Because Of Him

Because Of Him

He grabs my right hand and whispers, “Come now,” and I can smell the familiar scent of vodka lingering on his breath. He shoves my petite and shapeless body onto the full sized mattress that has known me so many days before. He begins undressing me and with every layer of clothing removed from my body, my innocence and self-esteem are literally stripped away. My value and beauty are victimized and betrayed. He grips both of my hands to the sides of my body and intertwines his bony fingers with mine. He lays his white twenty-nine year old body on top of my brown seven year old one and begins to thrust all of his drunkenness inside of me. I close my eyes and imagine myself on a beach in California, lying on the bare sand with only the crystal clear water crashing against my body; in that hallucination my hands are restricted by no one. There I am free. I am jostled back into reality when he unleashes an exhausted moan and rolls over onto his back. A minute later he mumbles, “I’m done. Get out.” and I quickly wipe the semen dripping down my leg so that it never touches the bed. It disgusts me. I grab my blue jean overalls and black and white saddle shoes off the floor and sprint to the bathroom. There I curl my body into a ball and lay naked on the tan tiled floor, imagining myself back on that beach with the water overpowering my body and not my father. The sound of my brothers entering the house makes me anxious and I redress quickly. I peer into the mirror, adjust my curly pigtails, and exit the bathroom knowing that I will encounter that bathroom floor again tomorrow afternoon. Today I am a twenty-three year old woman and the very feeling of someone even touching my hand sends me straight back to the bed where I was repeatedly molested by my father. Because of him I am uncomfortable with a man’s touch. Because of him I still imagine myself on a beach, even while being intimate with my husband. Because of him, I do not like to hold hands.