Chapter Twelve

In the morning, I didn’t want to leave the soft, warm bed. As far as I was concerned, it was the safest place in the world, and nothing short of a backhoe was going to remove me from it. My mom came in around 11 am with breakfast. I pretended to be asleep, and she left the food on the dresser. She made another appearance an hour later, greeted by a completely empty plate of food. I continued to pretend to be asleep. There was no fooling her really, but she let me have my little game and took the empty dishes with her when she went.

The next check was not made by my mother, but she instead sent Cooper. He was not as easily fooled. Cooper was two years younger than me, and shy in his affection, which manifested itself as roughhousing. He came over to the bed and poked my foot a little bit. When I didn’t stir, he moved up and poked my stomach. When I still didn’t respond with an action he found appropriate, he progressed to my face. There were rules to this sort of game—anywhere but the eye was fair play. He poked my cheek and then my nose, stuck his finger in my mouth and then my ear. His rumbling chuckles were the only sound in the room. I struggled but remained unfazed. I thought I had won out.

I heard his footsteps recede to the door, but out of nowhere he screamed, “Bonsai!” My eyes popped open in time to see him running full-tilt at the bed. I curled into the fetal position as he leaped into the air and landed in a belly flop on top of me. I grunted as the air escaped my lungs and began wrestling with him. This was undoubtedly one of my favorite past times.

In moments like this, I couldn’t understand how someone could go their whole lives without having a sibling. Rough housing was more to me than just a little bit of energy expenditure. It was bonding and the kind of play you can only have with a sibling or someone just as close. I knew in whatever relationship I eventually ended up in, it would have to include wrestling.

“Fine!” I shrieked while he pinned me to the bed, and I tried to buck him off onto the floor. “I concede. I’m awake! What more do you want from me?”

“I don’t know. Mom just told me to come in here and make you get your lazy butt out of bed.”

“Bah! Fine. Tell her I’m up, but I refuse to leave this bed or make myself presentable in any way—forever.”

He stood to go but turned back and quickly hugged me. This both surprised and annoyed me. Surprised because he was not a big one for the affection (typical in my family) and annoyed because this undoubtedly meant my mom told him, no matter how vaguely, something about what had transpired the previous eve.

Thinking about their conversation made the slight happiness of our adrenaline-fueled wrestling match drain from me as the memories of the previous night flooded my head again. In one night my life had taken a nose dive. I now wanted—very badly—to return to school.

“There is nothing you can say that will make me let you stay in bed,” my mother said from the doorway. “I know it’s hard, but you have something you need to do, and I’m going to make sure it happens.”

“But, Mom…” I whined. “I feel silly. It wasn’t that big of a deal. What if the police think I’m lying or exaggerating?”

“And that is exactly why you need to go,” she said. “He needs to know that he can’t get away with what he did, and you need to know that this is a big deal. It’s the police’s job to help protect us, and they will care about what happened to you.”

I huffed from under the sheets until she crossed the room and pulled the blankets off and onto the floor.

“This is not optional,” she said, her arms folded and face set. “Get out of bed and get dressed, or I will have Cooper help me drag you to the car, and you’ll go in your pajamas.”

“Fine,” I shouted. “I give up. Leave so I can get dressed.”

#

An hour later, we were driving down the road to the police station. I had taken my sweet time getting ready, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. I was on my way. I had never been to a police station before, and I didn’t know what to do, but my mother strode in with confidence. Before I knew it, I had paperwork in my hand to fill out. This would be my first act—at least according to the law—as an adult.

Thankfully, I was put into a room with a female officer, and I requested for my mother to come with me. Of all the things I wanted to do alone, this was not one of them. I gave the officer all of the information I had on Clayton. She asked a few questions, and they took pictures of the bruises which had shown up on my arm.

When the officer was done, she left, a the crisis counselor took her place. She was yet another person for me to tell my story to. I was tired of talking about what had happened. I wanted to crawl back into bed and stay there. My spirit was weary.

“So, Penelope, or do you prefer Penny?” the therapist asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Penelope,” my mother and I replied in unison.

“Ok, Penelope, tell me honestly. How are you feeling about everything?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I was really scared and confused last night, but now I just don’t know,” I said, answering as honestly as I could.

“And that’s perfectly understandable. It’s hard for our minds to process things of this nature—likely you are still in shock. Your mind will process the events when you are ready to handle them and able to take a step back from the situation,” she said. “There will be a time when you feel the need to talk about it. I want you to find a support group where you feel comfortable talking with other people. Let them help you come to terms with everything.”

I shuffled in my chair, unable to imagine a time when I would be able—much less want—to talk about the incident openly.

“Some strong feelings may emerge following what happened to you, such as fear, shame and hatred. Those feelings are really common to many people after this type of situation. They’re your mind trying to cope,” the counselor said. “Those emotions sometimes cause people to blame themselves and let their attackers get away with the things they have done.”

I could not argue with her logic as it had been my mom forcing me which had taken me out of bed and into the police station. I might not have been able to imagine myself sharing my story for my own mental health, but I could share it to help others, even if it was only one person. That would be a good enough reason for me.

As we were driving home, my mom asked, “Do you want me to drop you off at Summer’s? She can bring you home later.”

“No, she’s in Canada, and I don’t think she wants to talk to me anymore, anyway,” I said. I stared out the window as the houses passed by. And even if she does want to talk to me, I don’t want to talk to her.

“I doubt that’s true. You two are best friends, and I think she would want to know about this, especially given your shared history with Clayton.”

“Well, Mom, I don’t know what to tell you, other than she doesn’t want to be my best friend anymore as I told her I’m in love with her and her response was, ‘Well, I have a boyfriend.’ Then she left for Canada after I told her I couldn’t be around her anymore,” I said.

That stunned her into silence, maybe because my confession was a challenge to her “it’s just a phase” mentality. We got home, and I retreated to my room. I didn’t want to talk either situation out with anyone, and I didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. I wanted to sulk and cry away from everyone until I either felt better or withered up and blew away.

I spent a few days in my bed, only leaving to go to the bathroom, but on the fourth day Cooper came in and sat on the end of the bed. I covered my face with the blankets as the door cracked open.

“Mom says she’s not sending anymore food up here to you,” he said. “And she says your room is starting to smell.”

“Bah. I don’t care if she sends food. I’ll just starve to death.”

“No you won’t. You’ll sneak downstairs in the middle of the night like you always do.”

I mumbled something unintelligible from under the blankets.

“You’re letting him win, you know.”

“Am not.”

“Really? Because this doesn’t look like any kind of life to me, and he’s done that. He’s stupid and a jerk and you’re letting it keep you here.

“No.”

“Okay, whatever you say. Dinner’s ready,” he said and pat my leg then left the room.

I don’t know when he got so smart, and I wouldn’t admit if what he said was true or not, but I did get out of bed and join my family at the table. It would be time for me to return to school soon, and I didn’t want to miss the little bit I could spend with Cooper. For the next couple of weeks, I would devote all my time to my brother.