Forelsket.

It was a few days after my awkward date – if you could call it that – with John when my father came into my room one afternoon and sat next to me on the bed. He carefully tried to move his hand to my leg, and even though I knew it was in a caring, fatherly mannor, I slid away from him. It had only reminded me of all those times when Grandpa used to do the same, and how he turned a caring gesture into a malicious act. And as I looked at my father, my eyes began to pick out features that were like Grandpas. I tried to fight them away as best as I could and gave a small sigh, and a fake smile.

“Hey, Dad,” I said quietly, “How’s grandpa?” My father shook his head lightly and looked at me with sad eyes.

“Not too well,” he said, “But he’s at least better. Better enough that he’ll be coming home in a few hours.” I nodded, because I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t even sure I was happy he was coming home. And that made me sound like an awful person, and I felt almost guilty for not caring. The only feelings that came after my dad telling me that was nervousness – fear. So, we sat quiet for a minute or two before he let out a breath of air.

“We’re all going to pick him up and go out for dinner, so be ready, okay?” Again, I nodded and turned back to the television in my room, aimlessly flipping through the channels without seeing anything. My mind was travelling, and I was trying to make my father seem as though I was preoccupied. I didn’t want to talk anymore (even though I had barely spoken to begin with) and I wanted to be alone.

I felt him standing there, though. Lingering in my door way and I knew he was going to say something because I felt it, but I hadn’t a clue what he was going to say. I turned my head, and looked at him. His shoulders slumped, heavier bags under his eyes, and he seemed to be studying me.

He took a breath, “Are you okay?” I didn’t know what to say to that. I was shocked because it was usually mom who was asking that. So, did she tell him to ask me? Did she think I’d tell him anything I didn’t tell her? Or did he only detect it and genuinely wondered?

The correct answer to that question at the time was no. And I wished I had the guts to tell him. Because he would have not went anywhere. He would have sat himself down on my bed, and I could have told him everything about Grandpa, without worrying if he would believe me. It would have been out in the open earlier, and maybe he would have thought everything made sense now – maybe he would have even believed me.

But my heart was racing and I was too weak to tell the truth.

“Yes..” I said it in a way that made it sound like ‘what a weird question! Of course I’m okay, why even ask?'. So, he sighed and that was that.

He left, without another word, and I stopped pretending to look for something to watch. I curled myself into my sheets, and suddenly began to cry. And I realized that, I didn’t need to be this sad, I didn’t need to feel trapped – I was free. As trapped as I felt, I was free, and not anyone could take that from me. I could chose to be happy – and I could try. But I wondered, after, if that was true. Or if I would always have a chain holding me just inches away from happiness.

I shook the thoughts from my head before they could become more negative and threw the covers off of me. Just so my mind wouldn’t wander, I concentrated on my movements. Wipe eyes, take hair out of bun, throw on som jeans and an oversized tank top. Walk one, two, three – ten steps to the top of the stairs. Walk down them. Once I enter the kitchen, I give a small smile to my mother, and look around for Lindsay. She is no where to be found. I forgot, she has to look good for the patients at the hospital.

I lightly laughed at my own thought, and pull out the chair at the kitchen table.

I felt my mother looking at me – like she wanted to say something. Ask something. But, didn’t she already ask all the questions she needed to ask about the party? Who was John? Was he nice? Did he actually talk to me? Did I really stay at the party? Did I like John? Did I think he was cute? She had asked all those questions a million times and I couldn’t understand why she felt the need to really bother me about it. I supposed that, she was just happy I was socializing and ‘making friends’ (kind of?), because that was usually Lindsays job.

Finally, my mother cracked: “So…Are you going to see John again?” I could almost laugh, but I heaved a sigh and rolled my eyes.

“I don’t know, mom,” I said, “I haven’t really spoken to him.” It felt weird to talk like this – about boys and it made me feel like I actually had some sort of a life. Like I was a real teenager, a normal one.

I smiled lightly to myself, the sound of Lindsays angry footsteps stomping down the stairs and into the kitchen. She stopped, and I could feel her cold eyes on me. She gave a sigh, and I wanted to tell her how much it hurts me that we’re like this. She’s my sister, and I only ever wanted to be close to her. I’m sorry, Lindsay, I’m sorry Grandpa spent more time with me.

I wished she would understand everything – but I’m so sure that, even if I told her, she would only hate me more. I didn’t want that.

“Are we going?” She kind of growled it, and mom turned off the water she was using to wash dishes. She was stressed – I knew because we had a perfectly functioning dishwasher, and she was there, scrubbing the dishes within an inch of making them crack. She was preoccupying herself, and I figured it was to keep her mind off of things. Grandpa had been good to her, afterall. And his death would affect the whole family. They would cry, and be sad that he was gone. And I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself.

“As soon as your dad comes down,” Mom nodded, wipping her soaked hands on a cloth. She slowly folded the cloth as Lindsay plopped down beside me, resting her chin on the palm of her hand in an annoyed fashion. Mom put the cloth on the counter, and sat down across from us with sad eyes.

“What?” Lindsay hissed.

Mom sighed and shook her head, placing her hands on Lindsays, while I moved mine to my lap to avoid the gesture. Mom looked at me oddly, but took a breath and began to talk, “Girls, I just want you to know that…Even though Grandpa is coming home, he’s still not well.”

“Thanks,” Lindsay muttered, pulling her hand away from Mom. She looked down, and she wasn’t annoyed anymore. She was just upset. Because her Grandfather was going to die. And I was just sitting there, a blank look on my face. Not even a knot in my throat. Not like the one Lindsay was choking down, anyways.

“Honey, I know its hard – I just don’t want you to be surprised when…”

“Okay,” Linday growled. But it was quiet, and soft and I knew she was about to cry.

“You need to know that, the doctors are only sending him home because it might be his last chance to be here, okay?” Moms voice quivered as she spoke. “Try to spend as much time with him as possible.” After that, a heavy silence filled the air, and to add weight, Lindsay began to sniffle her tears back. I felt Mom look at me, and so, to avoid her gaze, I looked everywhere but here, the walls, the stove, my inactive cellphone. Everywhere. I didn’t want her to think I was heartless for not having the same reaction as Lindsay. But my emotions were mixed, I didn’t know how to react. And I know that they wouldn’t understand that, not really.

“Alright,” My dads voice was loud and sharp, “Lets go bring Grandpa home.” Lindsay is the first to stand up, and nearly slam her chair back into the table. I looked up at my dad and he frowned, following closely after her.



Dinner was awkward to say the least, and Grandpa’s grotesque coughs attracted attention. It was true – he did look a lot worse than before. And it had actually hit me, if only a little bit. It had made me think about the times before Grandpa became my nightmare, about when he used to bring me for ice cream and buy me little toys. But now, I didn’t know if I should cherish those moments or hate them as much as I hated everything he had done to me. I didn’t know if his gestures were all that sincere anymore.

As it goes, Grandpa requested a spot beside me. And he was in the middle of Lindsay and I, who was handing him water every time he coughed and rubbing his back. I nearly cringed away from the scene. I would not be able to touch him – not out of my own will. I huddled myself closer to the wall with each minute that passed, hoping that eventually, I could become part of it.

I used to do that a lot, wished to disappear. Because I’d rather have been sucked into a black abyss where nothing else existed, than to be in the nightmare of life. I could never really explaint to anyone, how it felt to have someone so close to you take advantage of you the way my Grandfather did – I supposed it’s the kind of thing you have to experience to understand.

Grandpa had placed his arms around Lindsay and I once we helped him out of the car. He pulled us close, placed a short kiss on both of our heads. I swallowed a lump in my throat while Lindsay beamed, and we slowly helped him up the porch steps and into the house. His arm weighed a ton on my shoulders, and I felt as though it would leave an indent for a good number of days. And when he coughed the way Grandpa did, he made me shake as his belly did.

I couldn’t concentrate on a single thing as long as he was touching me. Just the fact that he was and that I wanted to get away as soon as possible.

As soon as Linday and I sat him at the couch in front of the television, I nearly ran for my room. I heard Lindsay scoffing behind me, and when I looked back, she was seated next to Grandpa. I treaded to my bedroom, and plopped myself – face first- onto my bed.

It was the first time I had ever tried to fight him. I threw myself around as his greedy hands gripped at pieces of my clothing, trying to pry them off of me. His other hand fell over my mouth to silence my loud cries, and the look on his face was angry at that time. He hadn’t even tried to be nice. His brows furrowed together, his eyes darker than I had ever seen them.

“Shut up!” He hissed in his grumbly voice. “I mean it, Annaliese!”

I shook my head violently, tried to say ‘No’ against the flesh of his hand. And ‘Please’.

He huffed, rolled on top of me to stop my thrashing.

I shut down, then.

I gave up.



It had been almost two weeks since Grandpa was back, lurking the house and haunting me with violent coughs. My Mom and Dad had asked me to sit with him, because I hadn’t really been paying attention to him. And that was true – I was avoiding him the best I could, because I found him looking at me, sometimes. In the way he used to in those moment of terror he thrust upon me. It made me uneasy, and when my parents said that they were going out for the day, I had almost begged them not to.

But Lindsay was there, so I hadn’t bothered. She tended to Grandpa, getting him a drink, whatever he had really asked for. But, as fate would have it, there was a knock at the door and Lindsay popped up, a small smile gracing her face.

“Okay, Gramps,” She said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be back – if you need anything - ”

Grandpa shook his head, and placed a hand on my thigh, “s’all ri’. I got m’Peanut.” And he didn’t pat my thigh, he rubbed it. And Lindsay rolled her eyes and left.

The awful feeling stirring in my gut increased with each second that passed.

It was only an hour after Lindsay left, when Grandpa coughed loudly, slowly moving his hands to my thigh, higher. I sucked in a breath. Paralized. Why. Couldn’t I. Move?

I twitched my leg away from him, and I felt the couch move and he leaned over to grab my face, hard. He turned me toward him, looking at those cold eyes dead-on. His hand crawled up my shirt as I shook.

“Grandpas sick, peanut. This’ll make me feel better.” I wasn’t a little kid anymore – I could stand up to him. I knew the difference now – of right and wrong, and I knew that even people you loved and cared for so deeply would lie to get what they want. I knew this was wrong. I knew he was lying – that he had been through-out my entire childhood. I had become paralyzed. I couldn’t move – not even an inch. I felt his stomach on my leg as he leaned over to reach, reach, reach. Suddenly, I was that little girl again, I was twelve again and I began to shake. My heart began to pick up speed, my breathing was almost forced.

Sometimes, when I was a kid and this was happening, I used to tuck myself under my bed sheets after shutting off all of my lights. And I though, I’m safe here. In my abyss. Though I never really was, it did give me peace for the minutes I spent under there. Because I was alone, and it was dark and the world was nowhere to be found. But I couldn’t do that right now, and so, I closed my eyes shut tight, hoping that I could somehow forget the world, and depersonalize myself from it.

But I felt every part of it. I heard everything from the ‘there you go, Peanut. Relax’, to him shredding his pants, to him pulling mine off.

But, why. Couldn’t. I. Move?

I felt his hand go where it wasn’t supposed to.

I felt the warmness of my tears flowing down my face.

I felt him grab my hand to direct it the way he wanted.

I clenched my eyes shut more with each action and sound.

Where was the abyss?

And then, the front door opened as quick as my eyes did. It just happened in that one flash, between wishing for the abyss and hearing the world. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. And neither could Grandpa – Grandpa, who wasn’t that quick anymore. Not quick enough to pull himself away without notice. There had been many close calls in the past. This – it was a spot-on call. John and Jared stood there. Angry, disgusted. Confused. Jared knew – John didn’t. Surprise.

Grandpa, while coughing up a lung, rose to his feet, unsteady and shakily. My head was spinning as I pulled my pants back up. Every bit of me was shaking as I wipped my eyes dry. And before anyone could say anything more or do anything more, Grandpa had collapsed, and we all simply froze.

“I’ll call 9-1-1,” I mumbled, reaching for my cell phone.