Abuse: The Complete Trilogy by Nikki Sex Read Free Book Online Page A

with time, do not go away on their own. They must be
addressed.”
    — André
Chevalier
    ~~~
    My mother was
always away at some fund-raising event or with her friends when these
activities occurred. After a couple years, my father began to interfere with my
younger brother, too.
    When he started
on my little brother, it was wrong on so many levels. I should’ve protected
Alex, but how could I stop my dad? This confession is difficult, as it’s a
great source of guilt.
    I’m ashamed to
say that at the time, I was relieved to have a break from my father’s more
depraved attentions.
    “You have never
spoken of this to your brother?”
    I frown and shake
my head. “No. Never.”
    My brother Alex
was there at the time. So was I. Why the hell would we talk about it? By then,
the moratorium on speech had been put in place and our silence concerning ‘games’
with our father was too well ingrained. We wanted to forget it—not get further
into it by hashing it over. Discussing our abuse wasn't an option.
    My brother’s
married and he appears to be whatever passes in society as ‘normal,’ but I know
he has a substance abuse problem. Like many wealthy Americans, cocaine is his
drug of choice. I have no idea how he holds down his position in the family
business, but he does.
    Alex and I
learned how to pretend everything was fine.
    If you do this
long enough, after a while, you even begin to believe it.
    “And so, this
too, is most common, my friend,” André assures me. “It becomes a difficult
conversation to have, no? The father, he would have warned you, in oh-so many
ways, never to speak of what you did together. Even now, when he is in the
grave, his commands from the past hold you mute. Like a gag, they have made you
keep silent… until now. An adult, particularly a parent, often has godlike
power over a child.”
    I’m quiet for a
moment. Body and soul, I feel burdened by memories; buried by a mountain of
dark mental pictures of my past.
    “These games your
father and you played together… did you sometimes initiate them?”
    Shit.
    André’s question
is right on target.
    I’m on the
receiving end of a perfect head shot. The man is as fucking accurate as a
professional sniper. I’m utterly astonished. How does he hit the mark with such
precision?
    I feel faint, as
if my blood has drained right out of my veins. André’s words echo in my head: These
games, did you sometimes initiate them?
    “For the love of
God, how could you know that?” I whisper.
    His watchful eyes
soften with understanding. “Oh, this too is most common, you understand. You
are not alone in these experiences. To make the victim, not only an active
participant, but to make them want to play and even initiate such
games? Ah, it is very clever, no? In this manner, your abuser manipulates you
into believingthat you are to blame. The guilt, the shame… it is
yours.”
    “I should have
stopped it… but instead…” I can’t say anymore. I close my mouth, shocked by
what I almost said.
    I often
started it.
    Our eyes meet and
I swear André sees right through me. He nods. “I assure you, mon ami ,
you would have needed assistance from another adult to end such a crime, and
even then? Who can say? Your father was a hero in your community. A child
cannot fight such influence.”
    “I—I don’t know
why I’ve never told anyone or asked for help. I never tried to stop it.”
    “He made sure you
didn’t.”
    I take a little
time to think this over, to try to remember. I don’t recall exactly what he
said to me when this whole thing started, except that I was ‘special’ and what
happened was ‘our game’ and ‘our little secret.’
    At some level
deep down, even as I child, I must’ve known it was wrong. But I wanted his approval
so badly. I felt honored to be chosen—to be special enough for him to want me.
    I say nothing
more.
    I can’t.
    “Grant,” André
says quietly, and his expression is bright with understanding.