The Agony of Silence

Filled with dread, I tremble at the coming of the dark. With the settling of the night, I listen, waiting for the sound that will break its silence. My eyes stare into the shadows, waiting. Do I dare to hope he may not come? And then I hear him, his footsteps silent to all but me. My body tenses, like a fist. I am never prepared for what I know will happen.

He slithers into my room, and the touch of his hand on my shoulder fills me with disgust.

”Wake up,” he whispers. “I want you.”

At first, I feign sleep, but he is insistent. “No,” I whine. “I don’t want to.”

”Come on Theresa, just one more time; I promise.”

I do not trust his pledge, for he has sworn it many times. Sighing, I get out of bed to follow him; fear makes my stomach churn with nausea. We go to the living room, far from the rest of the family. Ironically, we sit on the loveseat. I have come to abhor its rusty color and rough fabric. It represents a never ending nightmare.

He demands a kiss, pressing his mouth against mine so hard it hurts. As his hands begin to roam forbidden places, reality falls away and I hide within the corridors of my mind. I feel nothing; I will not remember. I did not learn to dissociate; it was a gift to me from the universe. I don’t call on it to deliver me from the trauma; it simply pulls me into its safety.

Eventually, he leads me back to my bed, and he grins. There is evil in his eyes as he sniffs my stolen innocence on his fingers. Hatred stirs within the very core of my being. It is not for him, but for me - I believe that I am being punished for merely existing. I cannot tell; the shame and the guilt is too heavy. I have been ignpored by a society that is run by men. Therefore, in this agonizing silence, I blame myself; my brother becomes my enemy. He is the one who is successful, while I remain, even now, locked in the prison of his lie.