The Monster I Trusted

They had custody of my seven-year-old best friend, Jessica, and were the closest thing to a real family I ever had.

Michael's arm felt heavy around my shoulders. I squirmed but stayed put. His cologne smelled like pine trees and cough drops. Lately, his hugs lasted too long, and his hands would rub my back, sometimes slipping under my shorts when nobody was looking. It made my skin feel crawly, like ants marching up your arm.

I loved Michael. He was like the dad I never had. He taught me to ride a bike without training wheels and always listened when I talked. But sometimes his touch made my skin feel prickly, like when your foot falls asleep.

"Cindy-Leigh," Michael whispered over the TV. "I need to check on the neighbor's house. Will you come with me?"

My heart did a scary jumpy thing. My tummy felt fluttery in a bad way, like before getting a shot at the doctor's. I nodded anyway and put my small hand in his.

The neighbor's house looked spooky with windows black and empty, like a face with no eyes. Inside, the living room had soft green carpet. I could smell vanilla and lemon polish. Somewhere a clock ticked, making the silence feel heavier.

Something changed about Michael when the door closed. His shoulders got stiff and he walked differently, like he was wearing a Michael costume but it wasn't really Michael inside. His eyes, usually warm, now looked hungry, making my tummy twist.

"I've been waiting for this," he said, his voice different in a way that made me so afraid I couldn't move, like in nightmares where your legs turn to cement.

His lips pushed against mine, and everything felt wrong. This was my first kiss ever, but it wasn't like in Disney movies. His tongue tasted yucky, like sour milk. His hands were touching all over me, like I was a doll.

"You want this, too," he said against my face. "I know you do."

But I didn't. I just knew it felt bad and scary. My body pushed down onto the carpet that hurt my skin. I closed my eyes super tight and tried to think about being somewhere else. I felt myself floating up, like a balloon let go at a fair. I pretended I was watching what was happening to some other girl who just looked like me.

He kept talking softly, telling me what to do. His voice was like a bedtime story, but his hands felt all wrong. He kept saying "I'll always take care of you" and "This is what you've always wanted." But it wasn't.

The pain yanked me back into my body from the ceiling. I felt squished, and I couldn't breathe. My whole body felt numb and cold. Tears leaked out, but I didn't make a sound.

When it was over, he held my face. "That was beautiful," he said. "We'll find a way to be together again soon."

I barely moved. He went to the bathroom, and I heard water running. I lay there, curled up small as I could, wishing I could shrink so tiny nobody would ever find me.

We walked back without talking. Every step hurt. Before we went inside, I wiped my face on my sleeve and took deep breaths like in gym class.

Back on the couch, I sat next to Jessica. She smiled and offered me Sour Patch Kids. I shook my head. The funny parts of the movie just bounced off me, like I was wrapped in bubble wrap. I kept still because moving hurt.

I watched Linda's face for any sign she could see what Michael did, but she was just watching the movie, smiling.

I looked at Jessica, giggling, so innocent. A thought grew inside me. What if Michael did this to her too someday? My stomach twisted harder.

I knew I couldn't tell anyone. Not Mom, who never listened. Not Linda, who loved Michael more than anybody. If I told, would anyone believe me?

I made a silent promise to Jessica. I would make sure Michael never hurt her. I would go with him whenever he asked, even if it made my insides feel twisted up. I would be the one he wanted so he would leave her alone.

I tried to smile, hoping no one could see how I felt broken inside, like a puzzle with missing pieces. I was trapped in a nightmare where the only man I ever trusted was now the monster under my bed. But I would be brave for Jessica.

Years later, I know that ten-year-old girl deserved protection too. Writing her story is part of learning that my pain mattered, that I mattered. The promise I made came from love, but I shouldn't have had to make it alone.