I still have frequent flash backs to my childhood and the many nights that I endured him. Laying in bed, the air is cool, my sheets are clean and have that "fresh out of the dryer" smell. I snuggle down into the bed and close my eyes ... and boom - there I am. 13 years old - in my old house - in my old room - in my old bed. I remember everything about that room. I had a beautiful teal and maroon and white quilt/bed set - I had painted a wall in my bedroom a deep teal and the others beige. I had a huge poster of Reba on my wall - She would watch but never stopped it ... I would imagine crawling up into her lap and being rocked through it all. That was much better than what I was going through.
My dresser was on the wall next to my bed and my mirror reflected everything that occurred in my room - after the house went to sleep. That's how I see pieces of it - as if i am watching it in the mirror.
Looking back - the beginning wasn't so bad. It started with him coming in just to look; to touch.
It was always at night - I was never allowed to lock my door or completely shut it. He did that when he entered.
I never said anything to anyone - I've grown up protecting the secrets of the family. What happens in the family - stays in the family. You protect it at all costs - all costs.
My sister broke that rule - She spoke out - DCF came to investigate at the house - he laughed his way out of it - and they left us to pick up the pieces that would quickly shatter. "It can always get worse ..." I learned what "worse" was that night. ... and I would never again talk about it with anyone - until I met my mirror... but that's a whole different story.