Biographical Non-Fiction posted February 26, 2009 Chapters:  ...29 30 -31- 32... 


Exceptional
This work has reached the exceptional level
Valerie has reached her limit.

A chapter in the book A Leaf on the Wind

Daddy Loves Me

by S. Pumpkin


The inability to control events in your life is difficult to describe espcially when abuse and denial are at the core of the problem.

Background
Sexually abused from early childhood, Valerie has been forced to deal with her family's denial, guilt over not being able to protect her younger sisters, and rage that she can do nothig to stop the ab
"The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it."
Albert Einstein
 
The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it.
Albert Einstein
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/evil.html#tRqlwTV87poTEpQs.99

Unable to sleep, I got up and went into the living room to watch television.
 
Walking down the dark hall, I could hear Daddy's voice in the living room. When I got closer, I could also hear my little sister, Mary. She sounded upset.

"Yuck! I don't like it when you do that!" Mary exclaimed.

Daddy laughed.

When I entered the room, I saw Daddy sitting on the couch, in the dark, with Mary on his lap. I knew immediately what was going on. Not wanting to frighten Mary, I mustered every ounce of strength I had to keep from screaming at him.

"It's two O'clock in the morning. Why isn't she in bed?" I asked Daddy, in as calm a voice as I could muster.

Daddy grinned and said, "I could ask you the same question."

Barely able to contain my rage, I quickly walked over to the couch, picked Mary up and held her tightly in my arms. In the dark, I could see Daddy's pants were unzipped, his swollen penis glared up at me. In a voice barely above a whisper, I said, "You son-of-a-bitch! If you ever touch her again, I swear I will kill you."

Daddy laughed again and winked at me. Shaking, I turned and ran down the hall, still holding Mary in my arms. I tucked her into bed, checked to make sure Colleen and Denise were still asleep, then sat down on the floor as I had done so many times before. Leaning my head against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind boilied with a jumble of incoherent thoughts. I felt hot, sticky tears stream down my face as I berated myself for not being more vigilant. I had vowed to protect my sisters, but I had failed miserably. I wanted to believe that this was the first time Daddy had touched Mary, but I knew better.

Colleen was eight and Denise and Mary were only six. I tried to remember the first time Daddy molested me. I felt sick to my stomach when I realized, I couldn't remember when he hadn't. I had no reason to believe it was not the same with my younger sisters.

When I woke in the morning, I was still sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. The girls were still asleep. I got up and tiptoed out of the room, gently shutting the door behind me. I went into the kitchen and fixed myself a cup of coffee, then sat down and tried to figure out what to do.

Mom had already left for work., talking to her was pointless anyway. Daddy would deny doing anything and there was no way I was going to make Mary tell what had happened. One liar in the family was enough. I would never subject her to the agony of being doubted. Mom would tell me I was overreacting and had misunderstood what I saw. I knew it was only a matter of time before Mom and Daddy had another fight and then he would leave for a while, but that was only a temporary solution; he always came back. I wanted to call Teresa but she was no longer interested in listening to me ranting about Daddy. She had a husband and a son to care for; she didn't have time for what she called my foolishness.

I heard the patter of little feet coming down the hall. Mary came into the kitchen and greeted me with a yawn and a smile. She was such a beautiful little girl with her dark brown hair, brown eyes, pink cheeks, and perfectly shaped mouth. Everyone remarked about Mary's beauty. Denise, was blonde haired and blue-eyed. Her deep, gravely voice and her tomboyish mannerisms hid a beauty beneath the surface.

"Hi, sweetie. Want me to fix you some breakfast?" I asked Mary.

Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes Mary nodded and climbed up onto the chair beside me. I kissed her on the forehead and got up to get a bowl for her cereal.

"Do you want orange juice or milk to drink?"

"Milk, please," Mary replied.

While Mary ate her breakfast, I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down beside her at the table. I loved my sisters very much but my inability to control my temper combined with my obsession with everything having to be in its proper place, had created considerable friction between us. No matter how many times I told myself they were just children, I still flew into a rage when they made a mess or left their toys lying around. I had lost count of the number of times I had made them cry. I hated myself for being so strict with them, but I didn't know how to stop. When the girls were born, I had quickly assumed the role of big sister and the urge to control them. Having the power to tell them what to do, what to eat and when to go to bed, kept me from going insane. In hindsight, my obsession to exert control over my younger sisters was probably due to the fact that I had absolutely no control over my own life.

I watched Mary as she ate her breakfast. I wanted to ask her about what had happened between her and Daddy the previous night, but I didn't know how to do so without upsetting her. Finally, I just blurted out the first thing that came into my mind.

"Why were you up so late last night?" I asked.

"Daddy got me up," Mary replied innocently. "He said he wanted to show me something."

My heart raced anticipating what she might say next.

"What did he want to show you?" I asked.

"He wanted to show me how much he loved me," Mary said. 

Every muscle in my body tightened. I recalled Daddy saying those exact words to me when I was Mary's age. The dreadful memories of his abuse came flooding back like a tidal wave.

"How does Daddy show you he loves you?" I urged Mary.

"You know," she said, avoiding eye contact.

"No, I don't. Tell me." I insisted.

"He kisses and hugs me," Mary speaking slowly. "But I don't like it when he puts his tongue in my mouth. He says that's how grownups kiss but I don't like it."

"Did Daddy tell you that he loves you more than everyone else?" I asked.

"Yes."

I started to shake as rage consumed my entire body. I could hardly breathe.

"Sweetie, it is wrong for Daddy to kiss you like that," I said placing a comforting hand on Mary's shoulder.

"Daddies kiss their little girls on the forehead or cheek. Daddy should never put his tongue in your mouth. Promise me you will never let him do that again."

To my astonishment, Mary said, "You are just mad because he loves me more than you."

"No, that's not true," I said. "I care about you and I don't want Daddy or anyone to do bad things to you."

"Mommy says you are always mad about something," Mary said innocently. "She said you look for excuses to get mad and I should ignore you when you get like that."

Mary covered her ears with her palms, closed her eyes and turned her back to me; a signal that she didn't want to talk any more. I grabbed her by the shoulders and abruptly turned her around to face me.

"Sweetie, I am serious! You have to listen to me!"

Mary pulled away and ran down the hall, yelling, "Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you ever again!"

She ran into her bedroom and slammed the door shut.

I picked up Mary's empty cereal bowl from the table and threw it against the wall, smashing it into a dozen pieces. I grabbed her half-empty glass of milk and did the same. My emotional floodgates were wide open. Unable to control the rage inside me, I kicked the chair, knocking it over with a loud thunderous crash. Then, with a single swipe of my arm, I sent the sugar bowl, silverware, and a small glass vase holding a single wilted red rose, crashing to the floor.

I was exhausted. I was tired of being angry, tired of fighting, and tired of saying the same thing over and over. But most of all, I was tired of no one listening. As tears streamed down my cheeks, I was also reminded of the fact, I was tired of crying.


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Valerie tries to talk to Mary, her 6 year-old sister, but Mary won't listen. Mary thinks Valerie is jealous that Daddy loves her more. Valerie has no one to turn to and has reached the end of her rope.
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