Page 9 of Timeless Pages

Chapter nine

Isa

I was mortified as I tried to yank my arm from Nathan’s hand. While his hold on me was gentle, it was also as unrelenting as steel. My deep, dark secret was out, and I couldn’t bring myself to look into their eyes and see the disgust.

“Are you cutting yourself?” Nathan demanded. “Is this why your father has conservatorship over you? Have you been playing us?” There wasn’t a drop of anger in his voice, and I almost wished there was.

I understood why he jumped to that conclusion.

It was the same conclusion that every single adult in my life, except my uncle, had come to any time I tried to get someone to help me.

He was angry, but beneath the anger, I could hear genuine concern for my well-being and, worse, pity. I didn’t want his pity.

“Let go, please,” I said quietly. Immediately, Nathan released me, and I turned away from them to give myself a little distance.

It was because of the concern in his voice that I would tell them my story.

The story I hadn’t told anyone since I was fifteen.

Still unable to look at them, I pushed my sleeve back down and stared at my hands as I rubbed them together nervously.

“I’m not cutting myself,” I assured them. “Believe me, if I were to self-harm, it wouldn’t be with a knife.”

“Then how did you get those cuts, Isa?” Evan asked softly.

“My mother died giving birth to me,” I replied.

“Father loved mother more than anything else. And he didn’t hate anything more than he hated me for taking her away from him.

My earliest memories are of pain. Of being hit or pinched.

Being left alone in my crib for hours and hours, then as I grew older, locked in my room. ”

I started to pace in front of them as I retold the horrors of my past, my surroundings fading as the memories overtook my senses.

“I didn’t know this wasn’t normal until I started school and saw how other parents treated their kids. I didn’t understand why my father wasn’t like the other dads or why everyone else always seemed so happy and excited when school let out, and they could go home. I never wanted to go home.

“In elementary school, he spent a lot of time punching me in the stomach. Pinching didn’t seem to do the trick anymore, though throwing me around by my hair also satisfied him.

The cutting didn’t start until I was twelve.

In a rare moment of defiance, I sassed him, and he completely lost it, grabbing a sharp knife and cutting me on my stomach.

I thought he was going to kill me and found myself welcoming the reprieve.

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the case, and when I saw the look in his eyes at the sight of my blood, I knew my life was going to get even worse. ”

I paused my story to grab my water cup and take several long gulps through the straw.

Baring my soul to these three strangers was more difficult than I thought it would be, but I didn’t want them to think I did this to myself.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t stand the idea of them thinking the worst of me.

They had remained silent the entire time I talked, and as I put my water back on the counter, I braved a glance up at them.

They stood frozen like statues, their faces displaying various degrees of anger. I was eighty percent certain they weren’t angry at me, but it still made me anxious, so I quickly looked away again and continued my story.

“At first, it was only on my torso and upper thighs, where the abuse couldn’t be seen by the school or anyone else, but eventually, as the cuts scarred and he ran out of space, he began cutting my arms. By then, I was a teenager, and people assumed I wore long sleeves and baggy hoodies because I was going through a phase.

“No one ever suspected my father of any wrongdoing. He was the epitome of what a father should be in public. I was seven when I stopped hoping things would change, and that he would suddenly love me. In public, he would be nice and loving toward me, but as soon as we got in the car, he would turn back into the monster only I knew existed.”

I sighed as the familiar helpless feelings washed over me.

I had been stuck in an endless cycle of violence, not understanding why Father couldn’t love me and why, as I got older and began to look more and more like my mother, the abuse got worse.

There were plenty of times when I was sure the bleeding wouldn’t stop and I’d finally be free.

Father called his doctor friend to fix me up for those times.

The abuse was never reported because he convinced the doctor that I had done it to myself and that he didn’t want news of my mental problems to become town gossip.

“I tried to get help. I told my teachers and principals what he was doing. I even tried going to the police. Nobody ever believed me. Morris Wilcox was the friendliest man in town. He got along with everyone and was well-respected. He could not do the things I was accusing him of. Instead, I was labeled as a problem child, and he was praised for putting up with me.”

I couldn’t help but scoff at the memories.

“Every time I tried to get help, the abuse got even worse, and Father would lock me away for days at a time without food. It became pointless to try. Then, one day, when I was fifteen, I stumbled upon information about my mother on a rare occasion when my father was out and hadn’t locked me away.

Specifically, she had a twin brother whom I had never heard of before.

I had family other than my father, and for the first time in my life, I felt hope that I might find a way out of the hell I was in after all. ”

A sad smile spread across my face as I recalled my first conversation with Uncle Jay.

“I googled him, found a number, and called him right away.

I told him who I was, and he sounded so happy to hear from me.

He told me he had tried for years to have a relationship with me, but that Father had refused.

When he asked me how I was, I broke down and, through my tears, told him everything.

When I finished, I braced for the dismissal, which I was sure would come, but it never did.

Instead, he told me he was coming to pick me up.

“And he did. Within hours, he was banging on our front door. Father had returned by then, and I remember watching from the top of the grand staircase as Father opened the door and Uncle Jay pushed past him. Father was screaming at him to leave his house, but Uncle Jay ignored him when he saw me at the top of the stairs. He beckoned me to him gently, coaxing me step by step down the stairs with my father screaming at us both. When I reached him, he looked at my bare arms, turned, and punched Father in the face.”

I laughed at the shock I had felt seeing him laid out on his ass.

“I remember being so stunned that Uncle Jay had hit him. In my warped mind, Uncle Jay had come charging in like a knight on a white horse to slay the beast and save me. He told my father that if he ever spoke to me again, he would make sure everyone knew what he really was. That was the last time I saw my father until the day of Uncle Jay’s funeral. ”

I turned back to the three statues and pushed up my cardigan sleeves to show the bandages.

“Now he has court documents giving him the right to take over my life. These were my punishment after you left for not being as pleasant and agreeable as I should have been when you were here and for telling him that I wasn’t going to live with him. ”

I looked at the angry men in front of me, expecting them to say something, but they remained silent as my anxiety built. “And now you know everything,” I finally said to break the silence and hopefully prompt them to speak.