Chapter 3

Do I hate what I look like? Yea, I definitely had to come to terms with my appearance, and even now those thoughts are so intrusive. Tormenting me and being a constant reminder of who I am. It's not that I think I'm ugly per-say. I just hate the way I resemble him. I see his eyes. Maybe not the hate he had in them, but the shape and the color were an exact match. My brother is lucky, he looks like my mom. While I would definitely trade spots with him, I wouldn't. He wouldn't handle it well, I barely do at my age. To look in the mirror everyday and be reminded that I look like the man who almost destroyed my life. But I am not him. I am not like him. I can't lose sight of my family, not the way he did. If he ever saw us in the first place.

The weight from football was dense and muscle, but it still made every doctor tell me I was overweight. That I should be about forty pounds lighter and I should start doing Weight Watchers. Yup, no reason they wanted to check the actual BMI because that would tell them they were wrong. That the expectation I was supposed to like every twig bimbo in high school was inaccurate. The broad shoulders that make it hard to find any feminine clothes that fit right. Either I can't fit my shoulders in them OR that they fit like a crop top even when they are supposed to have the right size to cover my belly button. I would always have to go up a size just to get my arms into the goofy fabric. And then it wouldn't be form-fitting and it would be baggy in all the wrong places. I started wearing guy clothes simply for that reason: which meant that girly clothes were out of the question.

Then I move on in the mirror to my arms. My least favorite part of myself because I instantly feel the shame. The weight of the choices that I made, not my sperm donor. The pain that I inflicted because I was desperate for anything, control. It may not be very noticeable to the naked eye unless pointed out, but I saw every line. I saw every memory and every time that relieved in my mind. It was the regret and weakness I felt for it. The choices I thought would feel better at the time. This was my fault. Why wasn't I stronger? Why couldn't I have been stronger? I had to push the negative thoughts aside... it was time to get ready for bed, because sleep was a fight every night so I liked to get a head start.

There was a subtle nagging pulling me from the happier times. I shook my head, attempting to drown out the irritation. Shoot, my alarm. That is what was pulling me from the one decent dream I've had all week. That one sliver of calm and lack of restlessness that I felt almost every night. It was an amazement to me how I functioned on three to four hours of sleep each night. But you know what I've learned? You go on autopilot when you struggle with sleep. Once the 3-4 hours becomes the new normal it is as if your body adapts and learns to live on what little it gets. Almost as if you get any more your body might malfunction. If I get six hours I'm normally overtired the rest of the day. And I definitely can't remember the last time I got eight. Probably because I haven't in so long it has been erased from my memory.

The temptation to turn off my alarm and go back to sleep lingered in my mind. To hold onto one dream, but with my luck I would start with nightmares or not be able to fall back asleep even though it was minutes ago. The more you cling to sleep the more impossible it becomes. On the other hand, what would skipping one workout do? On a Saturday morning after a game? Hmmm. Honestly, I am a committed football player, I attend all practices and games, do the recommended weekend workouts, why not skip once? But that is the danger of a secured workout schedule: If you skip once, what makes you so sure you won't skip again? And I also know what would happen if I did skip: if they didn't see me at the gym- the guys would worry even more than they already are. Right, but what makes this time any different than any other time you want to skip and never end up actually skipping? The dream. I don't want to lose the happiness I felt from it. I don't want to lose the glimpse of peace I got. And that made me tear up to even think about. Knowing I couldn't hold onto something that was simply a figment of my imagination.

After this internal debate ran its course, I concluded that skipping today wouldn't be the end of the world. I texted our snapchat group with all of the team in it. Hoping they would worry a little less that I wasn't there. Not many would show up anyway; Saturdays weren't mandatory they were just recommended.

So, I shut off my alarm and gladly went back to the comforts of my bed. I wouldn't have done this if I had known the dream I had after was definitely not similar to the good one I had just had...

If I had known the terror that followed after that and would make me drag for the entire day even more than usual? I would gladly trade that for the tough workout I would have had instead. That is so pathetic. That is my life. But I get through the day reminding me that I can't control circumstances all I can control is how I respond and heal... The advice that cost my mom thousands for me to hear from a judgy therapist whose worst experience probably consisted of getting her cat stuck in a tree for a couple of hours as a kid. Great. Thanks, it is so helpful to know that when it isn't even circumstances it is simply my mind who refuses to take a break.

***

I ran, but my legs had given up. "You know you can't run from me Andy, it only makes things worse for you in the end." He almost had me in his grasp. "Remember that, Andy. I will always find you, and when I do..." The scars on my arm singed feverishly. I shook my head, trying not to acknowledge the pain. The reminders that he would always be there to harm me. He inched towards me, my feet not moving from their place on the tar-covered ground. "C'mon girl, we all know you aren't strong enough to protect them forever. Once I finish you off, I will be back for them. And I will not hold back this time." My throat suddenly felt parched, as if all the water in the world wasn't enough to quench it. His laughter rang out along the empty street. I whimpered. "Say goodbye to your boy. I never wanted kids anyway: let alone two rugrats running around."

As he inched forward, I made my final plea for help. "Someone, help me, please." My weak voice, foreign to me. Weakness always got beaten out of you. You cry and he'd raise his hands more. My legs soon gave way and I was on my knees, as he got within kicking distance of me.

"You see? No one will help you. No one is coming to save you. Your mom is too weak, your brother too small; no one can help. Your football friends, or even Olive, know nothing about you, about me. And imagine how they would react? That you blatantly lied to them that you kept all this secret? If they don't hate you yet they definitely will."

There was a sad truth to his words. I really did have no one. Sure, they were all close to me, but I didn't confide in them. I couldn't, my mom would cry even more; my brother was too small and fragile. The football boys don't do emotional topics, and Olive, well my best friend was too dense for a deep conversation. So, to counseling I went, against my will. That didn't help me: Or the nightmares. And I was too far in to spill my guts to them. I couldn't handle the pity. Maybe they would resent me afterwards?

The crunch of a pebble under his boot gave me chills. His toothy grin that once comforted me when I was a five year old scared of the thunder gave me instant nausea. I was about to die. He finally would do what he'd been trying to this entire time. With that thought in mind, I sat down on the ground, willingly letting the grim reaper come and take me. I saw his shadow about to lurch forward, but then hesitate. His eyes wide, and I looked behind me to what cast his glance away from striking me. There was a male figure in the distance, but it was none of the guys I could recognize as far as posture and height. Before my sperm donor strike me everything had faded to black.

***

I woke up in a puddle of cold sweat, to my mom shaking me. Worry written on every line of her dignified face. The realization hit me that it was only a dream. Well, maybe not a dream, more like a very real, distant memory that reminded me that the monsters everyone warned you about as a little girl weren't just under my bed. They were related to me. I hugged myself and slightly rocked to shake some of the nerves. He's gone now, Andy, I reassured myself, to no prevail. I had to remind myself to pull myself together because I had company.

"Mom, it is okay, I'm fine, it was just a bad dream." I attempted to comfort her with a wry smile. I knew she wouldn't be able to believe me, I know I didn't. Why would I believe my daughter if I had watched her crying and screaming in her sleep from the haunting memories of what her husband had done to the one he was supposed to cherish. To love. All I wanted from him was to feel like I was loved. Of course, that was way too much to ask of a waste of a human like himself.

"I thought they would disappear as soon as he..." She trailed off, but I picked up on what she was referring to.

"Disappeared? They will mom, they've gotten better." I gave her a small smile. There was some truth in those words. They had gotten better. Maybe not that they got better but they definitely were a little less frequent. Maybe not that they felt less powerful now. They still had the same heart racing effect and waking up with tears. But one difference? No one else had ever appeared in my dream before, let alone attempted to save me. My mom shaking me awake was one thing, but that guy was definitely not my mother. Someone had been there to save me. That was another bag of worms. One that I didn't know if I could trust the hope that came with it.

She sighed, "Alright, but if you need to talk to the therapist again we can..."

I cut her off. "No, I learned nothing. Plus, mom I'm fine, and talking about it to a stranger never helped in the first place." Maybe I just had back luck with therapists. But honestly? There was more trauma in going to the sessions and trying to unpack my life while reliving terrible events. It was way easier to just bottle up my problems and then only explode the one time that someone had death wish to mention my one trigger. Plus, I didn't want to go to someone else. For once, I wished my mom would ask if I wanted to talk to her. But no, it was always pawning me off on a therapist, a teacher, a coach, anyone but her.

After a slight pause, she gave in. "Alright, but I hope you find someone you can talk to about this stuff." Me too. I found myself wishing, maybe not even wishing. I almost had a weird sense of knowing that was going happen. That I would have a confidant. Not sure when, or who even, but I knew there was a change about to come. Call it my spidey-senses tingling. "Grandma called, Dustin will be here in about ten minutes, that's what I came to tell you."

With that she walked out of my room and left me with my thoughts. I looked at the clock, it was already 11:30, man I never sleep in this late! I don't know if you would call it sleeping in considering how many times I woke up last night, but still the fact that I was able to force my body to go back to sleep after 8 AM was a miracle in itself. After checking the temperature outside, I was satisfied that it was supposed to 72 degrees today. Perfect temperature to take Dustin to get ice cream! We live in Oshkosh, Wisconsin so the temperatures fluctuate a lot, but I loved fall, even though seventies was a little hot for me. I couldn't wait until it was sixties all of the time so I would be considered normal for sweatshirt weather.

I slipped on one of my white, athletic, football long sleeves and a simple pair of dark, boot-cut jeans. I loved my dri-fit shirts they were nice and breezy and I didn't sweat a lot with the long sleeves. I then threw my hair up into a messy high ponytail. I was officially satisfied with my look- it was nice to just wake up and go and not do a bunch of prep in the morning. The occasions where I attempt to look good were few and far between. Unless Olive drags me to one of the lame high school parties that really weren't my scene. I would much rather stay in and watch a movie with like three people. I despise the loud noises, the drinking, and all things idiotic high school males. However, I always got more scared when she would go by herself. The buddy system works friends. You should always have someone to protect your drink. Some of my classmates are super sketch; I don't trust them at all. Especially with a girl like Olive, who is drop-dead gorgeous and slightly naïve.

Small footsteps with his familiar stomp came up the stairs and made me aware of my little bro's presence. "Hey squirt! Come on in." I shouted eyeing the still-closed door. I knew he was waiting for permission to come in my room. He had walked in on me fixing my cuts once, and ever since then he waits patiently for me to say it is safe. It was my fault for not having a chair in front of my door but that was one of the nights where he was already supposed to be asleep and protected. And yes, I said chair. My room doesn't have a working lock. He broke that a long time ago way before Dustin was able to come into my room. It didn't stop him anyway. No door would stop him from finding his 'favorite punching bag.'

"Annie!" He shouted as he plummeted through the doorway. He is the only one who is allowed to call me that. Heck, he could call me whatever he would like and I would not care. When he was younger he couldn't say the "D" in my name. Well, the name kind of stuck, and I don't mind because it has become our thing. My brother is honestly the cutest little guy you have ever seen, and I'm not just saying that because he is my sibling and I may or may not be partial. He has adorably curly red hair, and you can get lost in those tiny freckles. At one point, he came to me crying saying he hated his freckles and he wished he never had any. I held him in my arms and told him that they were each a mark from an angel kiss. Weirdly enough, he loved them after that and told people he was better because angels had a thing for him. Not the extreme I wanted him to take but it still made me happy nonetheless.

"Dustin, guess where we are going?" I asked, excited, but nervous for what I had to tell him. Yea, I punched someone big whoop: you'd think it wouldn't be a big deal. However, I knew in our family, it was so much more than that.

"Hmm, what kind of food are we getting???" He asked slyly, knowing full-well I always got food with him. Not just because it was bonding, but also who would turn down food? Everyone has to eat! My entire allowance is devoted to food, and I was content with that (which is saying something because not only is that a lot of money but: that's a lot of food). That is why I could never keep a guy: why would I spend money on gifts when I could spend that on chicken nuggets?

"For your information, we are getting some ice cream! You cool with that?" I asked, already knowing the answer would be yes. The answer should always be yes. No one in their right mind would turn down ice cream, unless you are lactose-intolerant, and if you are I feel very sorry for you.

"Yes! Let's go," He said bolting out of my room within a matter of seconds. I took a breath and walked out my bedroom door, as ready as I'd ever be to break my little brother's heart. Because I knew I would have to tell him what I did.