by Lisa Van Ahn
Marla didn’t wake to the knife cutting the screen. It wasn’t until he was on top of her forcefully pushing her onto her back, and digging it into her neck, that she came out of her dreams. He’d climbed up the fire escape steps outside of her building. The smallest crack in her window was enough invitation.
There had been a cool breeze and Marla wrapped herself in only a thin, cotton sheet, leaving the window slightly ajar so she could feel the wind brush across her body. After two weeks of oppressive heat in the city, the airiness of this night felt heavenly. She lay across her bed with the breeze sifting in through the window, drifting sweetly to sleep.
Her playful cat, Jack, played center stage in the dream. They were messing around together, she’d crumpled up a small ball of paper, thrown it, and he retrieved it to have her throw again. She was laughing, about to throw it again when she was ripped awake.
Steel on her neck. A low, raspy voice that said, “Open your legs bitch.”
She inhaled sharply. Wait was this really happening?
He pushed the knife tighter to her throat, and she released a small squeak. “I said, open your legs.”
Instead, Marla closed them tight. She would not give anything. She would not allow this. His knife sliced deep into her throat and slid firmly past her jugular. Then, as suddenly as he’d appeared he was gone.
Blood was streaming freely from her neck. Marla grabbed a t-shirt and pushed it firmly into her throat, reached for her phone, and desperately called 911 before blacking out.
It was a sunny Monday morning, and Marla wrapped a scarf around her neck, as she’d become accustomed to doing. It was her best attempt to cover the ugly, raised streak, a visible reminder of the violation she doubted would ever fade.
This one was silk, beige colored with charcoal cat profiles printed on it. It reminded her of recently losing her cat Jack, and as she tied it, a tear welled in the corner of her lower lid. The softness of the scarf was like the fine hairs of his fur. More tears surfaced, and Marla let them come. There’d been so many tears in the last four months, but the pain hadn’t subsided.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of an unrecognizable reflection in the bedroom mirror. She scoffed at the drawn features, and tired expression before grabbing her keys and heading out. She was late for her appointment.
Since the assault she’d been visiting Riley Peters, a trauma therapist. She felt like today’s session wasn’t going to go well, but then it always seemed to be a torturous hour of hopeless hypnosis, frequent tears, and probing questions that led to zero answers.
When Marla arrived her therapist was waiting, and immediately commented on her silk scarf. “So pretty Marla. Do you love it or are you covering something up?”
Marla ignored her and sank into the chair adjacent from Riley letting out a frustrated sigh.
“So, how was your weekend?” Riley offered as an opening.
“I’m exhausted.”
“Tell me more about that…”
Riley always wanted to know ‘more about that,’ whatever it was, and Marla was never thrilled to share it. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Her heart wasn’t willing to brave the emotional rapids today.
Riley wouldn’t be discouraged. “Tell me about the scarf you’re wearing today, Marla.”
The silk scarf reminded her of Jack. She looked towards Riley and hesitated. Tears began to spill from her eyes. She couldn’t contain the pain. Her mouth betrayed her heart, and words spilled out.
“I miss him. I miss Jack. We were together for more than half of my life. He was part of me, and I’m lost without him.”
“What happened to Jack, Marla?”
“He got sick, and he died. I miss him so much.” The tears were streaming down her face into her lap.
Riley cautiously eased in more to the conversation. “Do you remember how he got sick?”
Marla shook her head no. She couldn’t. All she knew is her heart hurt missing Jack’s gentle spirit in her life.
Riley leaned in closer. “Marla…Can you please take off your scarf today?” She’d asked her to do this so many times, and it was too much, but today Marla slowly unwound the scarf to wipe the tears from her eyes and laid it in her lap.
“Touch your neck, my dear. Tell me what you feel.”
Marla reached up to touch the protruding scar, but felt nothing, only smoothness. The look of shock on her face prompted Riley into a new question.
“Now do you remember what happened?”
Marla winced. Something was flooding in, but she didn’t like it. It couldn’t be the truth. She clawed her neck, searching for any reminder of the scar.
“No. I stood up for myself. I wouldn’t let him rape me. I said no, so he cut me. That’s what happened. That’s what happened.” She squeezed her eyes tight to create a dam and block the memories from rushing in.
Riley reached forward and held her shoulders. “You said no. You stood up for yourself. You were protecting yourself.”
Marla’s dam broke as everything flashed again.
Steel on her neck. A low, raspy voice that said, “Open your legs bitch.”
She inhaled sharply. Wait was this really happening?
He pushed the knife tighter to her throat, and she released a small squeak. “I said, open your legs.”
Instead, Marla closed them tight. She would not give anything. She would not allow this. He got off of her and grabbed her cat. His knife sliced deep into Jack’s throat and slid firmly past his jugular.
He climbed back on Marla and straddled her body, “If you don’t want that to happen to you, spread your legs bitch.” She involuntarily opened them while he raped her. Then, as suddenly as he’d appeared he was gone.
Blood was streaming freely from Jack’s neck. Marla grabbed a t-shirt and pushed it firmly into his throat, reached for her phone, and desperately called 911 before blacking out.
“Are you okay? Marla…Are you okay?” Riley was still holding her shoulders.
Marla looked at her with empty eyes. She lifted the tear soaked scarf off her lap and wrapped the silk cat pattern three times around her neck.
Abruptly, she had a memory of her mama tucking her into bed, the smallest version of Jack nestled close to her, reciting a poem to ease her to sleep.
“Star light/ Star bright/ First star I see tonight/ I wish I may/ I wish I might/ Have this wish I wish tonight.”
Marla wished for a scar.
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