Never Did I Think that I Would be caught in the Way You got Me

Ava always had a great relationship with her dad. He was her hero and I don't think he ever really knew that. She loved him so much.

After what happened with her aunt's husband he blamed himself for not protecting his daughter. In a time when she needed him most he never noticed. Not even when the cries for help turned into screams. Violent, desperate screams.

And she blamed herself for tearing her family apart.

For a while her dad tried to pretend that his coaching job had gotten in the way of his family. It was the late nights in the gym and the weekends at games and trainings. It was the early mornings on the field and every afternoon in the film room. He'd be gone when she got up and he'd come home after she was supposed to bed.

But he quickly realized he couldn't blame work. That was no excuse for ignoring every sign. Work didn't keep him from seeing his daughter sitting on the couch waiting for him every night when he'd get home at midnight. And it never stopped him from letting her crawl in bed with him at two in the morning because she still couldn't sleep.

When she got to go have dinner in his office on weekends, work didn't keep him from seeing the way she picked at her food, never actually eating much. It didn't keep him from reading the notes from the Kindergarten teacher, always claiming that Ava had incredible artistic development for a six-year-old, but never had confidence in her work.

His job never deafened him to his wife always mentioning how their daughter cried a lot in her room or how she didn't like people touching her. And coaching never once stood in the way of his bond with her, when she'd constantly mumbled about all the worries a child shouldn't have.

She'd worry about the weather. About the laces of her shoes. She'd worry about how her nose was too big and her brother's teeth too crooked. She'd worry about how much housework her mother had to do. She'd worry about the dinner she didn't eat and making the bed she never slept in.

Everyone thought it was cute when she worried about how much the boys on the football team practiced. And during basketball season, when she'd get to sit on the bench next to her dad, she always wore her dad's jacket and buried her face in the sleeves so she could see the game, worried about people seeing her.

She loved watching games of any kind. They were one of the few things that made her truly happy.

Every Friday she begged her mom to take her to sit in the stands at the football game and I always got to tag along. Her little gray eyes would always sparkle gold in true team spirit as she stood in the bleachers, utterly silent, absorbing every play. Knowing how much she loved them, her dad bought her a radio for her room, so that during away games we could sit on her bed and listen. And we listened to every single one every Friday night.

During basketball season she was a staple on the bench, talking strategy with the assistant coaches like a seasoned veteran. Her mom always put little purple ribbons in her curls and everyone always thought she looked adorable, crossing her tiny arms across her chest when her dad did. Stamping her little sneakers on the ground in frustration. Clapping her hands together excitedly, her long fingers intertwining.

I remember how she'd smile so big when she got to pass out water. She liked it when people she respected thanked her, sweat rolling off their noses and splashing the court. More than anything, she wanted to thank them. They gave her memories to replace the things she wanted to forget.

Baseball season she'd sit in the dugout, talking to the pitching coach and making childish jokes with the first baseman. Those pretty pink lips never came out of a smile. At track meets she'd sit by the bus with the athletic trainer and he'd teach her how to wrap joints and ice down muscles.

She loved every minute of it.

Sports was something she could understand. She knew every position, every play, every defense, every offense, every trick. She knew everything. It was something she could control. It was something she was comfortable with.

It was something she could lose herself in.

For a little while she didn't think about her aunt's husband. She didn't think about disappointing anyone. For those few hours she got to think strategy and didn't have to worry about people noticing her.

She worried about people noticing her more than she worried about anything else.

She worried that if anyone found out about all the secrets she was keeping her parents wouldn't love her anymore.

And in a way she was right.

Because after her night in the hospital everything started unraveling.

There wasn't enough evidence to know what had happened and Ava wasn't talking. I was the only one that knew it had been her aunt's husband. I was the only one that knew about the things they did in his bedroom.

She never told her parents. She just kept saying that it was an accident. That she couldn't remember. Her answer to everything was "I don't know" and for thirteen years it never changed.

But it didn't stop people from making guesses as to why she'd been in the hospital and why she continually had to be watched and why she was constantly in pain.

People that didn't even know her family started spreading rumors and not about her dad's coaching. They said that he'd been beating her, but there weren't bruises. They said she had a mental disorder, which wasn't wrong, but wasn't right.

They said very, very bad things about her father. And her mother. And her.

A few months after that night her dad stepped down as athletic director of the high school and resumed his position as head of football and basketball, giving up the dream he'd worked years for.

Then her mom quietly moved out, blaming her husband for not taking care of her daughter and herself for spending all day with her and never knowing, giving up the family she'd always dreamed of having.

And her brother blamed her for letting everything happen the way it did. For letting her parents yell at each other when they thought the kids were playing outside. For letting the family fall apart because she wouldn't speak up. But he never called her on it. He never blamed her to her face.

No one could blame her. It was heartbreaking to see her gray eyes swell and sparkle with tears. It was agony to see her pretty pink lips twisted in a frown. It was painful to watch her dig her long fingers into her scalp and pull out clumps of blonde curls.

As much as it tortured her to cry and scream that she couldn't remember what happened, it was suicide for the people asking her to watch the little girl fall apart again and again. It killed everyone she talked to. So people stopped asking.

That was when Ava really started hating herself. Because speaking up might have made the rumors stop. But it would never earn that love back.

It wouldn't give her family back.

She changed a lot after that, but she made sure people didn't really notice. A year later and everyone forgot anything at all had happened. And Ava managed to convince herself that she honestly didn't remember.

She avoided everything that reminded her of those days. She refused to talk about her childhood. She refused to talk about her family. She refused to talk about her aunt's husband. It was like he had never existed and she hadn't had a life before seven.

But in trying to forget what had happened, Ava also forgot who she was.

She wasted every day hating herself for reasons she couldn't remember.

And she spent every ounce of energy she had trying to destroy the girl she became.