while I shared the walls with my father as well.
He was never around, anyway.
So we clung to each other.
And we had decided on flower cupcakes for the party, had picked out her sweet, light pink sundress that I had always admired as my outfit, had sat and written out invitations in my mother's beautiful, flowing penmanship, had even found the perfect park with an actual koi pond and a pergola so we wouldn't melt in the heat.
It was all set up.
We had been working on little specifics. Like the music to load onto my iPod, if four pizzas would be enough, if we should paint our nails red or yellow—or a combination of the two—if I should wear my hair up or down.
We never would hammer out those details.
We never would have that party.
I would turn sixteen.
But by then, my mom wasn't around anymore.
It was a normal night.
My mother and I had stood brushing shoulders in our tiny kitchen, chopping up vegetables for a stir-fry, deciding on peanut sauce since my father wouldn't be home. He hated all things peanut butter. My mother and I binged Reeses when there was enough leeway in the budget for us to buy a big bag and do so.
We had eaten dinner in front of the TV in the living room, watching Gilmore Girls reruns for the thousandth time, having always connected to the mother/daughter dynamic, loving the small-town vibe even though we both agreed we were city women through-and-through.
Then, my mother got one of her migraines, having to take one of the pills that made her sleepy and loopy, so she went off to her room to rest in the dark, and I did the dishes and went to my room to listen to some music, still trying to perfect that playlist of mine.
I fell asleep on a mixed CD a friend had given me.
I woke up to it still playing on a loop.
But I wasn't alone like I had been when I fell asleep.
And it wasn't my mother in the room.
Or my father, for that matter.
No, it was a stranger.
Tall and an almost emaciated sort of skinny, something that made his suit hang off his body, looking like a skeleton dressed up for Halloween.
There was nothing significant about his face, except his eyes seemed black and too close-set.
He was just like any average guy you might see on the street or in the store.
But he damn sure didn't belong in my bedroom.
My mouth opened, ready to call for my mother.
But even as my lips parted, I could hear her.
Already screaming before the sound abruptly cut off.
This man wasn't the only one in the apartment.
And someone was doing something to my mom.
I wasn't naive.
I knew all the terrible ways a man could hurt a woman. I just... I just never thought it could happen to my mom.
Or happen to me.
But then this skinny man was moving across my bedroom floor, was making his way to where I was still stretched out on my bed.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to fight.
But it was like something had clicked off in my brain. It was like the connection between my mind and my body was misfiring.
I couldn't scream.
I couldn't run.
I couldn't fight.
I couldn't move.
Not even when he got to the bed.
Not even when his hands moved out, pulled off my clothes, touched me, pulled off his own clothing.
The clearest memories I had of that night were of the aftermath.
It was how I distinctly remembered how the bed bounced as he moved off of it, how I finally managed to move, curling up on my side, wrapping my arms around my legs. How tears had soaked my pillow without me having been conscious of crying in the first place, how cold my room was, making goosebumps bead up across all my exposed skin.
It was the man's hands as he methodically pulled his clothes back on.
Underwear. Pants. Shirt. Belt. Jacket.
It was his one hand, in particular.
With a big, red birthmark covering it.
I knew the shape, the shade, where it ended and began.
It was the most vivid memory I had as I lay in my bed, crying, in pain, even after the man left.
At some point, I was aware of my mother in my room, her lip split, her eye black and blue, her hair a mess, wearing only a t-shirt when she'd gone to bed with sweatpants on as well.
"It's okay, baby. It's okay. I'm here. We are getting help."
And we did.
The police showed up.
My