Page 39 of Broken By Silence
“They are there all the time,” I whisper, then force myself to push harder, to string the words together before I collapse back into the silence that feels safer. “Claire and Will think it’s safer that way, but I don’t feel safe. I feel likehe’sgoing to come barging through the door any minute now.”
Her pen stills. “Because of their connection to him?”
The word “him” makes my skin crawl. My chest constricts so tightly I almost choke on the answer. My hands start trembling, and I dig my nails into my palms until I feel the sting.
It grounds me just enough to speak.
“Yes,” I breathe out. The word is brittle. “Because every time I look at them, I remember whattheydid to me. And what they did after.”
Emma doesn’t interrupt. She waits, and the waiting seems to stretch for hours instead of seconds.
“He… they took everything,” I continue, my voice shaking but clear. “Not just my body. My voice. My entire self. After them, I couldn’t speak. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. My body decided silence was safer. For years, silence was the only shield I had. If I didn’t talk, they couldn’t twist my words. If I didn’t talk, then I couldn’t be upset when no one came to save me. Silence meant survival.”
I can feelmy chest heaving now, air rushing out of me too fast. My voice breaks as I try to keep going. “Do you know what it’s like to open your mouth and nothing comes out? To scream until your throat is raw, but no sound escapes? I lived that every day. At school, at home, withthem. I learned how to smile, how to nod, how to keep everything locked behind my teeth. Because once my voice was stolen, it didn’t feel like mine anymore.”
Emma’s eyes soften, but she doesn’t reach for me. She knows touch would be too much. “It sounds like you carried the silence because it kept you safe when nothing else could.”
“Yes, because back then nothing could keep me safe. The three boys I thought would protect me turned on me,” I breathe. My vision blurs, and I swipe at the tears, angry that they betray me. “And now I’m supposed to speak about it, like words could ever be enough to explain. How do you explain being broken down piece by piece? How do you explain to anyone that a man smiles at your silence because he knows he’s broken you? That he liked it. He called me Little Bird… said he wanted to break me again and make me sing.”
Emma leans forward slightly, her voice low. “But you aren’t silent anymore. You fought to get your voice back.”
Her words hit something in me, and I shake my head violently. “I am only talking because I’m forcing myself to. It doesn’t feel natural. My body still wants to shut down, to hide, to disappear into silence. Every word I say feels dangerous, like I’m asking to be broken again.”
I can’t stop now. The memories are rushing out, suffocating me.
“I remember the smell of their cologne, the sound of the door locking, the way the floor creaked under their shoes as they switched places. I remember how it felt to have my cheek pressed into the carpet, how he smiled when I froze, when I couldn’t move or scream. And I remember being dragged out of that room afterward, being dropped off at the curb of my house like a piece of trash, and having to walk in the door. The shame of my dad being unable to look at me because he knewwhyit happened, and how my mom told me it was what needed to happen. Silence was the only way I had control.”
I clutch my own hand, like it might hold me together.
“They raped me. Again and again. And I let the silence swallow it, because what was the point when no one was listening? Because if I screamed, no one would come. Because they both made sure of that. I lived mute for years, because the only sound I could hear was what they called me…over and over again.”
The words echo, filling the small room. My chestis heaving, my throat raw. It feels like I’ve ripped open an old wound with my bare hands.
Emma doesn’t look away.She doesn’t flinch. “But you are here. You survived.”
I want to believe her. But my hands won’t stop shaking. My throat still feels like it might close at any second. And all I can think is… if silence kept me alive before, maybe words will kill me this time.
I could tell her everything. I could retell the nights I learned to be small. I could say the words aloud now and let them be ordinary. I have come a long way from the girl who swallowed screams whole so she would not attract attention. I can say some things, but some things dig into my throat like nails.
“They might not have known. Roman and the others,” I say finally. “But they were part of the plan to ruin me. To break me, and they did. They watched it happen in ways that split their culpability into quiet parts. They left. They asked questions later, and how guilty it made them feel when it should have been about me.”
Emma’s pen moves again. She does not blink. “You feel abandoned by them in the moment you needed help.”
“That is it.” My voice cracks with the exactness of the hurt. “Abandoned and then expected to heal on their timetable when it suits them. Expected to be grateful that they are here now.”
She presses her pen down, a frown on her face. “You are allowed to be angry.”
“I’m furious,” I say, hearing how small the word sounds in my mouth. “I want them to know what their choices cost me. I want to forgive them, but I don’t want to pretend that everything can be fixed with a half-ass apology and a sad face. I started to get revenge. Small things like spicy chili, red dye in their shower heads. I told Elijah I was going to forget him… but it doesn’t feel like enough.”
Emma nods, gets up, and goes over to her bookshelf. When shereturns, she slides a small stack of books across the table with a wink. “For your revenge.”
I look at the covers and, in spite of myself, grin. The titles are ridiculous, but precisely the kind of thing I’ve been looking for.
Three ‘self-help’ books stare up at me, and I pick them up one by one.
‘Working through your gaslighting tendencies.’
‘You emotionally torture people… Why?’
