trigger warning: based on true events
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"Why don’t you step out of the house at all?”
“Why are you always holed up inside your room?”
“Stop being so lazy and step out and do some work!”
She was used to the taunts from her relatives for being the introverted kid that she was. Nobody really understood why she was like that, not even herself.
The very idea of being outside among the throng of people irked her.
There was only one thing she really wanted to do for the rest of her life: sit in her room and never step out. Ever. It might seem a little extreme for a 10-year old to be feeling so strongly at such a young age, but she was more than sure that she never wanted to step outside the confines of her room.
A book was all she needed for company. That was enough, really. She was sure that no human being could even come close to providing the entertainment her fictitious friends from the pages could, and she was fine with it. Human company wasn’t something she took interest in, anyway.
Her mother scolded her everyday for her “strange” behaviour, and honestly, she gave up trying to explain to her that she wasn’t comfortable stepping out.
Comfortable. That was the word.
The very idea of stepping out made her uncomfortable.
Unsafe.
What made her feel unsafe? She couldn’t say.
She didn’t want to say.
School was the only place besides her room where she felt the most comfortable. School was an escape from the outside world, and she never wanted to leave. She didn’t want to go home, actually. Home was the scariest.
She never wanted to go back when she left for school everyday. She dreaded when it was time to leave.
Why?
That was a question she wasn’t very comfortable answering, because she felt ashamed. She was ashamed for feeling that way.
Good girls shouldn’t be harboring such feelings, no?
In spite of that realization, she couldn’t help but feel queasy as she walked down the street to her flat. She knew he would be there in the garden, waiting for her.
She’d plaster a small smile across her face as she opened the gates to let herself in. She would try not to flinch as he came to “help” her, covering his hand over hers, saying, “Here, let me.”
She’d especially not say anything as he would come close to her and touch her face "endearingly", and would pull on the length of her skirt.
“Nicely stitched, no?”
She wouldn’t say anything as he would pull her to his home, remove her bag and make her sit next to him.
“Watch some TV with me,” he’d say.
While some raunchy song would be playing on the TV, she wouldn’t try to run away as his hands would snake around her waist and pinch her hips. She wouldn’t make a noise as he slipped his hands into her shirt and ran them across her back.
She would only sit silently as he kept touching her. Her back, her neck, her hair, her waist…
She would sit silently till her mother called for her from next door, and then she would make a run for it.
She’d make a run for her house, lock herself up in the small room, and sit there till it was time for bed.
She didn’t want to leave the place, ever.
She couldn’t tell anyone why, either.
He was her uncle.
Who would understand, right?
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