Page 35 of I Will Break You
“Don’t.” She raises a palm. “Don’t tell me a thing. We went through hell with what you did to that teacher. And… And… We warned you that the next incident will land you in an institution.”
The threat hits like a slap, and it feels like every drop of blood drains from my face and gathers in my chest. My heart pounds against my ribs like a caged animal desperate to break free.
I have no recollection of that threat. My mind was a jumble the moment my parents and Dr. Saint changed my prescription to convince the authorities that I was mentally disturbed from Mr. Lawson’s sexual abuse.
The shock dissipates, replaced by a hot surge of anger that tightens my jaw so hard my teeth grind. I breathe hard, trying to stay calm, so I can form the words without stumbling.
“Why would you say something like that to a thirteen-year-old girl with a brain injury unless something specific happened in the past?”
Her lips tremble, and she swallows over and over, confirming my suspicions that I didn’t lose my memory from a car accident.
“Uncle Clive did something to me, and I fought back.”
“What?” she asks, her eyes going comically round.
“That’s why you were so desperate to keep us apart. You don’t want him triggering any memories. It’s also why you were more upset that I’d pushed Mr. Lawson off the roof, and you didn’t give a shit that he got me pregnant or forced me into a miscarriage?—”
“Amethyst—”
“And two nights ago, when I called you in tears, saying that a man had attacked me in my home?—”
“Enough!” She claps her hands over her ears. “Stop. I won’t hear it. I won’t!”
I flash my teeth. “If there’s something wrong with me, I need to know, so I can get help.”
“Just stop,” she says, her voice breaking. “Stop or leave. Please.”
“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” I yell.
Her face shutters, and her shoulders rise to her ears. “If you want to know what happened to you, ask Dr. Saint for recordings of your early sessions. In fact, I’ll book an emergency appointment.”
My jaw drops. I kept meaning to call the psychiatrist, but things kept happening to make me forget. I’ve seen that woman for years, and I expect she has mountains of material.
Mom turns on her heel, leaving me staring at her back. “Lunch is on the desk. Don’t come downstairs.”
Why the hell would I want to if my uncle is a predator?
TWENTY-ONE
Alderney State Penitentiary,
Dear Amethyst,
Yes, my father knew he was putting me into a hostile home, but that was part of his plan. My stepmother relegated me to the basement, which she’d sectioned off to create a windowless bedroom. It was an eight-by-eight-foot space with a fold-up bed and a desk.
The first month was agonizing. I wasn’t allowed games, toys, books, or anything to distract me from my grief. Eventually, my stepmother grew tired of being my jailer, so she delegated my care to the housekeeper, who allowed me to stay in her cottage with the girls. Whenever my father was due to return home, I was forced to return to the basement.
Most of the physical violence happened at school. My older brothers didn’t attack me directly, but they were very popular. Any student who wanted to earn their praise could do so by shoving me to the floor in front of them, ambushing me in hallways, or pouring food over my head in the lunchroom.
The brother who was the same age as me attacked directly. I always fought back, but he came with reinforcements. For years, Iwondered why my father didn’t leave me in foster care, until I discovered he was purposefully erasing my empathy.
Did you research the accident online? DUIs that lead to children being injured often make the news. I’m glad you cut down on the alcohol and meds. Anything that gives you blackouts and destroys your ability to function can’t be beneficial.
Xero.
P.S. The molding kit arrived yesterday. Expect something silicone in the mail.
TWENTY-TWO