Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Twisted ❯ I: Emotionally Dysfunctional ( Chapter 1 )

I: Emotionally Dysfunctional

 

Having excellent long-term memory is both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes, I wish I couldn't remember. I wish I had managed to repress such terrible memories, but I find that I can't. Just when I manage to forget painful realizations, it all comes swimming back to the surface and leaves me wondering. I begin to think about the what-ifs and it only makes my heart clench harshly all the more. What if I never stayed with my aunt that horrible summer? If I hadn't fallen victim to such life-altering events, my view on the world would be different. I would be different.

I know pondering on the what-ifs in life is useless. It's stupid, foolish, and it won't do me any good. I just can't seem to control my brain sometimes. My main thought is, what happened to Michael to cause him to do something so terribly wrong to me? I know the psychology behind it; most often than not, victims of abuse begin abusing someone else to no longer feel helpless. They need to feel in control and powerful. That being said, I wonder if my cousin was abused and that's what caused him to abuse me.

 

I don't want to think that my cousin was just some sick, twisted pervert. I can't think that he was. With him only eight years old at the time, I have to—no, need to—believe that he was just as naïve as I was at the time. Michael couldn't have possibly known so much about sex at such a young age—but then that annoying voice of doubt creeps up, reminding me how much more kids seem to know these days.

A part of me wants to blame it on the “big kids” my cousin had been exposed to—the ones telling him that sex was something a boy and a girl needed to do. A part of me wants to blame it on my parents, who ignored my begging to go home early. A part of me wants to blame it on my aunt for not noticing what was going on sooner. A part of me wants to blame it on my cousin for not understanding the meaning of “no” and for being so damn gullible.

I suppose I should be happy my aunt caught us before we had gone all the way. I suppose I should have gotten over all of this now—after all, it did happen when I was very young and twelve years have passed. But, the thing is, I can't. I still feel so hurt and angry and betrayed and used and dirty by what had happened. I understand—truly, I do—that my cousin was young as well and probably didn't fully realize himself what he was doing or the damage he was causing. I also know this kind of thing happens with other families—I mean, the fact of cousins experimenting with each other must be a fact desperately hidden in most families. It couldn't have only happened in my family. But, I can't help the way I feel.

 

Considering everything that had happened, one would think that my family would keep my cousin and I apart, right? I mean, who would want a repeat performance? Who wants to walk in on an eight- and five-year-old actually having sex? Either my family didn't truly give a shit or they honestly believed that it wouldn't happen again. The threat of being beaten or taken to jail must've truly sunken in and overridden any remaining curiosity about the opposite sex…right?

 

It seems like my cousin and I weren't the only ignorant little shits.

 

My family may like to pretend like it never happened. They can hide under their blanket of false perfection and act like nothing's wrong, but not me. I can't join them and act like I didn't change after that summer. I can't pretend that it was all a terrible nightmare I woke up from.

 

More importantly, I can't forget.

 

It happened. Not once. Not twice. Each time, it left me feeling more hopeless until I was ready to burst. Family is supposed to keep you safe from threats, but what do you do when your family becomes the very thing they were supposed to protect you from?

 

You become empty.

 

A void.

 

A shell.

 

Unbalanced.

 

Emotionally dysfunctional.