Salt & Vinegar Ch. 11

"The drugs did different things to Dad. Mom would go comatose and out to it, lost in her alternative reality. Dad would get ... wired. I would go into my room and hide. Afraid of the shattering glass, the cursing rampage, the hideous, bestial grunting as he took his pleasure from my insensate mother."

"I would creep out, sometimes, in the morning when it was quiet. Sometimes Mom would be on the down and tottering about, hair wild, eyes wilder. Sometimes they would be both still out of it. Their semi-naked bodies grotesquely entwined. I remember the blood, the bruising, the ... fluids."

"I started puberty early. My breasts started to develop and I had my first period when I was ten. I remember the jealousy of the other girls at school and how proud I was as my body changed. I wish I hadn't been."

"In a rare moment of functionality, Mom had gone out to the shops early one Saturday morning. I remember Dad sitting at the table, snorting a line. I retreated into my room because I knew he'd start to get wild and I was afraid of the violence, even as I'd started to get used to it. He'd never hurt me, but I'd seen what he'd done to Mom and I was careful to stay out of his way."

"I hadn't locked the door. When he came into my room, I wasn't sure whether he mistook me for Mom. I wasn't that much shorter than her now and, as I said, I'd developed quickly. I think I blocked a lot of it out. I remember being pushed face down onto the bed. Shorts and panties ripped down. I remember the pain. The searing agony of violation. After he was done, he grabbed me by the shirt and turned me over and hit me. 'Clean yourself up, you filthy bitch', he'd said. And I was left shaking and trembling with blood all over my sheets and his semen dripping down the inside of my leg. That was the first time. I was eleven."

"There were days when Mom and Dad were almost normal. Mom would have moments of lucidity between the down and her next up. Dad would bring me home presents occasionally and smile and joke with me like nothing had happened. I believed he didn't remember. Maybe he'd genuinely made a mistake. Until it happened again."

"At first, he was careful to do it only when Mom was out of the house. Then it was when Mom was home but out to it. Sometimes I could escape out of the house. Other times he'd come home loaded and I couldn't get away before he was on me."

"I remember the last night. I'd gone to bed. I had locked the door because of what I could hear outside. I knew they were both deep in it. Dad smashed the door in, busting the catch. His pants were around his thighs and through the door behind him I could see Mum's naked ass sprawled on the couch. He'd just had her and he was coming for me, his drug-fuelled lust not yet satisfied. I tried to get to the window but wasn't fast enough. He grabbed me by the ankle and pulled me back down onto the bed."

"But Mom wasn't as out to it as he'd thought. He was inside me when the light suddenly turned on. Then Mom was screeching and howling, calling him a fucking bastard and me a little slut. Like it was my fault. He punched her. I tried to go to her and he picked me up by the neck and threw me across the room. I hit my head against my chest of drawers. Through the haze of pain I remember him dragging Mom out of the room saying, 'You need another hit, bitch.'"

"I woke on the floor, my head pounding. Dried blood matting my scalp. I staggered out of my room. Mom was slumped at the table. Dad was gone."

"I cleaned up as I always did. Washed the sheets and put them in the dryer. Scoured myself in the shower. Got myself some breakfast."

"Mom didn't stir all morning, but that wasn't unusual. She could be out of it for a full day sometimes. It wasn't until later when I thought I should move her to the bed to be more comfortable, that ... well, she was stiff ... and I realised that something was wrong. I called a neighbour. They came and then called the paramedics and the police."

"Dad never showed for the funeral. I guess he was over the border by then. I went to live with a distant relative, but they didn't really want me. Let me know it too. I left as soon as I could. Would have been thirteen.

"Couch surfed between school friends when they'd have me. Slept rough in between. Worked odd jobs for the next few years when I could to get money to put myself through school. Sold myself when I couldn't. Never touched the drugs though. Always stayed clear of that. One of the few hells I didn't experience."

"College was a little better. Started earning a bit from photography, didn't have to whore as much. Managed to hold down a part-time job at a camera store."

"You pretty much know the rest. That's about where I was when you found me at my first showing at the gallery in La Jolla."

"I'm broken, Jus. Damaged, you see."

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JUSTINE

Oh, my poor, poor girl.

The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that was Lena all fell into place. I couldn't believe I hadn't put it together before. So much made sense now: the lack of self-respect, her confusion of sex and love, her preference for women, her desperate need for control. My heart broke for her.

"You're not broken, Lena. You are the bravest, most courageous woman I know. And I love you so very, very much."

And then she was in my arms. Huge sobs wracked her. Tears flooded down my cheeks as well. Oh, my darling, darling girl. You've carried that all these years by yourself. Please, let me share your burden. Whatever I can ... whatever you need ... is yours.

It took a long while before she cried herself out.

"What do you need, Lena. How can I help?"

A snuffle from where her head was buried against my chest. My shirt was sopping wet. I didn't care.

"Just ... be you, Jus. Please? Don't treat me any different."

"Can't do that, babe. Gonna love you even more, you know."

"Stoopid. Not made of glass. I'm the same ... bad-ass bitch you married." The sniffle and hitch in her voice somewhat marred the impact of the statement.

"Truth, and I love you for it." I kissed the top of her head.

"Would you hold me close tonight?" This in a small voice.

"Always, my love."

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JUSTINE

When Lena was asleep, I carefully got out of bed. A strip of light still shone from under Ericka's bedroom door. I knocked quietly and went in. Ericka glanced up, put down her tablet and took out an ear bud.

"Is Lena OK?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I think she feels better for finally having told me something she's been carrying in silence for a long time. She will probably need more help yet."

"Should I know what it's about?"

I thought about that before answering.

"I think she should tell you herself if, and when, she's ready. But I also think you deserve to know a little because you're a young adult who demonstrated remarkable compassion and empathy tonight. Thank you, Ericka. I really mean that."

"S'OK, Justine. I love her too."

"Lena had a traumatic sexual experience when she was younger. Your question tonight triggered a bad memory, that's all. Nothing to do with what you said and not your fault at all, OK?"

"Thanks for telling me. I was worried it might have been something like that. Glad she told you."

"Me too. Just wish she'd told me sooner. She's a very brave woman."

"Yeah. I wish I was as brave and awesome as she is."

"You should tell her that."

A smile. "Maybe I will."

"Goodnight, Ericka."

"G'night, Mom."

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LENA

Warmth against my back. Jus. I could feel the weight of her arm draped over my waist.

I rolled to face her and she stirred without waking.

I kissed her gently on the lips.

"Thank you, my love", I whispered.

I was a long way from healed, but I felt ... lighter ... this morning. Some of the darkness had been banished and, as the morning sun shone like a god into our room, I felt loved in excess.

A gentle scratch at the door. I sat up.

Ericka pushed the door open, holding a tray. I smelt coffee.

"Oh, fuck, not you", I said, with a little grin.

She grinned back at me with a smile as bright as the sunshine.

"Brought you two some breakfast. Coffee and bagels."

"You are an angel, Ericka."

She walked over and put the tray on my bedside table.

"Hey", I said. "I'm sorry about last night. What I said. And thank you."

"No problems. We're there for each other. That's what families do."

Fifteen, going on fucking fifty this girl.

"Just so you know, after you went to sleep Justine told me a little bit. No details, she said you might tell me when you were ready. Or not. You had a bad sexual experience when you were younger? I'm sorry. I wouldn't have asked last night about ... you know ... if I'd known."

I reached out and pulled her into a hug.

"You don't need to apologize for asking a question. You couldn't have known. Justine didn't even know until last night. I won't tell you right now; it's still pretty raw. But I will tell you sometime, OK?"

"Sure. I'll leave you two to enjoy your breakfast." She looked at Justine, still fast asleep. "Or you can have it all if you want." She winked at me on the way out.

I did have it all, I thought. Not the breakfast. Right now, I had all the love in the world.

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Some extra notes for those interested in details behind the story.

Alas, Lena does not provide the cover art for Jack White's solo album Entering Heaven Alive (2022). It features Russian photographer Nikolai Matorin's iconic image 'Rhythm of Labour' (1960).

Sorry, I couldn't resist the play on words. When Lena is feeling loved 'in excess', she subconsciously recalls part of the lyric 'the sun comes like a god into our room, all perfect light and promises' from New Sensation by INXS. A later verse is equally appropriate to the discussion the night before.

Cry, baby, cry

When you got to get it out

I'll be your shoulder, you can tell me all

Don't keep it in ya

Well, that's the reason why I'm here.

Domestic violence and sexual abuse should not exist in our world. Sadly, they do. Many of the victims, mostly - but not exclusively - women and children, suffer in fear and silence. Others, with great courage, share their stories to help bring perpetrators to justice, heal themselves, strengthen others and educate the community. Please honour and respect their bravery and resilience.