Wounds Left Unspoken
remembering at 9:45 a.m. on 2002-12-30
This is one of those close your eyes because its too painful to keep them open moments.
My fingers are wrapped tightly around a bit of my sweater, that I draped across my arm. Something to hold onto for comfort.
He leads me to a back room, joking candidly that its usually used for bad guys, but it will be ok for me to sit here too. There is a cheap particle board table, like the ones you used to use in public school. Three late 80's chairs, covered in a faint orange stained upholstery. I sit heavily, placing my car keys on the table.
He, and a woman enter behind me, closing the door with a faint automatic click.
He, introduces himself as Dectective, something-or-rather. Pepper-gray hair, short...more like dog's hair, on a square head. His face is arrogant. Wrinkled and weathered. A square body that fits pressed into a pair of dockers. He has a qulity to his voice that leaves you insecure. Like your father that you always hated come to chase you into the corner and beat you sensless.
She, the woman, is a petite blonde. Extreemly homely looking. In a plain knit sweater and jeans. A gaggle of keys clipped to her hip. She looks at me in attempted sympathy.
A failed attempt.
I contimpate vomiting on them both. My senses are on overload. My fingers and body are trembling.
"______, I brought you here so we can go over your story again. Is that alright?"
I nod without saying a word.
He begins to dig into me, smelling my fear like a dog. I'm staring eye to eye with him as he tries to find inconsistancies in my story.
"Your friend says that you cry everytime you are drunk. Are you sure you weren't just crying because of that?"
That phrase and he is my enemy too. The tears no longer obey me. I'm furious, helpless, the shame and hate welling in me. I want to kill this man since I can't kill the other.
I want to kill my friend, for saying that. Even if she didn't. I already know this man is a liar. I've caught him more than twice. I wonder how he got his job...by being good at it? Or being an asshole.
The words Vagina, assault, breasts, and forced, run off his tongue like a Burger King drive thru order.
He doesn't realize that its the desicration of my very being that he is prattling about.
That was my heart. That was my body
The body I concieved my children in. The body that brought them forth into this world. The body they covet. The body that I love with. The body that I cannot hide from this man.
I'm desperate to ignore him.
He hasn't got the power.
But he has.
Its never going to be over. Because I can't be touched without thinking of you...
The bruises are gone, but I can't justify your wrongs...I can't drag you out of that dark bar, you liar.
I can't chase you out of my home. I can't forgive you for your disrespect.
I can't let my family know or they will think I am a whore.
And the funny thing is....you have made me believe it to.
And its just another cross to bare...
Another dark secret to devour.
never was � never will be
