The Sick Wife, Lost Loretta [top 10 motivational books .TXT] 📗

are paper-thin. The thought of someone abusing her like that—for so many years—when she was even smaller and more delicate than she is now…

It’s unimaginable. It breaks my heart.

It’s wrong. It’s completely wrong that she had to suffer this.

I briefly close my eyes. Nine. She was only nine.

That number again. That stupid number. Nine is how old I was when the fire happened. My thoughts drift back to the person I was then, who is so clearly immortalized in my mind. I hardly remember who I was when I was eight, or seven, but I remember every second of every thought and feeling I had when I was nine. All I know is that it was an awful age for awful things to happen—or is every age that awful? I can imagine a younger Scarlett, just as young as I was, going through pain similar to what I experienced.

But maybe hers was worse.

I had lived in pure blissful ignorance until I was nine, in a real home that was filled with love and laughter. Scarlett never had that. Her life was just one awful experience after another. Her life was just a series of getting her hopes up that she would find a placement with a good family and then being disappointed. I wonder if she remembers all her years as clearly as I remember the one when I was nine? And as clearly as I remember all of the miserable years since?

“It wasn’t so bad,” Scarlett says with a shrug, in a voice that I am starting to realize she uses when she lies. “I would have stayed there until now, but I started freaking out when I knew I could get pregnant. If I stayed in that house, I probably would have. I was twelve at the time, when I ran away.” She turns to fix me with a serious look. “I can take anything, Cole—I can tolerate any kind of abuse. But the idea of bringing a child into this world, and not being able to take care of it, and letting it grow up scared and alone like I was…” Her eyes fill with tears, and they flash like daggers when she shakes her head violently. “No. That is one line I will not cross. Never.”

“That… was brave of you,” I tell her haltingly. “I’m glad… you got away.” It’s hard to find the words. Scarlett’s mouth is set in a hard line, but I notice something I never saw before: her lips quiver slightly at the corners, revealing how fragile she is under this falsely tough exterior. I swallow, wishing I could have somehow been there to help her. “I’m glad you’re here, now,” I say in an awkward whisper. “No matter what the circumstances were that led you here… I’m so thankful I met you.”

“I didn’t mean to tell you all this,” she says suddenly, looking up at me with surprise. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.”

“It means a lot,” I tell her quietly. “I want to know everything. I want to know you.”

She reaches out to place her fingers on my hand and squeezes it gently. Is she comforting me? I swallow. I hope it’s not causing her pain to share this. I hope it’s healthy for her to talk about it and get it off her chest.

“What ended up happening with Benjamin?” I ask, encouraging her to speak more.

“It wasn’t easy to leave,” she says, looking over to the window. “He threatened to kill me. He said that if I ran, he would find me. But more importantly… I was attached to my home, and I didn’t want to leave. For the first time in my life, I had my own desktop computer in my bedroom. I was comfortable, never hungry. I always had nice, new clothes that fit me. I was winning trophies in school for both sports and academics. I could really imagine staying in that home until adulthood.”

“Even with… everything he did?” I ask her, really trying to wrap my head around this.

She gives me a self-deprecating smile. “You know, it’s almost better to be touched at all, in any way, than to be left entirely cold and alone for years. I managed to convince myself that he really cared. I started to convince myself that I cared about him. It was the only way I could get through each day—by pretending it was normal. He was an attractive enough man. I know that in some countries, and cultures…” Her voice trails off.

I shake my head, unsure of what to say.

She reaches out to touch the keyboard of her destroyed laptop. “It was just my stupid period that messed everything up. I went to Planned Parenthood to get birth control, but he found it in my room and tossed it out. He was very religious, and he said that he had plenty of money to take care of any kids I might have. He said that he could just blame a boy my own age, and spin it into a heroic deed about taking care of a pregnant teenager’s baby. He said it would make a great story for his pro-life supporters.”

“What the hell?” I whisper. “That’s so messed up.”

“Yeah,” Scarlett mutters. “He did a lot of good things for the community while there were cameras on him, but behind closed doors… he thought that those good deeds gave him license to do whatever bad things he wanted.”

“This guy is insane,” I tell her matter-of-factly. “He should be in prison.”

“I left a suicide note so that he wouldn’t look for me,” she says as she fingers her computer’s smashed circuitry. “I stole money to take bus rides all the way out here. I lived on the streets for a while because I was still scared that he would find me if I went back into the system. But that’s okay—it’s easier to live on the streets in California than New York.”

“Scarlett… God. I had no