I tried to run, but he was on me with the fury of a psycho, beating me and pushing me into a corner, blackness wrapping around me. I thought he would kill me for sure, but then there was a thud … a low, empty thud, and he stopped. His face turned blank, his eyes glazed over and zoned out and he crumbled to the floor to reveal my mother standing behind him. A huge, twisted, wooden sculpture from the wall unit, held above her head. She glared at me, her eyes red rimmed, her face white and bloodless; it’s what I saw in that look that will always haunt me; worse than what he had done, what he had been attempting to do that had finally ripped my heart right out and stomped it to death. The anguish on her face, the accusation in her eyes as all I could see was—

“What did you do, Emma?”

I close my eyes against the fresh torrent of tears as I try to push that memory away again and again, but her face stays insistent. My mother always blamed me for Ray leaving. I was eighteen by then, no longer a child. No longer her sweet innocent little girl, but she saw me as a capable woman who must have given him some sign that I wanted it. She felt betrayed by me; it’s the one thing I’ve never been able to admit to myself. Her jealousy and blame. If she believed that of me, then, why wouldn’t I?

All of this with Jake … Has it been because of me? Because I led him to believe I wanted these things from him?

How can I recall these things and feel like I asked for them? I didn’t ask for them … I didn’t ask him to try to rape me, but deep down, somewhere inside, that child is nodding at me and she’s saying: “Yes, Emma, yes you did. Why else would these men, one after the other, try to touch you? Try to take you? You must have done something, Emma. Your own mother believed it.”

It’s the guilt that I forever shy away from, the shame and misery of my internal battle. It’s what she programmed me to accept.

Is this what I do to Jake? Do I make him want to push things further between us? Like them, will he take what he wants, then leave me broken on the floor, the way my mother was left. I was left.

Jake isn’t capable of such things, but I must be doing something for it to turn out this way.

What has Jake done to me? Why is he doing this to me now?

My mind is a messy scramble of thoughts and emotions, half of which make no sense and I’m dying inside.

I didn’t drink before Jake Carrero, I didn’t like how it made me feel. Like I lost control. I never kissed men ever, because all it did was bring back memories that make me feel ill. Never wanted anyone sexually, or even felt turned on by anyone before Jake.

I never opened up and told anyone the things I’ve told him. I never kicked back and just let go, relaxed and had fun, before him. Never took my hair down, let alone cut it. I never cried, and now I can’t seem to stop.

and he has no clue. He has no idea the depth in which he has infected me, changed me. That damn Carrero and his effects

keep people at arm’s length, even Sarah … She’s my best friend, yet I’ve never told her anything that would justify that title. I don’t blame her for drifting away, because I’ve never given her a reason not to. I know

protect and care for, in place of the mother I was leaving behind. She gave me a purpose, someone to take care of, and when she no longer needed me, I pulled away. I didn’t want her looking at me and remembering who

got a job that required devoting all my time and attention to organizing someone else’s life. It’s what I needed, control, calm, organization, safety, and security. Independence and self-reliance. I could focus on someone else’s existence and deny my own.

except Jake. He broke through

and starting over. Men have a way of making that wall go

Until Jake.

I trust Jake? I did … In my own way, but

know anymore. I deserve it. He’s been patient and he tries in a way no one has ever tried, to see through my brave facade. He saw it right from the start, he said as much. I don’t want him to see through it, because if he did and

and emotionally all over

getting so close to anyone, even a friend, in case they rip her heart out like

the countless ways he’s done so over the past months, but that Jake has just walked out on me, gone to hurt me in the cruelest way. Wiping the slate clean and ripping the floor from

wound you deeply, like Jake has done now. People say they love you, but

Stop caring, stop crying. Go back to numb, it was

* * *

in the moonlight; the boat is still and quiet and I feel so alone. I wonder where he is, and it slices across my heart cruelly; I wonder

do this to yourself,

anymore. I create a new little black box in the recess of my mind and push everything in there … I’ll label this one “Jake” and

mind. That’s what I do when life throws me so much pain and misery. I move on. I stop myself from caring anymore, and that is exactly what

well I will erase the line and build a fucking steel wall, to

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