The Lull
- Ashley
- Feb 1
- 6 min read
Part V
After Johnny left Connecticut and went back to live with his Mom in Florida, things were quiet for a bit. J spent more of his time berating Johnny's mother, and talking about what a terrible person she was than attacking us.
At almost 17, I believed that Johnny's mother was all of the things he said she was. Now, I know that she was a victim just as much as we were. I can't imagine what that woman went through having a child with that vile human being. May she eternally rest in peace, and I hope her reuniting with Johnny was beautiful.
It was nice having his aggression directed at someone other than me. He even started to talk to me on a neutral level. I thought it was stopping, that things were getting better... until a bad day happened, and life went back to normal. And then the pretty little cloud of positivity I was sitting on vanished in front of my eyes, and I was falling down that deep hole again.
I continued to grow, but a piece of me stayed the same. It stayed stuck, unable to flourish. I felt like I was moving so much slower than everyone else. My friends had goals, dreams. They were working hard, applying to colleges, visiting them. Planning the next steps of their lives. And I didn't have that drive in me. My grades were plummeting. I had missed more days than attended class, and I was on track to have to repeat my senior year of high school.
I couldn't focus on homework, let alone planning for my life. My main focus everyday was what mood of J's that I was going to go home to that night. If he was going to go upstairs and go on the computer until dinner, or if he was going to drink on the couch. If dinner was going to be made right, if he was going to enjoy it. My main goal in life at that time was to survive.
I got exceptionally good at cooking. Purposely finding recipes that I knew he would like, so I would get a compliment rather than attitude and anger. I guess I got something good out of my trauma. I knew how to be an obedient little house wife. Except... I was 17. And it wasn't my husband. It was my 45 year old step father.
It's important to note that at this time, my Dad and step-mom had separated, and I had started staying with my Mom & J full time.
I would skip my classes and go to the preschool attached to the childhood development wing. I had always loved kids. I had continued babysitting through out the years, and even met some of my favorite families I babysat through the preschool.
It was an escape. Spending time with the most pure, beautiful little things in the world. So full of love, potential, and unfiltered joy. I never smiled more than I did in that room. The teachers basically became mothers to me. I confided in them, felt safe with them. It felt like home more than my actual house did.
I had continued to self harm. I started hanging out with people older than me. I began my nicotine addiction at 16. Sneaking out, smoking pot. Seeking validation from any boy that would give it to me, to feel like I was valuable, that I was lovable. That I wasn't all those awful things I had been called for so long.
But nothing worked. I still felt useless. Lazy. A waste of space. I still thought about killing myself everyday. I just wanted the pain to stop.
And then I met C. We moved quick. We were 17 and 16, with not a care in the world. We quickly fell for each other. He understood my trauma. He understood what it was like to live like I did. He had experienced shit too. We were two traumatized kids who attached to each other. And J dropped his act around C. C saw the shit that J did, what he said, how he truly acted. And I felt like I wasn't crazy anymore. That someone else saw what was happening and saw how fucked it was. It was the first time that J had dropped his act around someone Johnny or I brought to the house, and god, it felt good.
I spent as much time I could at C's mom's house. They were always welcoming, and loving, and fun. Their house was a safe place for me.
And then I dropped out of high school. I enrolled in night classes to get my GED, but quickly lost drive to complete them. I still lacked the mental capacity it took to complete all of the tasks I had to. I couldn't stay at C's house all the time, but I did as much as I could. It was frequent that C would sleepover our house. J didn't care, but he always threatened that if I got pregnant, I couldn't stay.
J liked C. For whatever reason, he treated him with respect, and was rarely rude to C. It even caused the verbal abuse I was getting to lessen a bit.
But April 4th, 2014, it happened. I found out that I was pregnant.
I remember peeing on the test before my Mom dropped me off at the preschool. I had dropped out of school, but I still asked her to drop me off there so I could sign in as a visitor and volunteer in the preschool. Upon seeing those two lines, the following feelings came...
"Oh my god, I'm gonna be a mom."
"Fuck, Dad is gonna KILL ME."
"Fuck... J is going to kick me out."
Any 17 year old would be absolutely terrified to find out they're pregnant. But for me, it was even scarier. I was going to be homeless. He had always said I was going to "get knocked up". And I was two months from being 18, another deadline he had set for kicking me out.
I refused to get an abortion. I refused to let him cause me to do that.
I didn’t want to move in with my Dad an hour away, and I had no where else to go. I didn't have my license. Babysitting wasn't going to pay my bills. But I was willing to do whatever it would take to keep this baby and be a mom. I had to. I felt like I had a purpose again. I felt like I wasn't useless or meaningless or any of the shit he had said to me. I had something to keep me here. Something that I would pour all of the love in my heart into.
I told my Mom that night that I was pregnant. I waited for J to go up to bed, and snuck out into the living room like I usually did. I sat on the couch with her, and I was terrified. I couldn't get the words out, and she guessed it. We cried, we stressed, and an hour later we were looking at maternity and baby clothes.
We kept it a secret for as long as we could from J, but I had been so sick, we couldn't hide it long. Upon him finding out, he scoffed, chuckled, and said, "told ya". His next words being, "You know what that means!", with a big smile on his face. "You have until that creature comes to get the fuck out."
It's May.
The phone rings. My Mom answers, and I hear her say, "Hey Johnny! How ya doing sweetie?"
The conversation continues. She goes and gets J. More conversation.
Johnny asks to talk to me.
I run to the kitchen and take the other phone off the holder in the kitchen and pick it up.
"Hey Ash" Johnny says with the most love in his voice I had ever heard.
I immediately tear up. I hadn't heard from Johnny much in the year he had been gone. We had messaged on Facebook a few times or texted, but we were both teenagers and way more focused on what was going around us.
That's when my Mom tells me, "He wants to come back to Connecticut. J and Johnny's Mom talked, and agreed he could."
"You do!? I've missed you so much, I have so much to tell you. You're gonna be an uncle."
"WHAT? NO, YOU'RE LYING!!"
Lots of us bantering back and forth.
"I'm gonna be like, the best uncle ever, I'm gonna be its favorite, I hope you know that".
I laughed.
And that was the beginning of the end.
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