Bare Yourself (Consumed)

Chapter Twenty

Tegan

I sit, bent over with my elbows on my knees, the envelope dangling from my fingers between my legs. I’m still contemplating burning it. Or tearing it to shreds. Or maybe putting it in a bowl of sulfuric acid. Whatever, as long as I don’t have to read it.

A hand rubs soothingly up and down my back, and I look over. Willow’s sitting beside me wearing a simple black knee-length dress, black stockings, and black high-heeled shoes. Her hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I know she always will be. I’m one lucky son of a bitch to have found her. At least there’s one good thing my mom did. If it wasn’t for her getting brain cancer, and then my strange need to see her, I wouldn’t have been making those trips. I would have never met Willow that day on the side of the road.

She smiles sweetly at me, and it hits my chest. I love this girl so damn much.

“You okay?” she asks.

I nod, then look back down at the envelope and flip it over a few times. It’s white and only has my name on the front in curly script. There can’t be more than two sheets of paper inside, but it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. My eyes look past the envelope to my shoes. My clothes are like Willow’s: black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, black slacks, and black dress shoes.

When I look across the room, I spot my dad and Samantha sitting on the couch. The coffee table I made for Samantha sits right in front of them. Dad said when he gave it to her, he couldn’t get her to stop crying. Right now, they’re both watching me with concern, but my dad’s expression also holds a hint of pain. Their clothes are normal, not formal and black like mine and Willow’s.

Funeral clothes.

I got the call two days ago that my mom passed away. She lasted longer than the doctors thought she would. I had no plan to attend the funeral and was going to leave making the arrangements up to the staff at the facility. Before I could tell the nurse on the phone that, Willow pulled it from my ear, told the nurse I’d call her back, then sat me down to talk. She felt I needed time to think before making a decision. She didn’t try to persuade me either way, she just wanted me to think about the consequences of both decisions.

In the end, I decided to make the funeral arrangements and attend. Not because I loved the woman who died, but because the little boy I used to be loved the mother he used to have, before she changed. There was only me, Willow, and the pastor there. My eyes were dry during the service and when she was lowered into the ground, I felt nothing at all.

“You don’t have to do this now, Tegan,” Willow says quietly, drawing my attention back to her.

I lean over and lay a soft kiss against her lips. Pulling back, I murmur, “Yeah, I do. I want this done and over with so I can close this chapter of my life for good.”

She nods in understanding. It’s not that I’m screwed up over what happened to me. I don’t have any hang-ups about the shit I went through as a kid. Like I’ve told her before, it doesn’t affect who I am. Yes, I still have dreams sometimes, but I don’t let them or my past control my life. My dad made sure of that. He got me the best counselors a kid could have, and I was well loved by him. My dad was all I needed at the time. He saved me in so many ways.

I look over at him and still see the worry and pain. I originally wasn’t going to do this here, wanting to spare him any pain or reminders, but after I told him about the letter, he asked to be there when I read it. I’m not sure why. Maybe because he worries about the effect it will have on me.

“Are you sure?” I ask him one more time.

His jaw ticks, but he answers with a firm, “Yes.” I see Samantha tighten her hand in his and it gives me comfort that she’s here for him as well. I’m not the only one this letter may affect.

I glance back at Willow for a brief second, where she gives me an encouraging smile, then look back down at the envelope. I don’t pull in a deep breath to work up the courage. I don’t count to ten to prepare myself. My hands don’t shake and my breathing stays normal. I just slip my finger under the flap and open it.

Two pieces of paper with black cursive handwriting. With my elbows still planted on my knees, I begin to read.

-

My Dearest Tegan,

I know I’m the very last person you want to hear from. I know the chances of you even reading this are slim to none. I would not blame you if you tossed this letter away as soon as it touched your hand. I deserve absolutely no attention from you. What I did to you, what I forced you to do is beyond unforgivable. I’m not writing to you to ask for forgiveness or to excuse anything I’ve done. I’m writing to you to explain. I know it doesn’t seem like it, Tegan, but I truly did love you from the bottom of my heart. And I still do. I’ll love you until the day I die, and beyond. You were my little boy, and I destroyed your childhood. Ripped it away because I was afraid.

I’m not sure if your dad has told you anything about my childhood, but I once had a brother seven years older than me. To you, you had no uncles, and that’s because I no longer claimed the brother I once had. When our parents were killed in a head-on collision, we were put in foster care. We ended up in the same home, something that’s rare for siblings in foster care, and something I dearly wished hadn’t happened. We were there for eight months when Bruce started sneaking in my room at night. At first, he would just touch me a little bit, then leave, but after a while, I guess that wasn’t enough for him. One night, months later, he raped me. Afterwards, he threatened to kill our foster parents and then me if I ever told anyone. I believed him. Even at seven years old, I saw the hate and rage in his eyes. This went on nightly for six months, before Bruce was caught stealing and was taken from the home. I thought that was the last time I was ever going to see him, but I was still so scared to tell anyone.

Many years later, after I married your father, I found out he went to prison for raping and killing a poor teenage girl. I didn’t realize until then how scared I still was of him, even after not seeing him for years. Then one day, when you were two years old, I was scanning through the obituaries in the newspaper, and there was his name. He was dead. A huge weight lifted off my chest, and I could finally breathe again. He was gone, and I never had to worry about him again. Little did I know, there were actually two Bruce Williamses in the same prison. What were the chances of that happening?

Fast forward three years. Your dad was on one of his business trips, and I had just laid you down for a nap, when there was a knock at the door. I was stupid, and should have looked through the peephole before opening the door, but the neighborhood we lived in was nice and the crime rate was almost nonexistent. Bruce was standing there, and I was in such shock and frozen with fear, he barreled his way in before I could close the door. He dragged me into my and your dad’s bedroom and raped me again. I kept as quiet as I could because I didn’t want to wake you up. But something must have startled you, because when he was buttoning up his pants, you walked in the room, rubbing your sleepy eyes. Bruce looked at you, then at me, and the look he had in his eyes terrified me beyond anything I had ever felt before. I made you go back to your room, then I begged Bruce, I got down on my knees and begged him to leave you alone. I knew his tastes weren’t only for females. I suspected he’d raped one of the little boys that were with us in the foster home.

Once again, I was petrified by his threats. He threatened to hurt you, to take you away from me and keep you all to himself, then he was going to kill me and your dad, and then you after he and his friends were done with you. I knew he was capable of it too. He told me the only way to keep that from happening was if I let him have you here, in my home. He said he was part of a group of guys and he’d be bringing some over with him. I was so scared that I let him do what he wanted. I let him bring those men into our house, and I let him touch you in the most horrible ways. After a year of watching it, I couldn’t take anymore, so I packed you and me up and took you away. We were able to hide for six months before Bruce found us again. The day your dad showed up was the day I let go. Even knowing I would go to jail for what I did, and may never see you again, I was so relieved it was over. I have no right to feel sorry for myself, this is not about me, but I was slowly dying inside knowing what was happening to you.

I’m so sorry, Tegan, for not being strong enough. I’m so sorry for being a coward and not standing up to him. I’m sorry I made you do those horrible things. I’m sorry for bringing you into my nightmare and making you live your own. There is not now and never will be enough words in the world to express my sorrow. I will never forgive myself for not doing what I should have done and protecting you better, and I certainly never expect you to forgive me either. The state may have punished me by putting me in this facility, and I may not be all the way in my head anymore, but my true punishment, one I take without argument because I firmly deserve it, is not being a part of your life.

I love you, Tegan, with everything in me. And I pray my mistakes don’t keep you from being the wonderful man I know you were always meant to be. If I’m ever given anything in this life, it would be knowing that you have a happy and healthy life.

Love forever and always,

Your mom