“That was fine for a while, until I met a new client named Jerry. I was fourteen when we first met.” I looked back at him and met his gaze. I wanted him to understand this part. “Fourteen. Barely a girl. I was in eighth grade. I’d gotten my braces off two months earlier.”
“What did he do?” Darren stepped forward, radiating a quiet anger.
“He never touched me. I’ll be clear about that. He never once touched me.” I looked away again, hugging myself tighter. “But it was almost worse. He sent me a present after that first party. I didn’t think anything of it. Dad said he was just that kind of guy, you know? Very nice, always kind to families, that sort of thing. He hadn’t given me much attention and I didn’t dwell.
“But then he had another party and Jerry spent half the night following me around, asking me questions about school and my friends and what music I liked to listen to. I liked the attention at first but it quickly became overbearing and intense and creepy. I escaped to my room, and the next day a bouquet of flowers showed up. Dad didn’t think anything of it. I had a bad feeling.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.
“Over the next year, Jerry called, texted, and emailed me constantly. He sent me gifts, lavish, ridiculous gifts. Eventually my father began to send the presents back unopened, but they never stopped. If anything, Jerry got more aggressive and started leaving little notes for me on the mailbox and on our front door. I told my dad I wanted it to stop, but he only said Jerry was a nice guy and an important client, so I should just be happy I was getting some positive male attention.”
I turned back to stare at Darren. He seethed with a barely restrained rage.
“I was fifteen when Jerry sent me an explicit email. Before that, it hadn’t been obviously sexual. He said and did things that made me uncomfortable, but he was careful not to cross the line.”
“What did it say?” Darren sounded like he wanted to kill something.
Which he probably did. I felt a sudden surge in my chest. I remembered telling my dad about all these presents, all the unwanted attention, and how he hadn’t given a damn. It felt good to tell someone that cared.
“I don’t remember the details anymore and I don’t want to, but it was bad enough that my dad had a talk with Jerry. The emails and calls stopped, but the presents never did. They just kept coming, almost every week.”
“That bastard.” Darren’s eyes blazed. “Your father let it happen. He cared more about his money than he did about his daughter.”
“That’s why I left. I knew that my dad would gladly sacrifice me for his business. He didn’t care that I was suffering and basically being stalked by a fifty-year-old man. My dad didn’t care because he was getting paid and Jerry was important.”
“Did it ever stop? Did that sick fuck harass you until you turned eighteen?”
I shook my head, smiling ruefully at the memory. “When I was sixteen, I told Jerry I’d meet him for coffee. An older friend of mine with a car drove me and came in. I stood at the table and looked at Jerry, at his sad, pathetic, hopeful smile, and I told him that he was a sick, slimy, disgusting pervert, and that if he didn’t stop bothering me I’d post all of the gross messages he’d sent me online and let the world judge him. I said it as loudly as I could, and I guess it scared him enough to make him back down.” I rubbed my arms at the memory. I was so scared, so terrified that my dad would kill me for confronting my disgusting pedo stalker, but nothing ever came of it. Dad never said anything, and Jerry stopped bothering me.
But the scar of my dad taking that sick bastard’s side over mine never healed, only festered over the next couple of years, and the moment I graduated from high school and could run away, I made my move and started over.
“Good for you. But the piece of shit deserved worse.”
“I know. Sometimes I feel guilty. I should’ve told someone else, you know? Maybe he was doing that to other girls, and I could’ve protected them—”
He shook his head and came toward me. “You did nothing wrong. You protected yourself. You were a sixteen-year-old kid.”
“Sixteen-year-old kids do amazing things sometimes though, right?” I blinked back tears and forced myself to smile. “I’m happy I confronted him. Maybe I scared him into stopping, but I don’t know. I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. But I still wonder.”
Darren touched my shoulder gently. “Don’t do that to yourself. What you did, confronting that sick fuck, then running away from home, that took more courage than most people have.”