Kristina Galea

I’m a survivor [Fiction] By Kristina Galea © All Rights Reserved. This material may not be reproduced, displayed, modified or distributed without the permission of the author. I was nine years old, and my parents had just divorced. It was one of the saddest news of my life because I couldn’t imagine that I would be living with my parents apart. I couldn’t imagine that I wouldn’t be going out on Sundays with both of my parents and take family photos together. My mum believed that it would be better if I lost contact with my dad, because “if he doesn’t love his wife anymore, he won’t feel the same with his daughter. Besides, his new partner is his priority now.” Somehow, I was sure that what she believed wasn’t true. Of course, I hated to picture my dad with another woman, but I still respected him, and I would respect her as well. I wasn’t close with my mum, and she would blame my dad every time. She would insult him if he didn’t give her whatever she wanted. Hence, I wouldn’t blame my dad for having met a new woman. In fact, I wished I could move in with them. I wished I could live with my dad and his partner. I was nine years old, but I sensed that somehow, my mother didn’t love me as much as a mother should love her child. I was aware that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or to make me happy. She would do anything to make herself happy. Family was never her priority. I would feel alone, with nobody to talk to. I couldn’t share my feelings with my mother, who would supposedly be comforting me. I couldn’t share my emotions with friends because I didn’t have any. My mom would never let me talk to children my age, nor to anybody. I would be left alone at school, and sometimes I would be bullied as well. I wished I had a brother or a sister, whom I could talk to. When I turned ten years old, my mother introduced me to Harry; “Lauren, this is Harry, my new partner, he will be living with us for some time.” Living with us? I thought. How could she allow a “stranger” to live with us? “We’re going to be great friends, “ added Harry. I didn’t want to be friends with him. I didn’t want him to live in our house. I wanted dad. I wanted to pack my stuff and go and live with him. But I couldn’t. I was just a young girl. I was 10, and I was under my mum’s orders. She knew every step I would do. I felt like I was living in prison because she wouldn’t let me breathe. She didn’t respect my privacy. She would rifle through my personal belongings, especially my diary, where I would jot “secrets” down. I didn’t like Harry; I felt that something was wrong whenever he was around. “Good morning sweetie pie,” he would greet me in the morning as I enter the kitchen. He would only be wearing a dressing gown, which made me feel uncomfortable. Sometimes he would drive me to school by his BMW car and buy me expensive clothes, and most of my classmates would ask me plenty of questions such as; “You must be so lucky to have a step-dad like Harry, ““I wish I could come to your place so I could meet your stepdad.” I hated the fact that they would refer to him as my ‘step-dad’. I didn’t want him to replace my dad in our family. I didn’t want him to be my step-dad. “Aren’t you gonna give a kiss to your step-dad?” Harry would ask after he’d give me a lift to school. I would refuse, but later on he’d tell my mother that I had misbehaved, and she © All Rights Reserved. This material may not be reproduced, displayed, modified or distributed without the permission of the author. would lock me up in my room until I ‘d apologised to Harry. Why was he acting in such a way? Why did he want to be called as my step-dad? When I turned 12, I had my first period. My mother wasn’t at home because she worked long hours, and I was stuck at home alone with Harry. I found some of my mum’s products in the bathroom; hence I was “safe” that I wouldn’t get stained. “You’re a woman now,” Harry muttered and sat close to me on the kitchen sofa. I tried to move away, but he held my hand, and I sensed that something was not right. He moved closer and kissed me. He kissed me on my lips. I tried to get up, but he held my hand firmly. “You’re a lovely young lady, Lauren”, Harry added. “I’m so happy when your mum’s at work and you’re here with me. I wish you could spend the night with me.” I was 12. What could I possibly have done to Harry? I was just an innocent young girl. Why was he behaving in such a way with me? Why did he kiss me on my lips? Why was he happy to spend time alone with me when mum wasn’t around? I tried to inform my mum about the situation, but she wouldn’t listen.“You’re just making it up,” she would say. “You’re just jealous because I’ve met a man who respects me a lot and you don’t want us to be together”. Why didn’t she believe me? Why did she defend him? How didn’t she realise that her partner was “flirting” with her daughter? One day, I was doing my homework in my room, and he entered quietly, held my mouth and said “If you tell your mum again what happened between us, you won’t see your family anymore. I’d kill both your mum and your dad” What was he trying to say? Was he threatening me? I wanted to call the police that minute, but I felt so nervous. I wanted to report him, but I didn’t want Harry to kill my parents. When my mum was at work, I would spend my evenings at home, alone with Harry. As usual, he would kiss me on my lips, passionately, and sometimes he’d force me to sit on his lap. “Are you on your period princess?” Harry would ask. “No, why?” I’d reply innocently. “Well, I’ve got a surprise for you then,” he’d answer. And he would take me to “his” room and perform sexual acts on me. He would do this every day, while my mum was at work, of course. “This is our secret, Lauren. Nobody has to know.” I couldn’t keep this thing to myself, and I had to tell someone. I couldn’t tell my mum because she wouldn’t believe me. And I didn’t have any close friends; hence I decided to inform my Maths teacher, Mrs Thompson about what was happening in my life. She started crying, and she told me that I had to report Harry to the police because I was being raped. First, she called my mum, who came to school to have a talk with Mrs Thompson. Although my mum and I didn’t have a close relationship, she was so shocked and couldn’t believe what I was going through. She regretted that she didn’t understand my story in the first place and I could see it in her eyes that she felt very sorry for me. © All Rights Reserved. This material may not be reproduced, displayed, modified or distributed without the permission of the author. Harry Collins was sentenced to life after admitting of having raped ten minors, including me. “How could he do that? How could he steal your dignity?” my mother would ask. My mum could never forgive herself for defending Harry in the first place, and she regrets the lack of relationship that we had. But this trauma taught us that we shouldn’t take life for granted, and appreciate those around us, because we might regret it and then it would be too late to “erase” those mistakes. Today, I am 16 years old and live with my mother in the centre of Los Angeles. When I was young, I dreamt of becoming a language teacher, but now my dreams have faded away, because apart from stealing my dignity, Harry was diagnosed with AIDS and has passed on the illness to my body. Every day is a new challenge for me that I have got to face, but I feel so grateful to have built a healthy relationship with my mother, and we continued from what we had left before. © All Rights Reserved. This material may not be reproduced, displayed, modified or distributed without the permission of the author.