In Your Own Words

24. SUBJECT: AN EXPLANATION

Content Warning: This chapter has content that could be triggering for some readers. While intentionally non-graphic, this chapter includes mention of child abuse, trauma and rape. I don't tackle this subject lightly, but recognize that my experience and portrayal of such matters will not be shared by all readers. If you have any questions, concerns, or want to have a conversation about the content, please don't hesitate to message me.

to: weston.maguire@baderu.com

from: cassandra.belford@queesu.com

subject: An explanation

sent: April 8, 2017 at 8:53pm

Wes,

Okay. You got me. Your persistence is almost impressive. I mean, seriously, don't you have school? And friends? A college senior should not be able to devote this much time to chasing a person down. A part of me wishes you'd just given up. Did it not occur to you that I was trying to save us both? I'm worried about how this is going to impact you, too.

But, at the same time, I can't fault you for wanting answers. Our friendship was real, and I miss you as much as you say you miss me. I got used to your voice.

We had a nice arrangement; share what you're willing to share and write the person you want to be. There was something so untouchable and precious about those emails.

But I guess we were both hoping for something more tangible. You wanted me. Not just my thoughts or my words, but me in the flesh. And I don't think I can meet those expectations.

It might not seem like it, I know, but you're asking too much of me. I'm unable to give you what you want or deserve. The best I can do is explain myself, and I hope you understand. Hopefully, you'll see where I'm coming from and why things happened the way that they did.

You're a good and compassionate person, Wes. I need you to understand that there's some sad and fucked up shit in my history that makes me less... accessible. It's especially sad when you compare my story to yours, with your functional family and sweet disposition. It isn't going to help you to look at our lives, side by side.

Try not to pity me, please. I'm better than my story, and people are more than the bad things that happen. So, don't cast me as a sad person. I actually care about your perception of me; I hate admitting that, but it's true. Even if we won't be in each other's lives, I'd like for you to think well of me in my entirety.

I'm all over the place, right? I know. It's all pretty complicated.

When it comes to me and men, it's always been complicated.

I was quite young when I realized the world treated me a little differently. People have always given me attention, warranted or not. Whether it was due to my appearance or my obvious desperation for affection, the eyes of others followed me wherever I went. In some ways, it was a blessing. I always had an audience, someone there to stop me from wandering into the road. My mother made sure I was clean and fed but had very little interest in me as a person. She didn't like leaving me home alone, though. While I was scared of the boogie-man, she was scared of child services.

I stayed with our neighbours when I was very young. They had two kids; a girl named May, who was a little younger than me, and a boy, Leon, who was older, though I'm not sure by how much. Eleven? Maybe twelve or thirteen years old? I don't remember a lot about that family, only that their house smelled terrible. They had too many cats.

One afternoon, I was trying to untangle the hair of May's off-brand Barbie doll. Leon sat on the floor beside me, playing a handheld video game. I asked him for his help untangling the little plastic brush stuck in the doll's hair.