The movie was boring at best. My fourteen year old mind wasn’t too keen on the whole concept of “Death Wish,” regardless of which part it happened to be.
I snuggled into the blanket, trying to immerse myself in the remainder of the movie. My sister and her husband cradled one another at the opposite end, their feet towards me, mine towards them. Somehow, we three managed to make a couch into a three-person bed without offense.
As the credits finally began to roll, she yawned and stretched, managing to disentangle herself and climb over the mass of “us” as she wished everyone a good night.
She was gone.
He and I joked about the remaining semblance of television programming that was left at that time of night.
Who would buy that?
That was quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen!
Oh my gosh! Did you see that?!
Wow. She’s pretty.
You’re pretty. You could be a model.
Nah. I wish I looked like her.
You’re very pretty… you’re beautiful.
His fingers wandered beneath the blankets, touching young thighs beneath a thin nightgown. Higher still they climbed until I was frozen, eyes glued to a television screen I was no longer seeing.
Tears welled as he pulled me upright, shushing me, telling me everthing would be fine.
It’ll be ok. Shhh… I love you. I will leave her and marry you if you want me to. You’re so beautiful.
Lies whispered to keep me quiet.
It will only hurt for a minute. I promise.
He pushed, ignoring the silent tears of pain and confusion that streamed down my cheeks.
His head turned, eyes closed with pleasure while my own stared vacantly ahead, trying desperately to construct a semblance of sanity out of madness.
When he finally pulled from me, spent, he said his goodnights, complete with kisses and I love yous, and headed off to join his wife, asleep, unknowing, in their bedroom.
I stayed on the couch, unmoving, a mere shell of the girl I had been.
This post was written in response to a prompt by Write On Edge.
Memories that we wish we could forget…things that we wish we could banish from our minds.
Imagine that writing down your worst memory will free you of it.
Write it down and let it go.
Let’s keep it to 600 words or less.
Edit: Yes, they are still married. I also touched on this topic in another post titled The Unsent Letter. Obviously, I have not “let it go.” Maybe someday…