about, though." She sipped at her water then took her time replacing the cap. I didn't buy it but let it go and redirected the topic.
"What about your side?"
"Huh?" She looked up a little startled.
I gestured. "Your side. It looked like you hurt yourself when you sat up." I began to lean forward, reaching for her shirt to see, but she was quick to push my hand away.
"Nothing. It's just from sleeping on this hard floor."
That was a believable excuse, but I didn't believe it. I remained hunched forward, watching her intently.
"Why are you lying to me?" I knew this type of lie when I heard it because I listened to it almost my entire life.
She became affronted. "I'm not. What are you talking about?"
"You're lying to me. I can see it in your face." I didn't think she spoke a word of truth to me since we met. I probably wouldn't have believed her even if she did.
"And how would you know that? Do you have some kind of lie detecting superpowers?" Her brow creased into a frown.
"No, but I've listened to my mom lie through her teeth long enough to know it when I hear it."
I could see her whole body tense as she readied to defend herself. I knew then that it was just a matter of time before I was no longer welcome in her hideout. "Yeah? And what would I have to lie about?" She challenged me, trying to call my bluff. Except I wasn't bluffing and she was about to find that out.
"You leave your hair down and wear long sleeves to cover the bruises on your body. You don't like being touched, or sudden movement, because you associate it with being hit. And you miss days of school, or come in late, so the more visible bruises have time to fade or you can use enough make up to cover them up." I rattled off every clue she left me to piece together, watching closely for her reaction. She fought to hold onto her scowl that deepened every moment she tried to reject the sinking reality that her secret was no longer a secret. Not to me.
"You may have the rest of the world fooled. But you can't fool me. I know what you're hiding better than you may think." I spoke gently to her, not wanting to get her back up any higher than it already was. I could see her chest heaving deeper than before as she struggled to maintain control of herself.
After a long pause, during which she must have decided that she'd run out of excuses, or the energy to fabricate more, because she didn't contest my assumption, she spoke quietly, "And how is that?"
"It happens to my mother too." I often attribute the abuse in my house to my mother because she takes the brunt of it, but the truth was she wasn't the only one who suffered, nor was Wade the only one who delivered the blows. As much as I fought for my mother, defended her, and protected her, there were times when I wondered why I did it when I'd be on the receiving end of her abuse. She wouldn't fight back when Wade hit her, so she turned around and took that retaliation out on me. I let her. I don't know why, but I've come to believe it was because I'd rather she hit me than Wade hit her.
"And to me," I admitted, something I didn't even do with my closest friends, though I'm positive they knew. Friends that close read between the lines and catch those small things you give away, even when you don't realize you do it. The same thing happened between Meghan and me. I read between those lines and drew conclusions from the pieces I gathered.
Meghan looked at me then. Really looked at me, and the walls came tumbling down as her eyes welled with fresh tears. "When did you figure it out?" She asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"That day in the hallway when I reached out to touch your sweater."
Her face contorted just before she lowered it, bringing her hands up to hide it from me.
I hate seeing girls cry. That probably stemmed from my mother too, but it was really hard for me to endure and even worse when it was Meghan. Her tears were a mixture of shame, relief, and even some fear. She probably felt stupid now for throwing out all of the fibs she did when I never believed them but accepted them for her sake. I guess in some way that made me a liar, too.
"Hey. You don't need to pretend anymore. It's why you're out here, isn't it? To get away from it." It was why I was out there too. We were two peas in a pod that night, running away to simpler times.
Meghan didn't reply, but her silence was enough. She lowered her hands from her face while her head remained bowed toward her lap. I could see her lips part as she took a slow breath.
"Who is it?" I asked gently, not really anticipating a detailed answer but hoping for something to indicate her trust of me. She had yet to throw me out despite how vulnerable I must have made her feel by effectively stripping away each protective layer of her disguise.
But by her response I could tell she wasn't happy about my invasion of her personal life.
"You seem to have it all figured out; why don't you tell me." Her voice was low, strained.
I took a moment to think over my options carefully before ultimately deciding on ignorance. "I don't know."
"Now who's lying." She lifted her red-rimmed eyes to give me a hard look, not in the mood for any more games. Neither was I. It was time for the truth, bitter truth to be revealed.
"I'm not lying." Not really. "I just heard some rumors, so who knows if they're actually true."
"I know. You think I don't hear them, too? I may be invisible but I'm not deaf." There was anger in her voice then, though I had the feeling it wasn't entirely directed at me.
"Okay, so set the record straight." I leaned back to sit up taller. "Tell me the real story."
She studied me closely in the dim light for a long time. I waited patiently for her to find the words, and more importantly the courage to confess her nightmares. Finally, she did.
"It started after my dad went to prison…" She began from the very beginning, filling in every detail of the so-called rumor Tommy shared not long ago. Some of the details were flawed in his version, as was to be expected, but for the most part what I heard wasn't very far off from the truth, or at least the version of it Meghan told me. I couldn't be entirely sure she wasn't still doctoring details to feel like she had some control. Plus, once you started fabricating those lies, it was hard to stop. Even so, I listened with every bit of compassion and understanding a friend could offer.
It was her mother's boyfriend that dished out the abuse. Her story was uncannily similar to my own with her mother trying to justify his anger and provide excuses. The difference came, sickeningly, in our gender roles. Meghan's abuse wasn't just physical. It started out that way, but within the last year it became sexual. That was the part of her story that brought a whole new level of discomfort and shame into the fort. I suddenly felt like I was invading her personal space and regretted all the times I tried to reach for her. If I thought opening up about her abuse would be hard, I greatly underestimated the gravity of the situation she was in. I also underestimated her trust in me. While I hoped she would merely admit to it, I was surprised when she went on to share how ashamed and humiliated and violated she felt any time she looked in the mirror. She didn't even hesitate as she did. I think it was because if she stopped she wouldn't have been able to continue. I wouldn't have blamed her, even when she started to tell me I thought about telling her to stop if she wanted. But I think she would have if she did. She realized she needed to tell someone. If not anyone who had the power, or obligation, to stop it for fear of retaliation, then just someone who would finally know the truth. Someone she no longer had to hide from or lie to. Even just having that one person made you feel less alone in your hell.
I didn't know what to do, or what to say. I wanted to pull her in and hold her close, to make her feel protected, but I wasn't sure she would accept my touch. She had yet to.
"How often do you come out here?" That seemed like a safe question in this safe house.
"I don't know. Quite a bit when it gets… it gets unbearable. They get upset when I don't show up for a few days but I just need a break. I need time for my mind to… regroup."
I didn't like the way she used that word 'regroup,' like her mind got derailed and she needed to get it back on track before it crashed and burned.
"How long have you been here this time?"
"Just tonight so far. It was pretty bad when I got home." Her voice once again fell as her eyes lowered to her lap where she was once again wringing her hands as I saw her do in the principal's office.
I almost didn't ask, I felt like I was bombarding her with questions, but we made it this far and part of me wanted to know. "What happened tonight?"
Meghan once again lapsed into a contemplative silence. My eyes lowered from her face to her hands as their motion became rougher. She clenched her jaw and swallowed before she let out a soft gasp as she took a breath to speak. "He came into my room and said if I wanted to keep living there that I needed to start contributing to the rent. I said I wasn't old enough to get a job yet. He said he had a solution to that. That he… he had a friend who was willing to… to help. That he would pay me, in cash, and if I was willing, I could start tonight.
"I knew what he meant. I called for my mom - I wanted to know if she knew about this… job - but she didn't come. He told me she approved, but I knew that was a lie. I ran, but I think that was a part of the deal. The thrill of the chase."
I shuddered, my stomach dropping when I recalled our earlier conversation when I joked about the so called "chase." But I didn't mean it in the context Meghan was describing. Not at all. I felt almost sick listening to her story.
Meghan squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "I don't… remember a lot. I think the shock suppressed the memory. I just remember him laughing and wishing I'd pass out from the pain. But I wouldn't let him touch me. I fought. I'm pretty sure I broke his nose. There was blood everywhere. I just… got out of the house and came here."
Relaxing her hands she lifted her head to fixate me with the most devastating look I had ever, and will ever see. It is forever burned in my memory. "I'm so scared, Ty." She strangled a sob and my heart broke for her.
I wasn't sure if she'd accept my touch. I didn't want to scare her again, but I also didn't want to leave her crying there alone feeling like she was a spectacle. So I moved slowly, allowing her to see each of my movements as I made them to move over onto her bed, turning to sit beside her.
She grew quiet, watching me from the corner of her eye. I could feel her body tense as our arms brushed, skin on skin. I slid my arm along hers until my hand touched her forearm where I let it rest lightly. She stared at our connection and swallowed hard, but didn't move away.
"You're safe here with me, okay?" I assured her quietly, running my thumb along her tender skin.
"I just want to stay here. I'm afraid to go home." Her eyelids slid closed and I could see the circles beneath her eyes, the lines on her face that revealed utter exhaustion.
"So stay. I'll stay with you. We'll be like the Boxcar Children… in a tree house." I offered a gentle smile, joking, but not really. It sounded outlandish and impractical, but not entirely impossible. If that fort was where Meghan felt safest, then why not.
"What?" She looked at me a little surprised. "We can't."
"Why not? You said you've spent days at a time out here before." I gestured to the storage tubs. "And it looks to me like you stocked provisions. With a few fortifications and repairs, it could work."
"Do you hear yourself? You're actually talking about living in a tree house." But even I could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.
"You're the one who wants to stay here."
"Well, yeah, but I… I didn't mean for real. I just meant I wish I could stay here. I can't. Neither can you."
"Why not?"
She stuttered over her excuse. "B-because. How would we live?"
"Better than we do now."
I studied her. "That's not what you're worried about though, is it? You're afraid that if you're gone for too long they'll come looking for you and when they find you it's not going to end well."
"Maybe. I just don't want anyone to know about this place. I want to keep it like it is."
Despite how great I thought my idea was, I didn't push Meghan to accept it. Instead, I just nodded. "Okay. But you shouldn't come here alone. I'll give you my phone number and any time you need to get away, I'll come stay with you. That is, if you want me to." I looked up into her grey eyes that turned on me as Meghan's lips curved into a faint smile.
"I do."