She touches her chest, her lip quivering.
“I hated myself. How sick and twisted is that? I thoughtIwas the reason it happened to me. I shielded myself from everyone and wore pants and jumpers so no one else could objectify me.” She hands Vicky the microphone, grabs the bottom of her jumper, lifts it over her head, and then tosses it aside. Taking the microphone off her again, Emma takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”
The girls in the front row stand, clapping. Awkwardly, Emma wraps her arms around herself while descending the stairs. Vicky speaks again, but I ignore her and step out to meet Emma.
“Noya?” Emma questions when I wrap my arms around her, hugging her. “What… what’s this for?”
“You deserve this more than me,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for letting you take the fall for that photo of me.”
“Dude… I don’t care. And I also get it. A photo likethatgoing around school. I’d pretend it wasn’t me as well.”
Sammy stands. “Did you want to go out for a smoke, Emma?”
“Def.”
“Noya, you should stay here. Your presence encourages girls to come forward.”
“Oh…” I notice another girl walk up the stairs and take the microphone. “Okay.”
I sit while Emma and Sammy head outside for a smoke. Listening to the girls talk about their experiences makes me happy. I know some want me to stand and talk about my abuse and the trauma held onto me, but I cannot.
At least, not yet.
“Hey, baby,”Conner calls when I enter the apartment.
“Did you finish work early?” I ask as I set my bag on the corner table. Conner glances at the clock on the microwave and then back. “Ah. I’m the one who’s late.”
I sit on the bar stool at the counter and swivel while watching Conner put leftovers in the microwave. “Are you hungry?” he asks.
“No. I ate more cakes than my stomach could handle,” I reply.
Conner leans his elbows on the table and tilts his head slightly. His hazel eyes soften when he looks at me. “How was it?”
“Great, actually. Sammy, Emma, and I are going back next week.”
“Emma?”
“Yeah. Um… people call her Emo Emma.”
“Ah, I know of her.”
Conner goes to the microwave and takes out the plate of food. He makes a painful grunting noise and sucks on his throbbing red thumb. “Shit.”
I go around the counter, grab the rag hanging on the oven door, and wrap it around the plate. He picks it up by the rag and grins. “My saviour,” he murmurs before planting a kiss on my lips.
We head into the living room. I tuck my legs up to my chest and turn the TV on. Instinctively, I change the channel when Dad’s face comes onto the screen.
“Conner,” I say while turning to him, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Hmm,” he responds through a mouth full of meat.
“The seminar I attended made me realise I’m not ready to talk to my parents, and that’s okay. I don’tneedto question why my dad ever hurt me or why my mum let it happen.” I rest my arm on the top of the lounge and lean against it. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t. When I’m ready, whether that’s tomorrow, in a year or half a decade, I’ll confront those demons. As for now, I’d rather live my life. So, can you do me a favour?”
He rests his hand on mine and squeezes. “Anything,” he says through a mouth full of food.
I breathe a laugh. “Even if this doesn’t work out, could you stay with me on this journey?”
“Noya,” he says, his brows furrowing.