Quiet No More by Nikki Barthelmess

Author:Nikki Barthelmess
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Family / Orphans & Foster Homes / Social Themes / Sexual Abuse / General
Publisher: North Star Editions
Published: 2020-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Twelve

Victim Impact Statement

My dad is a liar. He only cares about himself.

I push the pencil so hard against the paper that it snaps in two. I scream and throw it against the wall. Frantic, I paw through my backpack until I find a pen. Start writing again, but this time it’s not to the judge. It’s to him. My own personal monster.

You are not a father. You are the most selfish, twisted person I’ve ever met. You want me to help you? Were you even sorry, or did you just write that so I would come? Did you just say that to me to try to get me to do what you want?

Do you even care about what you’ve done to me? Do you ever think about how you shattered my entire world that night? You’re my FATHER! How could you? If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t ask me to help you. You only care about yourself.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I HATE YOU!

And then I throw the notebook too.

Minutes or hours pass. The sun sets outside, except I don’t feel grateful for the time of day. No new possibilities will come tomorrow. Just another twenty-four hours of the same wheel turning and turning. Me inside, running like a hamster. Running to and from my dad but getting nowhere.

I’m alone in my room, unless you count Sasha sleeping in the cat bed I bought her. Lights off, blinds drawn, me tucked under my covers. Although I don’t miss the strict rules at Connie’s, having all that structure and her breathing down my neck had its benefits. I couldn’t sit around and stew about how crappy my life was. I had to act. Write essays for financial aid. Study. Clean, even.

But at home, with no one telling me what to do, I can lie around and ruminate. Hate Dad. Wonder if he ever loved me.

I could call Connie. Tell her what’s been going on. We text sometimes. I tell her about school, and she tells me about her daughter, Annie. Connie tells me she’s been taking more foster care training to brush up on her parenting skills so she can be a better foster parent.

For the same reason I didn’t tell Kale and Christina right away, I haven’t told Connie about Audrey. Telling Connie, someone who was sexually abused as a kid by her stepdad, would have made everything too real. It would have made me have to face my conflicted feelings. Talk about them. Figure out what to do about that stupid victim impact statement. So, I’ve kept her at a distance by pretending I’ve just been busy with school.

But I miss Connie, unimaginable as that once would have been. She’d get it, I think. How I feel now. But something about that—imagining Connie’s thin brows furrowing with understanding. Hearing the softness of her voice. Knowing how much this hurts. Knowing me. It just seems like too much right now.

My dusty blinds could be cleaned. My backpack, lying on the floor by the door, has homework in it I could do.

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