Page 16 of Hush Little Martyr, Don't You Scream
The rest of our time together was mostly us theorizing what could have happened to my dad, and she rambled on about some of the guys at school who she thought were attractive. Once she left, I found myself sprawled out on my bed again, peering up at the ceiling. There was nothing interesting about it, which was what drew me to it in the first place. Because there was nothing interesting about me either.
Did it make me a sociopath if I didn’t care about my father’s death? In fact, I was glad it was gruesome. He deserved to suffer for all the things he put us through. He’d never been cruel to me, but he had been absent. He also never cared if I could hear the hateful things he spewed at my mom.
Over time, I’d gotten used to it. But watching him treat her that way right after she had a baby sent me over the edge. She was alone and hurting. He should have been there for her, not tearing her down and making her feel worthless.
I loved my mom, but I resented her too. She chose to put up with him, and she cared more about our reputation than about my happiness or well-being.
I swallowed thickly before pushing myself into a sitting-position. It was probably time I told her what had happened to me the night Dad was killed. Maybe she’d open up about whoever this Savannah person was to her.
Chapter Nine
“Mom,” I began hesitantly as she sipped on a glass red wine. She was leaning over the kitchen island, her hair in disarray while she stared off into space. Her eyes were bloodshot, and I couldn’t remember a time when she looked this bad.
Instead of acknowledging me, she took another slow sip.
I knew her relationship with my father was complicated. They were bonded in some way I’d probably never be able to understand. It didn’t matter that he treated her poorly. Some twisted part of her still cared for him.
“Mom … We need to talk,” I tried again.
“Can it not wait?” She glanced at me over her shoulder, revealing her dull, icy eyes.
Frustration slithered down my spine. “No. It’s important.”
She’d been putting it off for the last two weeks, and I gave her time to mourn. There wasn’t an expiration date on mourning a loved one, but I still forced myself to give her time, even though this shit has been nibbling at the back of my mind ever since it happened.
She sighed and pushed away from the counter to turn and face me. “What is it?” Her voice was colder than I was used to, but I wouldn’t let that deter me.
Swallowing, I blew out a nervous breath. “Have you checked the security footage?”
“Of course, I did.” She scoffed, like the question alone was stupid. She hadn’t been her usual self lately though, so how was I supposed to know?
I nodded thoughtfully. “The night of the party…” I trailed off, folding my hands together as a current of dread coiled around my stomach. “I was nearly assaulted by three boys from school.”
She was silent for a long moment, probably trying to process what I was telling her. We didn’t talk about things like that. Frankly, I’d always been afraid to confide in her and Dad about my feelings.
“And you’re just now telling me this?” she countered, a hint of accusation in her tone. “Conveniently after your father’s death.”
I reared back, my lips parting in shock. “I-it’s not like that,” I stammered. “I was afraid to say anything.”
She snorted and took another sip of her beverage before returning it to the island.
Confusion tore through my skull at her callousness. I knew she was grieving and was probably drunk on top of it, but to accuse me of making it up for attention was monstrous. I would never do something like that. She had to know deep down I wouldn’t.
“I saw what you were wearing before you went out,” she continued. “If you were almost assaulted as you claim, that must have been why.”
My heart dropped into the depths of my stomach, tears springing to my eyes. I almost didn’t even want to tell her the rest, but knew I had to. It was my best bet of getting her to talk.
“I wasn’t dressed any more scandalously than the other girls who attended,” I muttered.
She shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you then. You should have filed a report as soon as it had happened.”
My lower lip trembled, and I absentmindedly rubbed at the cuts on my arm, concealed by a long-sleeve shirt. Why did I think she’d care? I knew she was a hard woman to please. I knew she wanted me to be different—more like her. But I never, in a million years, would have expected her to blame me for something I had no control over.
“A-after the party, I stripped out of my clothes and went to sleep. But something woke me up in the middle of the night,” I added carefully.
This seemed to get her attention. She straightened her posture and furrowed her brows, eyeing me with renewed interest.
“I-I don’t know what it was,” I continued. “I was in some kind of state of sleep paralysis, but I wasn’t alone. Someone started touching me.” I shuddered at the reminder, warring emotions flickering through me when I remembered the sensations. “Lickingme … down there. And when I woke up, I heard you screaming. I ran to see what was wrong and that’s when I saw Dad. When I went back to my room, I saw the message on my wall.”
