Pink
Welcome home!
My home has always been a house with many windows and doors. My father neglected to install locks; and my mother failed to teach me how to keep it. They both fashioned a beautiful house. THAT! I cannot deny. My parents would host these open house parties where only the elite could enter. Money and status did not make an elite. Your character did. My parents valued character over everything. Naturally, it attracted many. Daddy never failed to remind me of my beauty. Mommy always taught me how to keep it. As an only child, they doted. The house was draped with nothing but riches and elegance. A small price for its full worth.
The pink slit, they call it. The pink nipple, they call it. The pink pouch, they call it. I know it as nothing more than an intentional sequence of numbers and letters. Punch them into Google Maps and my house will appear. In the beginning, I was the only resident. I never imagined it could house other people. Yet, I fail to remember a time when it was just me. Daddy knocked first.
Had I known you were foaming at the mouth, I would not have let you in. Had I know you would dispel and erase any hope my soulmate had, I would not have let you in. Had known you planned to move in, I would not have let you in. Had I known you would corrode me, I not have let you in. Had I known your touch was toxic and erosive, I would not have let you in. Had I known the door could never be closed again, I would not have let you in. Had I know it would be impossible to close that door, I would not have opened it. BUT you were not asking, were you? You huffed and puffed it open, didn’t you? You knew how to charm it open. I was a baby!
Now, on your death bed, you deny me my truth. I know what I have lived. You forgetting a truth that you forced on me is much too convenient for Pops. You looked my three year old body and found it sexy. I saw a fried and a protector in you. I thought you be a sanctuary and a fortress to me. You ended up being an open grave, gaping with hunger. I was dealt a dirty card. I had no way of escaping. I had no chance. Still, I loved you. You know my feelings were distorted and disturbing. You told me to hide them because other people would not understand it. I thought I was lucky, I was in possession of something many had been denied. My heart breaks at the thought. The thought that I could have escaped had I told a friend. Had I answered Mrs. S honestly, I would have escaped. Had I slept over an E’s house that day, I might have escaped. My heart throbs in pain at the thought.
But mommy? When you finally left daddy I should have been saved. You said I was safe. You told me no one was allowed to touch me like that. You told me I had to inform you immediately if it happens. “Mommy would never hurt you,” you sobbed me a promised. Daddy hurt me. He hurt me. Mommy saved me, so I should listen to her. For a while it was just me and mommy. I was safe, and I was in a men free home. I was safe from giant caressing hands. for callused hands that scratched and burnt. I was safe. Until mommy met D. D huffed and puffed it open. He knew how to charm it open. I was still a baby! Before I knew it, mommy was convincing me it was ok to watch. It was just sex-ed, they argued. Not long after, I had found myself at a camp site with them. A nudist camp. A camp that saw D meet daddy. My house now hosted two other people. By the time I got home P and his wife had already found shelter in my house as well.
They were all terrible housemates. They got along swell, but they ruined my house bit by bit. Chipping away at it with each interaction. My brick walls, my fancy paint, my expensive furniture, all if chipped away bit by bit. I felt their presence. It was still neutral, but weird. They hovered over me like ghosts. Unlike ghosts, they were not hidden or discreet. They were tattooed all over my skin. Everyone avoided me like a plague. I only had T, he kept me company. I found solace in his punches, and reassurance in his hands when they touched and poked at me. I knew him to be just another person in my house. For two years, he was just another tenant.
Finally, I left that place. Like daddy, I left them but they were still there. Unlike daddy, they were just tenants. A year before high school I met T. I fell in love. He was a long haired boy who was always alone. He was never around people. I thought I found my person. I thought I fell in love. I fell in love with a boy who only wanted to videotape our interactions. I introduced him to a shed I built. It was behind the house, protected by a deep lake. I made it comfortable for him. The predators that swam about bowed to him. They recognised him and the one who would free them, free me. For his enjoyment and comfort, I packed it full with what he enjoyed. Alas, he preferred the main house like the others. He left and took my shed with. My heart sank when he promised to release my videos. I had to continue as his slave. I became no better than the doll he snuck from his father. A doll I had the pleasure of meeting.
Does it amaze you that I never finished school? Does it amaze you that I saw my true worth and potential? That I understood the power that is my house? Does it amaze you that my beautiful house, and all its glory. became nothing but a tormenting spirit? Does it amaze you that I found it difficult to maintain a sober state? It should not.
What should amaze you is the fact that I have just received my Masters in Psychology. I received it as a wife and mother of two. I will not share my age, but I cannot birth the baby I want. My husband and I are currently fostering a set of siblings. I am a mother of four. What Should amaze you is that I am forced to revisit this place because daddy’s home called. He has Alzheimers. He only remembers one year old me. Three year old me is erased from him. He has killed me.
