Becca's Baby

“Helping Tory isn’t just a matter of keeping her physically safe,” Phyllis continued softly. “Even more than the bruises on her body, the bruises you won’t be able to see are the ones that will need tending.”

Christine nodded. Who better than she to help her sister through that particular hell?

“So how do you expect to be able to get Tory to open up when you can’t open up yourself?”

The walls flew up, surrounding Christine in a comforting and secure world.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said resolutely.

“Of course you do.”

Hands trembling, Christine set down her cup before she spilled hot coffee on herself.

“You forget, Christine, I’m not only your friend, I’m a professional. I recognize the signs.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, Christine soundlessly hummed a little tune. Birds were singing and the sun was shining.

“Who was he?” Phyllis asked, her voice sounding far, far off. Christine was glad her friend hadn’t moved any closer. She’d have had to run then, and she wasn’t sure her legs would carry her.

She should never have let her walls down with Phyllis, not for even a moment. She’d never done it before. She should have known better. But she was just so damn tired. And lonely. She’d been a fool to think she could have even a semblance of a normal life. No matter how far she ran, how much she pretended and retreated and hid, she was still Christine Evans, the girl who’d been having sex, unwillingly, since she was thirteen years old.

“Was it Bruce?” Phyllis persisted softly. “Did he hit you, too?”

Christine’s bitter laugh didn’t resemble her normal sounds at all. “Bruce didn’t need to hit me,” she said. “He knew I was terrified of him.”

“He did, though, didn’t he?” Phyllis asked quietly.

Because Bruce’s blows meant nothing to her, Christine nodded.

Phyllis didn’t move. “Did he rape you, too?”

Christine shook her head. Though, by the time she’d met Bruce, it wouldn’t have mattered much if he had. She almost wished he’d taken an interest in her. Then he might’ve left Tory alone.

“But someone did,” Phyllis said, her tone leaving no room for denial.

Christine stared straight ahead, trying desperately to hear her little tune. She’d let Phyllis in too far, couldn’t seem to push her back out.

“Who was it, Christine?”

Birds were singing. The sun was shining.

“Who did this to you?” Phyllis was angry.

Frightened, Christine looked at her friend, wondering if now was the time Phyllis would change, when her feelings for Christine would change. She almost hoped it was. She knew how to deal with every negative emotion life had to offer. It was Phyllis’s love she couldn’t handle.

Phyllis had tears in her eyes, her hands clenched in her lap.

“Who was it, sweetie?” she asked. And then, “Let me help you.”

It was raining, big, painful drops that dug at her skin as they landed their cruel blows.

“I’m not going anywhere, Christine.” Once again Phyllis’s voice came from far away. “I’ll be right here with you every step of the way.”

The birds were all dead on the floor. Killed by the rain.

“Tell me who he was.”

“My stepfather.”