Chapter Seventy-Seven

The family reunion couldn't come and go soon enough. Five days felt more like five decades in Lorna's little mind. Five days that she and her siblings were trapped under the same roof as their demented uncle and abusive father. With Mrs. Morello supposedly gone on some business trip or another. Of course, her siblings were both at the age where they could drive themselves as far away from the house as possible if they so desired. But Lorna was only eleven. She couldn't drive away no matter how bad she wanted to. No matter how much she silently begged and pleaded with God. God wouldn't answer her prayers anymore, she knew, not after what dirty things she'd done with Uncle George. She'd be doomed to hell because of it. Not would be—she was doomed to hell. God didn't like little girls who did devious things like what happened with her uncle; Uncle George and her father made that abundantly clear to her.

As if the touching and groping wasn't sufficient to scar her whole, her uncle also started taking to shaming her for how big her body appeared to be. How much food she'd consumed during dinner, how little she exercised. And all of that occurred in less than four days. Four days. Four days of not only being sexualized by her own uncle but also being incessantly yelled at for eating normal amounts of food that everyone else ate because in his eyes—his satanic eyes—she was too fat. Too fat and disgusting to be touched by a man. Even though, at just eleven years old—still not having started puberty—the last thing she ever wanted was to be touched by a man or anyone. She wanted to enjoy the summer with her friends, not be trapped in the damn house with two people who blatantly dismissed her existence.

She was trapped in a house with two adult men who used her existence as if it were just added onto their own. As if she was only alive to provide them with pleasure. Pleasure for her dad's constant need to take out his anger and frustrations with. Pleasure for her uncle as his very own sex toy. That was all she was to them. She might as well have been a fucking voodoo doll. Because clearly that's how she was used by her dad and uncle. Like some kind of toy that they could each manipulate into doing whatever they wanted her to do.

There was no summer vacation to be enjoyed by Lorna this year, she learned that rather quickly. The second her uncle stopped over was precisely the same second her school break was ripped from right the hell under her. She tried to hide out in her room for the majority of his stay but that was soon ruined by his venturing up there. After the one time she chose to go down to the living room. The one damn time she had the courage to leave her room and such decision was the worst she could have ever made.

Now, she was lucky if he didn't come into her bedroom at least once during the night. If she even opened her mouth to protest, he'd find a way to make her regret an action so vulgar. What he deemed vulgar, anyway. But the worst of it all wasn't the disturbing things he'd done to her in her bed—the one place she was supposed to be safe from people like him—rather it was the way he never ceased from picking on how much she was eating during the evening meal that Mr. Morello insisted they all consumed together in the dining room. It was as if her own father relished in her pain, her agony that was all caused by his brother. She couldn't wrap her young mind around it. She thought dads were supposed to protect their children from the behavior her uncle exhibited towards her not encourage it to keep going like her own damn dad did.

Of course other dads probably didn't call their children mistakes or the fault of a broken condom. Or if they did, they more than likely said it to themselves and not in earshot of said children. Her father didn't seem to give a shit, though, he said what he wanted when he wanted no matter who the hell was in hearing range of him. No wonder Mr. Morello allowed the behavior of her decrepit uncle to continue escalating. All he saw in Lorna was a broken fucking condom. She wasn't supposed to be alive. She was supposed to be nonexistent. Hell, maybe that's why her existence wasn't technically hers when it was just her and her dad and uncle. Neither of them wanted her around. Well, her dad certainly didn't—maybe Uncle George did but only for his own sick, sexual, gratification. She was only there to arouse him.

It was exhausting. Utterly exhausting being stuck in a house with the two of them. She couldn't compute how it had only been four days and not four years. Or four decades. Or four fucking millenniums. There was nothing she could do to make them stop. To get them to leave her the hell alone. She was a little girl. A crazy little girl who just made all of this up was what both tried to convince her of. The only thing she found that brought her any peace, any damn comfort in those four hellish days, was to eat. And then after her uncle continued to harp on her about what she ate, she needed a way to release herself of the food. So, she threw up. By force. And it felt like the first day of summer each time she hovered over a toilet and let the food come right back out of her. She found the act of purging to be a thrill. A thrill that only she could control. No one else could do it for her. No one else could tell her to stop. She was in control for fucking once and she craved it. Needed it.


Even after the five days and the family reunion and the incident at the family reunion Lorna continued the newfound ritual she had created for herself. It became an obsession—maybe even an addiction—to stuff herself of whatever her stomach craved and then venture off to the bathroom to relieve herself of every last bite she'd taken. It brought a euphoric sensation over. A sensation that took her mind off of everything that happened between she and her uncle all those weeks ago. A sensation she wanted to keep feeling so she kept up the routine.

Fortunately it was easy to hide with her family incessantly in shambles recently. All Mr. Morello did was scream and yell at anyone who even stared at him wrong, her poor mother was an emotional wreck barely keeping it together for she and her siblings, and her older siblings tried to stay out of the house as much as they could. So she had all the time in the world to give in to her desire. To become so heavily immersed within her own little world of eating, purging, and repeating. It was a win-win-win situation. No longer did she have her uncle there to harp on her about just how truly heavy she was or wasn't. And with her mom being home from her business trip, she was temporarily safe from her father's wrath.

But her being free from his wrath only meant her mother wasn't. Which only made her feel incredibly guilty and shameful. Mrs. Morello was the kindest, most loving, soul to grace the planet—no, the entire universe—and all her dad did was make her mom feel so bad about herself. Hurt her mom in ways that inadvertently caused Lorna the utmost pain. Watching her mom suffer from her dad's abuse was a million times worse than having the abuse done to herself. Her mom was truly a good person who hadn't deserved any of what was dished out to her by that mean, mean, Mr. Morello.

She, however, was a mistake. Her dad said so himself. She heard it and had a sense that she was meant to hear it. Because her dad had always been so spiteful towards her, ever since she was in preschool. She never knew why he hated her so much or why it at least felt like he did. Not until she heard him speaking of her to his brother did she finally receive a reasoning for her ever pondering question. She was never supposed to be conceived in the first place. The only reason she was born was because of her dad's faulty condom. Had it not faltered Lorna Morello wouldn't exist.

It was no wonder then why he abused her the most out of everyone in the house. And why he always appeared to be picking such useless fights with her mom—he blamed Stansie for Lorna's existence. So, technically, it was all her fault that her mother was being caused the same physical and mental pain as she was. Because she should have not ever been conceived let alone born. Let alone an eleven year old girl now.

Knowing her mom's pain was her own doing made the need to eat and purge even stronger. She had to be punished somehow for making her mom suffer so much. Her heart belonged to her mother—the one person who truly wanted her. Who fought for her every chance she had. The least she could do was show her appreciation. And the only way she knew to do that was to punish herself. Maybe it was from her uncle's words or her father's nonstop abuse but no matter which it was, she knew punishment was needed in order to reconcile with her mother.

She didn't think anyone would ever notice—hoped and prayed nobody would, at least. Because if anyone found out they might try to stop her and she didn't want to be stopped. Eating and purging was like a lifeline to her at that point. She craved it all the damn time. It felt as though even if she wanted to not do it, she couldn't not do it. As if it suddenly became innate within her. Any time she felt the slightest bout of anxiety coming on, she had to find something to consume and purge. That was the only way to calm herself it felt like to Lorna. She needed to self soothe and in order to accomplish that, she had to eat and release.

But she didn't take into consideration her bed-wetting issuesthat suddenly started within the last weekwould rather swiftly lead to her mother's finding out about the little eating and vomiting issue. She thought she had it under wraps. It wasn't like she went to the bathroom when others were around to possibly hear her retching into the toilet. Lorna took a lot of precautions to what actions she was participating in, specifically to avoid from anyone finding out—including her mother.

However, her mother had a strong mother's intuition it seemed because despite her efforts she found out. Or noticed, at least, that something was going on with Lorna.


The two were sat in the kitchen one morning before Lorna had to leave to catch the school bus when Stansie reached her hands across the table, without warning, and took Lorna's small face into them. Palms stroked softly up and down the length of both of her pale, rosy, cheeks. There was something off. Something different the closer her eyes studied her youngest child's face and body language. She tilted her head as if that would somehow give her the reason to what she pondered over could be wrong. Over what could possibly be causing her usually bubbly Lorna to appear so, so—subdue? That was all she could truly think of to describe Lorna's demeanor the past couple of weeks.

Ever since the night she found Lorna lying in a bed of her own urine—the third or fourth night in that same week—Stansie's suspicions and concern hadn't ceased. In fact, they grew stronger by each and every passing day. There was something wrong, something clearly going on. More than what Lorna had shared, there had to be. There had to be more than just the one incident with her husband's perverted brother, she thought, and just thinking that made her skin crawl with anger and disgust. What kind of person found pleasure in hurting an innocent child like her sweet little Lorna?

Stansie shook her thoughts away and regrouped her attention on the face of her young daughter held out in front of her own. She brushed the tips of her fingers soothingly around her cheeks while a sigh pushed its way through. "Is everything okay, Lorn? You've been very distant since I took ya to the hospital last week…are you feeling okay? I've been looking around to see if I can't find ya a therapist to talk to," she gently interrogated, keeping the soothing motion going to ease any tension her words may have unintentionally caused.

Everything was the opposite of okay, Lorna thought. Nothing felt normal anymore. Not since before Uncle George came to visit. Since then life felt insane, suffocating, like no matter how hard she tried to breathe she couldn't entirely catch her breath. But she wasn't going to allow any of that to slip from her mouth. Her mom was already suffering through so much with her dad's drunken rages—she sure as hell didn't need Lorna's insanity piling onto that.

A smile pursed onto her face. A smile to hide her inner pain. Her inner boiling breaking point. "I'm fine, mom. I just, um, I don't think I need a shrink or nothin'. I don't have anything to talk about. Why, why would ya even suggest that, mom?"

Shaking her head, Stansie released her grasp from Lorna's cheeks and got up from where she was sitting so that she could walk over to the other side of the island and wrap her arms securely around youngest child's petite body. A mother always knew when something was amiss with her child. This was no different. She was going to get to the bottom of whatever it was that was bothering her daughter, no matter how hard it appeared to be.

"Lorna, my sweetheart, you're not fine. I can see through that smile a yours. I brought ya into this world and I know when you're not feeling right, and right now is one a those times. You've been hurt by your uncle, and a therapist will help ya with that. I promise. You don't gotta be scared, hon. Therapists are just people who want to help."

"I'm not scared, mom." Lorna quickly dropped the smile into a frown and lifted her hands to rest on each side of her face. Tears were forming at the bottom of her eyelids and she had to suck in a painful breath to keep them from falling out.

Pressing a comforting kiss atop her head, Stansie tilted her own while gazing down into the brown eyes of her daughter. She used a thumb to soothingly brush a few loose strands of hair away from them. "Then why are ya so against meeting with a therapist, hon?" The micro movements of her youngest child's head and body told her that she was right to be concerned, to be worried. Lorna was certainly struggling and the best thing for her would be to see a professional. Someone who would know what questions to ask, what to say, the things that Stansie unfortunately knew she was unable to do.

Lorna swallowed the saliva pooling at the bottom of her mouth and pushed her shoulders up towards either side of her face. A therapist meant she was crazy. Exactly the words her uncle and father used to describe her and she loathed the idea of it becoming true. She didn't want to be the crazy little girl she was deemed by Mr. Morello but that was what she would become by meeting with a therapist. Not only that, she knew if any of the other kids in her school found out she'd be the laughing stock for the rest of her life. Or the rest of her school life, at least.

"Therapists are for crazy people, mom. I-I'm not crazy. Am I? Do ya think I'm crazy?"

The frantic tone in her daughter's voice easily cracked Stansie's heart. Her arms naturally tightened around her, pulling her closer and softly swaying the two of them from side-to-side. "You're not crazy. You're not crazy, sweetheart. You just—you need a little extra help right now and there ain't nothin' wrong with that. Who's making you think you're crazy? Is it your fatha? He puttin' this nonsense in your head?" Fingers soothingly raked through the thick dark strands of Lorna's hair.

Being in the arms of her mother—the safe, warm, protective arms of her mother—it was almost enough to wash away all of her fears, her anxieties, her stress. It was the one place she wished she could stay forever. Right there in the comforting embrace of her mom. The one person who loved her unconditionally, who would never hurt and abuse her like Mr. Morello or Uncle George. The only person who fought for her like she was the last cup of really damn good coffee. And yet, even that—even all of that—wasn't any match for how much guilt she felt. Guilt she felt over the pain that her mother was caused by Mr. Morello all because of her own self. Her existence was the only reason her mom suffered at the hands of her father. If she didn't get conceived her mother wouldn't be suffering right now. Everything dwindled down to Lorna.

"I heard dad call me a crazy little girl before and now I think he's right, mom. Do regular eleven year old's still pee their beds at night? I doubt it. I'm just real crazy and messed up and ya shoulda never had me," Lorna's voice cried out, she forced her way out of her mother's embrace—highly out of reluctance—and started angry pacing around the entirety of the kitchen.

Her eyes peeked out the window on the door as she continued marching about, the sun shone in through it and she couldn't find it in her to smile like she normally did when she felt the warmth of the beautiful sun on her face. There was nothing for her to be happy about anymore—summer vacation had abruptly ended and all she did was get abused by her dad and his fucked-up brother. What a damn summer that was. Sure would be fun to share that with her classmates and teacher. Then she could be labeled a crazy at school, too, how perfect. Everything was just going so smoothly for her. Life couldn't be any better. She scoffed and fastened her pace.

Stansie's head shook profusely after hearing Lorna's revelation. Leave it to her asshole of a husband to say the most insensitive things to their youngest child, who happened to be one of the most sensitive people Stansie knew. She drew in some air and followed to where Lorna was, stopping her movement by placing two very firm—yet loving—hands on her shoulders. As she peered directly into those brown eyes on her daughter's smaller, cherub, face, she felt her heart ache. There was so much sadness, so much agony in such young eyes. Young eyes of a little girl who shouldn't have anything of the sort harboring inside of her. And the reason those emotions were there were all thanks to her husband and that godforsaken brother of his, she disgruntledly thought.

"Your dad doesn't know what he's talkin' about, okay? You are not crazy, my Lorn, not one bit," she softly assured the younger brunette while moving her hands from shoulders and up to cup lovingly around each side of her face. "Ya got a valid reason for having accidents right now, is your fatha tryna make ya feel bad about it? Oh so help him God, I will cook him for dinner if he is."

Her arms found their way back around her child's body, bringing her closer until Lorna's head was resting on her chest. The one place she knew she could keep her little girl safe from all the cruel pain in the world. All the cruel pain in that damn house. Pain caused by a man who was supposed to protect her from it, not dish it out. Oh did just thinking about it bring her anger to a boiling point. She couldn't stand the man she married any longer. He wasn't the man she fell in love with. He was a fucking monster.


Her mother knew. Her mother always knew. Mother intuition was what she told Lorna. Or maybe it was the fact that Lorna chose a risky time in the evening to hover over the toilet in the bathroom on the other side of the wall from her parent's room one night. It was a lazy decision made on her behalf. She hadn't felt like running all the way down to the basement's half-bath as she'd usually done. And, so now, she sealed her own fate.

The toilet had been flushed and Lorna was busy washing herself up at the sink when she heard loud knocking on the door. She paid no mind to it, too focused on the task at hand to really care which one of her siblings were needing to come in to use the bathroom. However, the longer she refused to acknowledge the knocking the louder it seemed to get. She grumbled out a frustrated breath as she finished washing up.

"Lorna, open the door."

Surprisingly, it was her mother's voice she heard coming from the other side of it. The color from her face immediately drained upon coming to such a conclusion. What possible reason could her mom be knocking on that door for? Numerous questions popped in her mind and none of them brought her any comfort. She swallowed uneasily and slowly shut off the faucet, drying her hands with a towel that hung from the wall right beside the sink.

The knocking persisted and Lorna timidly made her way over to open the door. Abruptly halting her mother's seemingly frantic knocks. The second it fully opened, she felt her mother's arms rapidly wrap around her body and pull her away from the bathroom. Her eyes squinted with confusion as she was carried out of there by her mom. She naturally engulfed her own arms around her mother's neck so she wouldn't fall—not that she thought Mrs. Morello would drop her, she wasn't cruel like her father but rather out of instinct.

It wasn't until she was brought into her parents' bedroom and sat on her mother's lap on the bed that she finally had a chance to observe the expression on Mrs. Morello's face. Her eyes held an intense volume of concern—it was almost overpowering for Lorna to stare at. As if the longer she stared the quicker her mom would be able to realize what she was doing to herself. So, she shifted her head and stared at a random picture nailed to one of the walls.

"What's going on, mom? Why did ya drag me outta the bathroom?"

Stansie only tightened her arms around her, brushing a soothing kiss over the top of her head and gradually rocking the pair of them back and forth. She had a sense there was more going on with Lorna but certainly didn't expect it to be what she heard her doing in that bathroom just ten minutes earlier. "I heard some weird noises when you were in there, hon, and I need ya to tell me what you were doing. Because to me it sounded like you were throwing up. Were you, Lorn?"

Lorna rolled her neck uneasily around her shoulders and grinded down on her teeth. "Yeah but I had a tummy ache. I had to throw up to get rid a the pain, mom."

"You don't look sick, though, honey. Tell me the real reason you were throwing up. I know you, Lorn, I know when you're telling the truth and when you're not."

"I wanted to. It felt good and I liked it so I did it. Why does it matter?"

Squinting her eyes, Stansie could hardly believe the words she just heard her daughter speak. What the hell was going on with her used-to-be bubbly little girl? Her youngest child who always had a smile on her face and had such a pure joy for life. The young Lorna sat cradled in her lap now was barely even the shell of her prior self. It caused a welt to form in her chest hearing and observing the sheer transformation taking place in her. She had to do something to stop it from continuing. Lorna was too young, too precious to be struggling this much.

She gently curled a strand of Lorna's brown hair behind one of her ears and grasped her other hand firmly on one of her shoulders. "That's not a good thing to do, Lorn. Throwing up when you're not sick with a stomach bug is bad for your health. You could hurt yourself real bad, hon. When did ya start doin' this? Has this been going on a while?" The questions came spilling out of her. She did her best to keep her tone even but that proved to be quite the challenge.

What was she doing? The query spun through her mind once she'd realized what she'd revealed to her mother. Revealing the throwing up routine she had started wasn't something she was supposed to do, Lorna grudgingly reprimanded herself. She was supposed to keep this hidden and that all went right out the window now. Because she was a damn blabber mouth when it came to her mother. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't lie to her. And if she did, Mrs. Morello had the ability to know. That damn mother intuition. If it weren't for that, maybe she wouldn't be such a scaredy cat when it came to concealing certain things from her.

Regardless, she was sure in a pickle right now because of her own stupidity. Or, rather, her own weakness. Her own failure. And she could either keep being honest or find a way to take back what she said. Embellish the story slightly to suit what she needed. Brown eyes squinted slightly, was that the proper word? She felt her shoulders recoil upwards and shook her head at herself. None of that mattered.

Once she was finished arguing with herself in her mind, Lorna returned her stare on her mother and swallowed thickly. The look on her mother's face knotted her insides up. She should have taken the time to think up a better reasoning for her throwing up earlier than flat-out coming out with the truth. Clearly, the truth hurt her mother by the despair oozing from her eyes. And that did nothing other than intensify the guilt inside of her. The incessant shame that coursed through her veins ever since the first incident with her uncle. All she did was hurt people. Her father was right to speak of her the way he did. Life would be so much easier for everyone if she hadn't have been born.

Inhaling a gradually deep breath, Lorna let it out with a frown. "I'm sorry, mom. I won't do it again, I promise. I only did it once, today and it won't happen ever again. I'm real sorry for disappointing you," she muttered, lips faintly trembling. She could feel tears forming at the bottom of her eyelids and sucked them back up as hard as she could.

That wasn't a sufficient response. Stansie shook her head. The bottom of her lip was drawn in underneath her top one, a gesture she used to halt herself from crying. Crying for her little girl. Her sweet little girl that appeared so broken in front of her now. And that was all because of her husband and that god-forsaken Mendez. Those two fucking broke her baby, and she vowed to make sure they paid for what they'd done. Nobody hurt any of her children without her wrath coming after them. Over her dead body would she ever allow them to get away with the hurt they caused.

Removing herself from her thoughts, Stansie leaned a bit closer to press a soothing kiss on the flesh of Lorna's forehead. The welt in her chest grew stronger as she looked the brunette child over. "You could never disappointment me, hon. I just want you to not hurt yourself, okay?" She waited until she saw Lorna give a timid head nod before continuing. A hand was softly used to comb through thick strands of brown waves. "I love you so much, my precious Lorna girl. And if you ever have the want to make yourself throw up like this again, please come talk to me about it. I don't want you hurting yourself. You've been hurt enough by other people, you don't need to be causing yourself any more of it."

Lorna nuzzled her face closer into the crook of her mother's neck and bobbed her head against it. "Okay, mom, I love you. I won't do it again."

It was a comment she couldn't abide by. For a while after the conversation she decreased somewhat but the second they all heard of Stansie's cancer diagnosis Lorna delved head-first right back into the cycle.