Shattered Innocence

Shattered Innocence

 

 

 

R.R. Ryan

 

© Copyright 2026 by R.R. Ryan

 

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic, sexual nature. This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

Shattered Innocence

“Just tell us what happened in your own words. I’m sure something can be worked out. If things were as bad as you say, we’ll understand.” One man glanced at the other and back at me.

 

“Yeah, of course, I need to get it all off my chest. It’s been like this all my life...” I launched in without preamble, always looking directly into one or the other’s eyes. From experience, I understood most liars don’t do that. Only the best of them can manage not to giveaway the untruth while staring into another person’s soul.

 

The younger man jotted down notes in some shorthand of his own invention.

 

***

 

It’s been like this all my life. That day, the tension was as thick as the eggs I forked across the plate. Pushing cold yellow globs to the plate’s edge before scooping some into my mouth. With my sister, Beth, hunkered over her Cheerios. Careful not to spill, Mom poured orange juice, fingers tight on the pitcher’s handle. She filled my father’s glass first, followed by mine, and Beth’s, saving hers till last.

 

Planted in the spot reserved for kings and dictators, Dad sat at the head. He skimmed the business section, never once flipping a page, eyes flicking between the print and the three of us. The sound of the newspaper annoyed him. Dear old Dad demanded that his mornings be quiet. But he couldn’t resist the performance. Every so often, he’d clear his throat, real deliberate.

 

Fearing retribution, no one said a word.

 

When my cell buzzed in my lap, I glanced at the screen. From Gabby, two blue balloons, a pool emoji, and a string of exclamation points. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.

 

“Put that away at the table,” Dad said, voice all silk and steel. Didn’t even look up from the paper.

 

As quickly and quietly as possible, I slid the cellphone into my shorts pocket.

 

“Sorry. Was a text about the—”

 

“Don’t care what it’s about. Whatever it us can wait.”

 

Mom’s hand trembled, barely noticeable unless you knew to watch for it. She placed a paper napkin beside Dad’s plate.

 

“Eggs are hot,” she murmured, head ducked. Well, Daddy’s were, she cooked him his after he came into the room.

 

He reached for the salt. “Did I ask for eggs. No, I didn’t ask for eggs.” The bastard hadn’t asked for anything. The eggs were expected to sit before him the instant he sat down. But not today, he had a burr, irritated at the world or work.

 

A little hush fell over the table. And Beth shot me a look, spoon paused midair. I smiled for her sake, stretched my arms overhead like I was only waking up instead of already on my third cup of coffee.

 

“So, a pool party at Gabby’s, right after lunch? I’m set. Got my suit, sunscreen, goggles, the whole thing.”

 

“A lot of big talk for a girl who still lives under my roof.” My father’s newspaper snapped closed. He rested his elbows on the table, hands steepled, brown eyes laser-sharp on mine.

 

For a few moments, I rolled a sausage around my plate with the tines.

 

“It’s not a big deal. Everyone’s going. Some of the girls from State, even.” I looked up. “The scholarship’s final, Daddy. I double-checked yesterday. Orientation is in—”

 

“You’re not going anywhere until we get the school information. In writing, registration day, estimated schedule, major, sport schedule, and who your counselor is.” He looked at Mom. “Did you send them?”

 

“Sweetheart,” mom said, but father hit the table with his fist.

 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” he said, not even a glance at her way. “Eddi, you can’t bank your future on air. A girl needs something solid. Not more fucking pool parties.”

 

Flinching, Mom bobbed her head.

 

“Got most of the information last week. They said it’s all set—”

 

“Listen to me, I want it all, when you leave, when arrive, what you’ll be doing, every goddamn day of the week. You’re my daughter, and I will keep track of you.”

 

Interrupting my father’s tirade, Beth slurped her cereal and said, “Can I go to Chloe’s after this? She’s got a new puppy. Her mom said it’s okay.”

 

Daddy frowned, turning his glower on her. “Little girl, you’re in summer school for a fucking reason. Did you finish the book report?”

 

“Yeah, almost. It’s due Monday.” Beth shrank, eyes darting from me to Mom.

 

“Almost isn’t good enough.” He tapped his glass, hard. “Finish it before you set foot outside. You want to end up like your sister, having to depend on an athletic scholarship and being satisfied with a 4.3 grade point?”

 

“There’s nothing...” Mom started to speak, when my father’s glower froze mid-thought.

 

“Close your fucking gob, you dumbassed cunt.”

 

With metal clattering on China, I set my fork down. “She’s in advanced English, Father. She isn’t in summer school because she’s some dummy.”

 

He ignored me. “Understood?” he asked Beth.

 

“Yes, sir.” Keeping her head down.

 

Mom sipped her juice. The clock ticked overhead. Nobody chewed. A slow heat crawled up my neck.

 

“I’ll help her with it after breakfast,” I said. “Beth, bring your notes upstairs, okay?” With the chair creaking under me, I stretched again.

 

“Okay.” Managing a smile for me.

 

Scraping his chair back, Daddy stood. The sound scraped nerves raw. He adjusted his tie, sleeves crisp, everything tucked and pressed and perfect. He left without another word, shoes clicking all the way to the front hall.

 

Once the door shut, air rushed back into the room. Mom’s shoulders slumped.

 

“You don’t need to do that,” she whispered, eyes fixed on a drip of juice running down the carton. “He’s… ya know, he’s in one of his moods.”

 

I laughed, a quick bark. “He’s always in one of his moods. And since his boss has my father working on a Saturday, he’ll be in a worse one when he gets home.”

 

With milk catching in her throat, Beth giggled. “Mom, you should see the puppy. It’s so small—” Turning her phone to mom, Beth said, “See.”

 

A sad trace of a smile twisted on Mom’s lips.

 

“Girls get busy, while I’ll clean up.” Being careful and quiet, even when he isn’t here, she stacked plates.

 

“Come on, let’s get your book report. I’ll show you a trick for summaries.” Pulling her out of her seat, I grabbed Beth.

 

“Bet I can finish it in ten minutes,” she said, grinning, eyes bright for once.

 

All the way upstairs, I kept my hand on her shoulder. Her skin was cool, fragile, the way it always was after breakfast with Father. In my room, I shut the door and leaned against my dresser.

 

“He’s being a dick because he knows I’m leaving soon,” I said, voice low.

 

“Why doesn’t he want you to go?” With the backpack in her lap, Beth perched on the edge of my bed.

 

Shrugging, I said, “He needs someone to be mad at. You’ll see when you get older.”

 

“You’ll visit, right?” She flopped backward, hair fanned on my pillow.

 

“Every weekend I can. I’ll FaceTime, too. Chloe’s after this. Finish your report, after which freedom.” Tossing her the TV remote, I sat at my desk. In that instant, as if someone had turned off the tension switch, her whole body relaxed. I envied her for that, the way she bounced back.

 

From the kitchen, the clink of dishes. Mom washed, rinsed, stacked, nothing wasted, every movement silent and fast.

 

I glanced at the calendar tacked above my desk. June bled into July. Two months until move-in day. Two more months and I’m free of him. If I can hold on that long.

 

Moving to the desk, Beth sat down in the other chair, opened her laptop, and started typing. “Hey, Eddi?” she asked, eyes on the screen.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Um, well, you’re the best sister,” she said.

 

“Don’t forget it,” I shot back, ruffling her hair.

 

Out the window, Pop’s car pulled out of the driveway, tires crunching on old gravel. The engine whined, fading into silence. Light and hopeful, Beth’s voice filled the room as she hummed a tune. The only reason he’d be working on a Saturday was that his boss was punishing him for something. Talk about a fuck up, he’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.

 

Inside, I counted days. Then hours. Then seconds. Every word from his mouth, every look, every “you’re not good enough” slid off like oil water. I built a wall with it, brick by brick, knowing someday I’d never have to hear it again.

 

Only two more months.

 

***

Hours Later

 

The door shut behind me with a hush, not a slam, but it might as well’ve been a wall between two different worlds. In here, the air didn’t taste of aftershave or burnt toast. In here, my mess reigned: twin heaps of laundry, science medals tangled with ponytail bands, textbooks propped open on every surface. Sunlight cut through the blinds, stripes on the sheets.

 

The yellow bikini lived at the back of my top drawer, wrapped in last year’s field day T-shirt for luck. Pulling it out, careful with the thin strings. The color hit as a highlighter—too bright, sure, but I loved it. I set it on the bed, rolled up my towel, stuffed sunscreen, three Snickers bars, and my new water bottle into my backpack. Nothing to do but wait for Gabby’s “Come now” text.

 

I moved to the wall above my desk, traced the block letters of the acceptance packet. The official envelope with the State logo, blue and silver, bold as a flag. My name printed crisp, nothing misspelled, for once. I pressed my thumb over the words “Full Tuition Gymnastics Scholarship.” Real. The document was thick, heavy in a way that made everything else seem thin.

 

On the desk is a small calendar from the school’s athletic department. I flipped the page, counted the boxes till August move-in. Two months, less than that, eight weeks, 58 days, and counting down. Each one of them was a layer of skin I’d shed, piece by piece, until the old me would blow away, only so much dust in the wind. Moving day, I’d forget this room, the fights, disregarding the way Father’s voice could shake the house at night.

 

Fuck him and all the terror he’s brought to my life, Mommy’s life, even poor Beth’s. That made me sad, that they’d still be here, under his thumb.

 

Not for vanity, I stepped to the mirror to see if anything about me looked different today. My hair, pale and wild, in a scrunchie. My skin, sun-blasted, all the new tan lines from morning runs. My shoulders are broader than most girls’, my thighs strong and solid. Flexing my right arm, I admired the bulge of my bicep. No shame in it. These muscles are my ticket out of here.

 

At that point, I swapped my shirt for the bikini top. It fit snug, the way I adored, straps tied behind my neck, nips bulletted out for the world to see. I ran my fingers down my ribs, counting them and across my six-pack abs. Strong, not breakable. No one could bend me, not if I kept my eyes on the future.

 

From downstairs, the hum of the dishwasher. I heard Mom’s shoes on tile, Beth’s voice, the sound of freedom.

 

Pocketing my phone in my shorts pocket, the tie strings above the hem of my hips tied tightly. Yellow suit, sexy bitch, swung my backpack in place, I’m ready. Spinning once, I was luminous in the sunlight. This was it.

 

This was what being alive was all about.

 

Turning, I looked at the acceptance letter, taped to the wall. The logo caught the sun. Then and there, I promised myself that soon this fucking situation would be behind me. This house would turn into a story I told strangers in dorm lounges at two a.m. When I did, they’d laugh, I’d chuckle, and I’d be someone new.

 

Pulling it from the wall, I hugged the letter to my chest. For once, my heart pounded for a good reason. Just two more months. Maybe less. With that, I put back on the wall, grabbed the bag, and bounded down the stairs. Thinking that when I leave for good, I’d do it so fast my shadow couldn’t keep up.

 

As I charged down the stairs, my flip-flops slapped. Striking the steps in the empty hall, my footfalls dying behind me. Sunlight cut a jagged line across the carpet. Honest Injun, I felt great, I owned the air, the room, the world.

 

The yellow bikini glared, the straps neon bright on tanned skin. My shorts rode up with every move. Towel over my shoulder, gym bag in hand. I didn’t bother with makeup. Chlorine would nuke it anyway.

 

At the bottom, I heard voices in the foyer. Mom and Beth huddled by the door, and they waited for me to leave first. Beth’s arms are full of sleepover gear. Mom wore her “church errand” dress, the blue one that swallowed her figure.

 

“We’ll be back late, honey,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes. “Text if you need a ride.” She fussed with Beth’s hair, smoothing the little flyaway.

 

“Bye, Eddi! Don’t drown!” Beth shot me a grin.

 

“Only if the snacks run out first,” I called back.

 

As she gazed at me, Mom’s lips pressed thin. A tremor, as if she were about to cry, ran over, and they went white at the edges. Yanking the front door open, she hustled Beth out, as if the place was on fire. A cold chill ran down my spine.

 

Why’d she seem so sad?

 

Before heading into the living room, I waited for the sound of their car. When I entered the room, Dad was there. Hadn’t heard him come home. But there he was, planted in the brown recliner. One would think it’d grown around him. TV off. Newspaper on the side table, unread.

 

Keeping my head forward, I crossed to the kitchen. Grabbed the coldest bottle from the fridge, cracked the seal. The hiss sounded loud.

 

He spoke. “Where are you going?”

 

“Gabby’s,” I said, taking a huge gulp, keeping my back to him. “Pool party. Told you at breakfast.”

 

First, his eyes cralled down my back, stopped for a moment on my ass, and lingered on my legs. Not the usual glare or that scowl. Something slower, meaner. As though he could see right through the shorts, through the skin. I tried not to hunch my shoulders.