I get home a little after midnight. Mom is awake reading Joyce Meyer on the couch and Dad is upstairs sleeping. I head to the kitchen to grab some water. She takes off her reading glasses and watches me.

“You’re not supposed to be out this late with a cinderella license.”

“I’ll be eighteen soon.”

She gets up and follows me as I head down the hall toward the stairs.

“I thought you were sleeping over at Danielle’s tonight?”

“I just felt like coming home.”

“You know you can always tell me anything.” She gives me a hug and before I can pull away she whispers in my ear, “Never devalue yourself.”

“I won’t.”

I don’t know how to tell her that I already have. I don’t know how to tell her I wasn’t with Danielle tonight. She’s always been so protective of me that sometimes it’s easier not to tell her. She goes back to reading and I head upstairs. She’s read almost every Joyce Meyer book. The one she is reading now is Healing the Soul of a Woman.

I turn on the shower and let the water run until it gets hot. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I pull at the tiger stripes on my hips and let my curls fall out of my claw clip. We showered together until I was eight years old. Her curves and stretch marks were all I knew. I looked up to her when she looked down on herself. She would remind me that she was 115 pounds before she got pregnant. I’d watch her go on Weight Watchers and do Zumba in the living room, trying to get back to that size. She was the most beautiful woman in the world to me then. I didn’t understand why she wanted to change.

I step into the shower. The water is so hot it burns my skin but I’m not bothered. I want it to burn away what I let happen to me. I scrub my scalp with shampoo. Mom and I used to have the same dark brown curls when she used to scrub my scalp. When I was ten she started getting keratin treatments done, and I haven’t seen it curly since. Dad likes it better that way.

When I’m alone with him he tells me how she isn’t the woman she once was. She isn’t thin anymore, she won’t go to his business parties or out for drinks on the weekends. He says that she is lazy. She doesn’t want to put in the work. She doesn’t want to be seen. I wonder how he can think this and still bend her over when he pleases.

One time she told me, “Sometimes I just have to give in to keep him happy.”

Recently I saw her crying over the sink in the bathroom. She was wrapped in a towel with her hair dripping wet. When I appeared in the doorway she said, “Never marry a man like your father.”

I told her, “I won’t.”

I don’t ask her why she still is married to him. I know she loves him and he still cares for her. How do you leave someone you’ve built a life with? There are times when I see them lying together side by side, giving each other advice on how to survive this world. Although he talks down to her at times he’s never raised a hand. He likes to provide for us, this makes him feel like a man. I don’t know if he would admit it but he needs her guidance and comfort. She is his safe space, and there’s a vulnerability to him that only she will see. I think When I step out of the shower, I can’t see myself through the foggy mirror. I don’t want to either. I want to tell you what happened.

I want to tell you that I wasn’t with Danielle. I want to tell you I went to Jonah’s house. We’ve had a crush on each other for a while now. It was the first time he asked me to hang out without our friend group. I thought of it as our first date. We played Mario Kart together. You know I haven’t played since I was younger with Dad. I thought we could get to know each other better. That was my intention.

We were sitting on opposite ends of the couch until he scooted closer after the last lap. He got first place and I got second. He started grabbing my thighs as I sat there awkwardly gripping the controller.

“So what should we do now?”

“Play again?”

He ran his fingers through my hair and leaned in for a kiss. I was open to a kiss but I didn’t want more than that. He started pulling up my shirt and grabbing my breasts. I want to tell you that I thought about texting you. I thought about telling him I had to go but I didn’t do enough to stop.

When he reached his hands down my leggings, I said, “Can’t we just kiss tonight?”

“It has to be tonight, I won’t have the open again.”

“We can always hang out another time.”

“Come on, my parents are usually home. It has to be tonight.”

I didn’t want to let him. I wanted to go home and be with you. I wanted him off of me. I didn’t push him when he shoved himself dry inside of me. I didn’t stop him despite how bad it hurt. I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let myself be devalued. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stop it. I’m sorry about the things Dad says to you. I’m sorry you feel like you have to give in. I want to ask you if this makes us weak women. I always wanted to be strong and beautiful like you. There were so many times when you cried and didn’t let me see. I turn the water back on so you can’t hear me crying in the bathroom. I want to tell you but I don’t want to be the reason for your tears.

I wipe away my tears and change into pajamas. I go downstairs and you are still there reading on the couch. I curl up beside you and rest my head on your shoulder. You take off your reading glasses.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to sit with you.”

You run your fingers through my hair. You know when there’s something wrong with me. I watch you flip through the pages until my eyes become heavy and I let them shut. I want to ask you how we heal our souls but you haven’t finished the book yet.

-Courtney Dunn

Courtney Dunn is a senior creative writing major at the University of the Arts. Her dream is to become a food critic despite not knowing how to cook. She is trying to find where she fits in the writing community. Often times Courtney is too distracted by her tabby cat Kiwi to revise her pieces. Follow her on Instagram @courtneyydunn_