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tormented. Of course they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know you were abused every day. Such dignified people don’t talk about such things. No. They simply thought our drug-addicted mother could no longer take care of us. You bite your tongue when they say that they prayed for you to find your way. Little do they know that I’m still as lost as I ever was.
    I had never gone to church when I was growing up. As far as I could remember, it wasn’t until Cam and I came to live with our aunt and uncle that we had ever stepped foot in a house of God. They both tried to infuse religion into our lives, but I don’t think it’s worked. I’m not saying I don’t believe in God. I just wonder how this all-loving, all-forgiving being could possibly allow a man to harm a little girl. Where was God when that was happening?
    Listening to my uncle preach from his pulpit today, my body was in the poised position that I had mastered over the last six years…back straight; legs crossed at the ankles; small, yet pleasant smile on my face. All eyes of the church were not only on my uncle, but also on us. Any bad behavior on our part reflected poorly on him. Be well-behaved. Be gentile. Be perfect. Be anything but what you truly are. It wasn’t just me, either. Looking around the church, every last person was pretending to be someone they weren’t. Jessica Harper, the school slut, sat across the aisle from me, praying and nodding in agreement with my uncle as he spoke of saving yourself for marriage. She couldn’t even save herself for a week! But there she sat, her body in the same position as mine, her legs crossed at the ankles…even though we all knew they were spread wide open the night before.
    We were all puppets. Every single one of us. The cycle had been going on for years and we’d all been powerless to stop it.
    A loud grunting sound brought me back from my thoughts and my entire body stiffened, the air sucked from my lungs.
    I felt a hand grab mine and looked to my left, meeting my brother’s silver-blue eyes. He squeezed and gave me a reassuring nod. I hated the guttural sound of a man clearing his throat. That’s what he always did. It brought me back there…to that horrible time in my life when all these peoples’ God was nowhere to be found. My uncle always told me that He has a purpose for everything, even in horrific events. I wonder what His purpose was in allowing a grown man to molest and beat me every night. I don’t see what it could possibly be. I don’t think I ever will.
    I heard the sound again and all I could see was a sweaty body on top of mine. All I could hear were my screams echoing in my head. All I could smell was the scent of nicotine and stale beer. My chin quivered and I felt as if I was losing control of everything. All it took was one sound, one vocalization from a human throat, and I was back in that dingy apartment.
    As my uncle spoke of God’s plan, I couldn’t take it anymore. I bolted from the pew and ran down the aisle, gossiping eyes glued to me as I retreated from the sanctuary and into the church basement, locking myself in the ladies’ room. I could feel the whispers of the congregation on my skin as I splashed water on my face, trying to shake the memories.
    I hated how the smallest things set me off, forcing me to return to that horrible time in my life. It always seemed to happen just when I thought I could move on and have a normal, teenage life. As much as I tried to convince myself that I was moving forward, it was almost like the world was reminding me that I was still living in the past…like someone was trying to keep the fear and torment inside of me.
    A gentle knock sounded as I peered at my reflection in the mirror, the image of a degraded eleven-year-old girl staring back at me regardless of the fact that I hadn’t seen that person in over six years.
    “Mar? It’s me. Are you okay? Wait. Let me rephrase that because I know you’re not okay. Do you want