How Anabelle’s Blind Belief in Family Ties Broke into Tiny Pieces
How Anabelle’s Blind Belief in Family Ties Broke into Tiny Pieces
Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a house on a street called Lost Native. Her name was Anabelle.
Anabelle was the oldest of seven siblings. She was sixteen years old, and her superpowers at the time were watching movies, listening to great music, singing in the choir, and making up stories in a notebook. She loved going to the library and borrowing dozens of books. She always found the best ones at the Eastlake Library. It was a magical wonderland, so full of adventure. But how did Anabelle come to stay at the house on Lost Native?
Her story began in a foreign country. She had lived in her family’s home with her two younger siblings—a home her father and mother had purchased when her brother was born and had built up together. But then her father died when she was eleven, and they ended up living in a small cottage: her mother, her sister, and her brother. Then, her mother got sick, and for a period, they all lived in a flurry of worry until she recovered. One day, her mother’s sister invited them to the house on Lost Native, which was in a different country, and the small family of four left their homeland to visit Anabelle’s aunt.
For a period, this arrangement worked.
In her view, the world was wide open. There was a new school, new friends, and even though it was an unfamiliar world of intense learning and adjusting, it felt favorable. But then, a moment came when Anabelle’s blind belief in family ties broke into tiny pieces, and she had to grow up overnight.
It happened so fast, and for a time, Anabelle was unsure whether it was right to share the truth of this moment. But reality must always be faced, no matter how many times it is forgotten or pushed aside.
Anabelle had started high school. She left the house first, at six in the morning, but was also the first to return home, at two-thirty in the afternoon. Her younger siblings went to a private school, starting later at seven-thirty and finishing at three. Her aunt and mom used to pick them up from school because it was too far for them to take the school bus. So, Anabelle would be alone in the house on Lost Native from two-thirty until around four o’clock. She spent that time doing chores, finishing her homework, and preparing dinner for everyone. This routine lasted a long time. When Anabelle was finishing eleventh grade, and the winter snow covering the ground was melting, the family decided to let the younger siblings join the local YMCA. The younger children wanted to practice swimming and sports, so they all went there after school.
Meanwhile, let’s meet the wicked wizard who was married to Anabelle’s aunt. The Wicked Wizard was cross and very tough on the children if they so much as made a mistake. There were rules to be followed in the house on Lost Native, and they were all set by him.
Naturally, the Wicked Wizard insisted on these rules. After all, they lived in his castle and therefore obeyed his command. Dinner had to be ready on time. The house had to be cleaned. Homework was to be done promptly. No roughhousing was allowed. No making loud noises, and definitely no television watching outside of permitted hours. Because of this, Anabelle loved it most when they visited the library; those books became her window to the outside world. Rules were rules. They had to be followed, and no one broke them lightly—otherwise, it meant the belt or painful slaps for the rule breakers in the house on Lost Native.
One day, a new rule was set by the Wicked Wizard. He insisted on taking the children of the house out on a “date,” as he called it: a ride around town to grow and deepen his bonds with them. For the boys, it was a fabulous time of fun and games, but for Anabelle, these trips became a source of extreme stress. As the Wicked Wizard drove his car, heavy with the sharp scent of his cologne, he would casually place his free hand on her thigh. At first, it felt innocent, but then, that hand started moving higher and higher along her thigh in a most uncomfortable manner, and the feel of it made her sick to her stomach. She did her best to fight it, but there was no escape when they were in the car alone, and he insisted she sit in the front passenger seat. She was sixteen years old.
In high school, she met friends who had healthy, happy relationships with their boyfriends. Those felt clean. But in health class, her teacher had always insisted that no adult should ever touch her this way. So, Anabelle became very distressed and did her best to escape being in a car with the Wicked Wizard, trying desperately never to sit in the front seat.
Anabelle firmly believed avoidance would end the matter. When it was her turn to go for the “date,” she made sure her younger siblings came along—most especially the Wicked Wizard’s biological daughter, assuming that would stop him from trying anything.
Never could she have imagined that the Wicked Wizard would corner her during the hours between two-thirty and four, when she was completely alone at the house on Lost Native. After all, her aunt and her mother were taking the children to the YMCA and would be gone for a while, especially if they decided to go grocery shopping.
Anabelle had a habit of wearing earphones, working to the hum of pop music as she cleaned the house. She was busy sweeping the living room carpet when the Wicked Wizard arrived home unannounced. He used the back door of the house, so she never heard him come in. Suddenly, he was standing before her with a wide, strange smile.
Anabelle removed her earphones in surprise, but then the Wicked Wizard pulled her into his arms. Hugging her tight, he thanked her for always keeping the house clean. She stood paralyzed, not knowing what to do next. She held still, refusing to return the hug. She made no move, but then he started kissing her cheeks, her forehead, and then his lips were on hers before she could think. She froze, sick to her stomach from the sensation of his unwanted kiss. His hands ran down her back, which was covered only by a thin white t-shirt. She started struggling, fighting harder when his hands roamed under her t-shirt, climbing up her bare skin to tug on her bra.
Anabelle wiggled and fought to get away, her skin crawling with the sudden shock of the moment. She was sixteen years old. He was her father’s age. He was supposed to be her uncle, someone to look up to, someone meant to protect her, even though they were not biologically related. He was married to her aunt. He was the father of her first cousins. Anabelle’s blind belief in family ties broke into tiny pieces as the realization struck that he could never truly be family to her.
Anabelle struggled against his sudden, overwhelming strength with all her might, panicking when her bra clasp broke and came undone. Tears filled her eyes when he squeezed her breast, and she kicked him and broke free, running down the corridor. She threw herself into the bathroom and locked the door. Heart pounding, she listened as the Wicked Wizard followed her and knocked on the door, rattling the lock for entry, calling out her name, and insisting she open up. Anabelle took deep breaths, wiping tears from her eyes. She righted her clothes with shaky hands and prayed that her aunt and mother would return soon.
Then it went quiet. The Wicked Wizard must have realized their time alone was ending, and he left.
Anabelle stayed locked in the bathroom until she heard the kids run into the house many minutes later. She came out of the bathroom and endured a scolding from her aunt for not having finished the chores, but she bore it, knowing her aunt was not the person to tell about her stomach-turning experience. After all, the Wicked Wizard was her aunt’s husband.
Anabelle waited two days, terrified it might happen again. She would lock the doors when she was home alone so that she would hear if he came back. She waited for a moment when she was out alone with her mother to tell her about the assault. Anabelle was fortunate; her mother had always been decisive when it came to important matters. Terrified that a similar incident would occur, Anabelle’s mother made the fastest arrangements she could, and soon Anabelle and her blood siblings moved out of the house on Lost Native.
Years later, Anabelle would think of that moment as if it were a bad dream. Others would ask why she kept holding onto such a memory. Some family members would say she was unfair for even mentioning it or referring to it. So, she would ask, Why could she not reconcile herself with her experience? Why did rage still rise at the most unlikely moments? Why did tears fill her eyes at the thought of that sixteen-year-old girl growing up in a single heartbeat? Perhaps she should let it go. Perhaps.
But the question stands: would any parent of a sixteen-year-old daughter remain calm if their child encountered such a Wicked Wizard, and they weren’t decisive enough to save her? What would that parent do? Whatever answer the reader comes up with, that’s how Anabelle’s blind belief in family ties broke into tiny pieces.
From the author: May all the girls in the world have a mother, or someone who loves them enough, to fight for and protect them with all their might.
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