Page 28 of Micah
Wrong.
I’ve been asked what’s wrong with me too many times in my life, but from her, I wouldn’t mind.
“You haven’t heard this story?”I’m honestly surprised Becca hasn’t shared everything.
“I want to hear it from you.”
Wincing, I tell her. “My dad beat me really badly when I was about eight. I ended up in the hospital. The doctors said I had permanent brain damage in the language center of my brain. It makes speaking hard for me. The words are clear in my mind, but they don’t come out the way I want them to.”
Her eyes are sympathetic. She opens, then closes her mouth, looking like there’s more she wants to know.
“Ask,” I urge her. “I don’t have any secrets. Not from you, anyway. You can ask me anything. You won’t offend me or upset me. I promise.”
Holly nods and clears her throat.“I’ve noticed that you tend to say only two or three words most of the time. Is that because it’s all that comes out or…?”
“I don’t know if I can fully explain what happens between my brain and mouth.”I admit with a frown.“When I was a kid, I would stutter and struggle to get any word out. The kids were brutal.”
My hands clench into fists as I picture the taunting faces, the bullies.“Then, as I grew, the teachers started treating me like I was stupid. Putting me in remedial classes or ignoring me all together.”The frustration and embarrassment of those years comes flooding back. “It made me so fucking angry. So for a while I tried really hard to get my words out clearly. But by the time I got to three words, one of two things would happen.”
“One,” I say, holding up a finger. “Whoever I was talking to would get bored and either walk away or start guessing what I was trying to say. Or.”Two fingers go up. “I would work so hard to get the words out clearly that I was done. I couldn’t do anymore. Like my brain turned off.”
Holly’s leaning towards me, and I have to resist the urge to pull her in closer so I can breathe her air.
“And is it easier for you now to get the words out? Is it still exhausting?” She asks gently.
“Not…hard.”
“But three is still the limit?”
“It depends on the situation, really. I’m more likely to talk more around people I’m really comfortable with. But it’s still pretty stilted, and I stutter a lot more. It’s easier to sign honestly.”
“That makes sense.” She’s biting her lip again, and I’m staring. “Did you get help with your speech after you were hurt?”
I shake my head.“No, I was from the projects. Maybe I was supposed to? I don’t know. All I know is I never did, and after I was released from the hospital, no doctor ever talked to me about it.”
“And you’ve never gone since? I know speech therapists can be a huge help in situations like yours.”
“When we finally started making money, Ransom asked. A few times. But I didn’t really see the point.”
Plus, I really didn’t want bad news. As far as I’m concerned, ignorance is a valid choice, in this situation at least. Shaking the tightness out of my shoulders, I change the subject. “How do you know so much about speech therapy?”
Her bright smile is back. “I used to volunteer at the hospital. Brent hated me doing most things outside of the house, but volunteering at the hospital was something he let me do. I think he figured it reflected well on him to have a wife who was so involved in the community. I loved going there so much. I made friends with a bunch of the nurses and doctors and I loved talking to the patients.”
I smile back at her. “Candy…striper?” I ask with a wiggle of my eyebrows. She rewards me with a tinkling laugh, and I feel ten fucking feet tall.
“No!” she says with a grin. “I did all kinds of things. I was there a long time, so I got to work in a bunch of different departments. Sometimes I worked the front desk. That was more directing traffic, or escorting people to find their loved ones. The ER was a tough position. When people are coming up to me at the desk in the E.R., they're usually in a panic because something bad has happened.” Her smile shifts, softening. “And sometimes I got to rock the babies in the nursery and NICU. That one was my favorite. They all smelled so good. They were so tiny and innocent. They would soak up the love.”
She’s so fucking kindhearted. I’m so glad that she had somewhere to escape him. How was she able to stay such a good, kind woman, despite it all? “Good…Girl,” I say with a smile.
My heart fucking sinks as her face whitens, and she pulls back from me. “What?” I ask, signing frantically, “What’s wrong? Are you hurting? Did I say something stupid?”I can’t stop myself from scooting a little closer to her, putting my hand back on the top of her foot, needing a physical connection with her. “Please.”
Please tell me what I did so I can fix it. Don’t pull away, beautiful girl.
Her breathing is erratic, so I rub small circles on the top of her foot with my thumb. Hoping she’ll focus on that. “Ok…Holly...Ok.”
“B…Brent always called me that, when he was…” she says, breath shuddering in her chest, eyes filling with tears. She breathes deeply again, and her eyes stab at me. “Even before it was…rape…I didn’t like being with him. But it got so much worse. ‘Be a good girl and scream for me’, ‘ be a good girl and stop fighting me’, ‘be a good girl and let me in’.”
She sobs, wiping her eyes angrily. “Let me in,” she snorts, “Like I could control that. Any time he came near me, my whole body tensed up. I…don’t ever call me that.”
