This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 10; the tenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
All characters in this story are fictional. Any similarity to person or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
When I came onto this earth, I cried because I knew no one around me. Yet, it was her loving hands that held me close and gave me my first experience of love. It was her who first whispered into my ears, my name, Jen. Alas, her love lasted just a few days. She who I’d seen first was taken away from my life by He who had sent me here to be loved. I wasn’t alone, but somewhere, even though I thought I didn’t miss her presence, I did miss her presence. My father was left to take care of me, Angel, as he called me. It was a challenge he’d not yearned for, or felt he was up to, but he had no choice. He loved me too much to just leave me at an orphanage or give me up for adoption.
He loved me, cared for me and even though we weren’t rich, he never let me feel anything was missing in my life. Time flew fast, I was five years already and I spent my time pestering my dad as much as I could. He chided me a lot, scolded me at times, yet in every word he spoke to me rashly, I could see the love in his eyes and I knew he was doing it for my good. I never listened though, after all, I was but a child and I wanted to enjoy every moment I had with him to the fullest. He sent me to the local school, and I got a lot of friends to make my day pass faster while he worked at the local petrol bunk, earning whatever he could to support us. The time passed again, three more years, and I was going to celebrate my 9th birthday in a week.
“Angel, you’re growing up so fast into a pretty girl”, he said to me on that special day. “Soon, you’ll be out of school, into college and one day, I’m going to walk you down the aisle of St. Mathew’s Church and give responsibility to some handsome young man who’ll love you more than me.” I’d smiled and kissed him on the cheek and ran off that morning to school. I gave sweets to my friends and to my teacher that day; I’d made the sweet myself with my dad the previous day. There was a bit of rain in the evening when I left school. I didn’t mind, I loved the rain. It reminded me of my mother. I walked on slowly and took the shortcut home. I looked back. Was there someone following me?
A few moments later, I realized I was right. A big hand covered my mouth; another caught my waist and even as I struggled, dragged me away. My eyes had narrowed in fear, no sound could escape from me, and no one was near to hear me even if I did. I lapsed to unconsciousness. When I awoke, I was being dragged again, hands tied behind me and a kerchief covering my mouth. I heard a door open and the one holding me viciously pushed me into the room. I landed hard on the rough wooden floor, scraping my knees as I slid across it. For a moment, the light from the hallway hit my eyes as I opened them, then a shadow moved across, the door shut again, immersing the room and me into pitch black darkness.
The blood was slowly coming out of my knees, but the pain was for another reason. I must have been there in the darkness for an hour when the door opened and the hall light streamed in. He entered, and approached me. I couldn’t believe it was him. The look in his eyes was different, unlike any I’d seen these many days. There was no love. It was like a lion came toward a lamb. I got to my feet and staggered back, away from him. But I hit the wall soon. The door was still open, but he was in my way. I made a dash for it, but he caught me. I struggled again, but with my arms behind me, I was helpless. He threw me to floor and pinned me there. As I lay writhing, his hands went under my skirt, touching me. I screamed through my gag. No sound came, only tears streaming down my cheek. He turned me around, my fearful watery eyes saw his lust filled ones as he tore away at me and entered me. The pain shot through, yet my scream never left me. His lips touched my cheeks, my neck, but I was numb now. I felt nothing. Few moments later, I still lay there on the floor, uncovered, innocence shattered and helpless. His shadow went away, the door closed and I was thankful to be blanketed by the darkness again.
A day may have passed, the light came again bringing him with it. I did not struggle this time. I was tired; I couldn’t resist his advances this time. As he molested me again, my eyes wide open with the pain and shock saw some nails from the wooden boards sticking out. They looked blurred through my tears, but in my mind, they were clear. When he left me on the floor worn out and ragged, shutting the door and covering me in darkness again, I struggled to get to my feet. I felt my way in the darkness, touching the floor with my hands still tied behind me. Something pierced me, and I knew I’d found the nails again. I put my bonds to its points and began cutting the bonds. They’d cut my wrist at times, but I did not care. I had to escape. I couldn’t let myself be so vulnerable more. A few more tries and my bonds fell loose. I felt in the darkness for my clothes, I found them near the door, torn in places but still better than how I was at the time. I put them on. I heard his footsteps, and hid behind the door. There was a shovel there; I took it in my hand. The door opened, I mustered all my strength and swung the shovel, catching him on his knees. His shout echoed in the room, and he fell to the floor. I escaped, bolting the door shut behind me.
I ran as fast as my heels would take me, but yet again, my escape was stalled by another set of hands. This time, the hands were caring, and I found myself staring at my neighbor Inspector Bailey. I was panting, exhausted from my ordeal, and as I fell into his arms nearing unconsciousness, I managed to say four words. “It was Mr. Davies”
I regained consciousness a week later in a room at the hospital. My knees were bandaged; my clothes were fresh, as were the memories of the week before. A tear slid down my cheek, but it was wiped away by a loving hand. I turned to see my dad sitting beside me. I turned away. I felt hurt, felt I hurt him too. I wasn’t his little girl anymore. All my dreams were shattered like my innocence. He sat next to me on my bed, and put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re still my little girl. You cannot change what has happened. You had the strength to escape from his trap; God will give you the strength to continue onward. I love you and I failed you by not protecting you. Daddy won’t fail you again, Angel”, he said. The tears came out, and I sobbed into his shoulder.
Inspector Bailey caught my teacher Mr. Davies and he pleaded guilty to abusing me. The court gave him a long prison sentence, but I felt it was too less a punishment to befit the crime he had committed. The school took me back in when I felt strong enough to return. Some friends didn’t want me anymore, but I’d a few true friends who stuck with me. The scars of the past remained with me, but I continued toward the future that time. I didn’t want to leave my dreams in tatters.
Fifteen years have passed since that day. I’ve completed my education, got a business that gives me a decent income and I’ve started to believe in love again. The rain still reminds me more of my mom than that day, but I still continue to escape the past. A diamond ring glitters on my finger, and loving hands hold my waist this time. I’ve not hidden anything from him, but he loves me for who I am right now. After all, everyone has a past. I shall continue to escape those horrible memories, immersing myself in what I work for, an effort to nip this terrible crime in the bud once and for all. I’m Jen Keats, entrepreneur and activist against the crime of Child Abuse. I’m a voice against that which happened to me. Won’t you all join the cause and help the world become better for the children in the future? If we delay more, we’ll leave our children wanting to escape the future, escape their dreams and escape love. The time is now, won’t you come join me?
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