The story becomes a love story of hope when the grown, nurse Celeste, runs into Nebraska rancher, a childhood friend-A story of abuse and reclaiming the self. Laughter and tears and hope-a story written with realism in hopes of reducing child abuse- both sexual and emotional-a STORY THAT ENDS WITH HOPE
Celeste felt herself being yanked up to the surface … tossed down on the side of the pool. Struggling, as water and mucus poured from her mouth, she gasped, coughing and gagging, wanting to dash over for her suit. That’s when she saw the blood swirling about in the pool and was struck by overwhelming pain. Her insides were split open, like a knife carving away at her flesh, her precious possession—not his for the taking. He’d taken regardless, having raped her.
She heard him yelling, “You dirtied the water… Here, take
this towel,” he said, tossing it and her suit. “You asked for this,” he
accused. “No one would ever believe you. Sylvie already knows about tonight.
I’m disappointed in you. You let God down. Fighting the way you did, is another
sin for you to write down. God expects this to remain secret; it’s his ritual
and Wayward Home is waiting for you if you tell. I’m anyone. You are tarnished
corruption; there will be no need to come over this summer. You are hopeless.
God knows it is your fault.”
***
Walking away, doubled over, Celeste felt numb and distanced.
The man back there had raped a child, but the child was someone else. Instead, the Pastor had attacked a
girl who looked like her while she stood at the edge of the pool watching.
If asked who the girl was, she knew. It just didn’t seem like
she had been there.
Pain—that was the other feeling—the pain of rape. Stinging,
throbbing, the agonizing rips were unbearable. In a dazed state, her feet
walked her to Sylvie’s house. Surely, Sylvie would believe her and offer
Celeste her help and comfort. She would remember what Celeste had told her
earlier when she asked to stay home. However, her stomach said differently. Stopping,
she threw up. Sickened, and smelly, and messy, Celeste was exhausted by the
time she reached Sylvie’s. Wanting to lie down in the yard, instead, she went
to the back door. Sylvie was in the kitchen making tea.
The sight of arrogant Sylvie revolted her. Why hadn’t Sylvie
believed her? Crouched in pain, Celeste watched the lofty aunt turn to face
her, walking towards her The woman’s eyes, scornful and appraising, were like a
spotlight, revealing Celeste’s faults, blemishes, and imperfections. Wanting to
hide the shame in her face, before Sylvie saw her, Celeste’s thin fingers were
too slow.
“You there!” Sylvie hissed, staring at Celeste. “You knew
there were locks on the gates? Why did you go over there?”
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