When the little girl looked up, she saw brown eyes with a fire in them and the beginning of creases in the outer corner. Faint creases, perhaps from staring at the sun or seeing too much of the world. But the eyes, although piercing had a kindness in them that looked down at the little girl and somehow made her feel safe. Kylie reached up for the firm hand offered to her and grasped it.
This woman, this warrior, she wasn’t like the other women that Kylie knew. Although not tall she looked steady. She was bigger in size, and her arms had muscles. The little girl admired the warrior’s strength. Her hair was long and kind of ashy brown, not done up all pretty, like Mummy’s, but pinned back in bits and pieces. Messy pretty.
Although Kylie knew this woman was the Warrior because she had just saved her she was still surprised by the woman’s clothing. Really light brownish pants covered by worn and stained leather chaps. Were the chaps for a horse or a motorcycle, Kylie wondered. Her boots were also well-worn dark leather with a flat heel. The type of boots a tough girl would wear. But what caught Kylie’s eye was a beautiful lace blouse peeking out of a long jacket. What a strange mix, she thought.
The Warrior turned to Kylie and still holding her hand, bent down and murmured, “are you okay?” ” I mean, do you think you can accept, ultimately know, deep in your heart, that what just happened was for the best?”
Kylie felt her eyes starting to burn and her chest getting tight. Her breath seemed as if it couldn’t work properly for some reason. What was happening? What had she done wrong this time?
As if in the distance she heard soft words, “it’s not your fault, sweetheart. ” “None of this was ever your fault, promise me that any and every time you think thoughts about it being your fault, you will stop yourself and repeat these words,
“I am beautiful, precious, unique and it’s not my fault. I am loved and treasured for who I am, as I am, and I’m learning to love and cherish myself as I am, each and every day.”
Kylie gulped deep breaths as her chest started to open up and her eyes stopped burning.
Blinking away the sting and taking in the fresh new air Kylie looked up. The Warrior’s smiling face reassured her. But it wasn’t as clear as before. She was still smiling, but she was sort of starting to fade away. Then, slowly, gently, her hand let go of Kylie’s hand, and the Warrior seemed to disappear back into the light from where she had come.
Confused, Kylie whirled around at the sound of a scuffle announcing her Mother’s return to the bedroom. Her Mum breathlessly said “quick; we need to leave now before…” Her voice trailed off as she grabbed some of Kylie’s things, including her favourite doll. Kylie jumped up and ran into the hall. She didn’t look back; she’d never look back. Ever.
As Kylie and her Mother rushed out the front door, you could hear sirens in the distance. In Kylie’s bedroom, beside the bed, was a man who had called himself her father. But he had come into her room and unbuckled his pants one too many times. Now he just lay there, finally stopped by means unknown.
“I am beautiful, precious, unique, and it’s not my fault…” Kylie softly murmured to herself.
Authors Note: I wrote this Fictional Story one afternoon to honour the brilliantly brave women who are fighting and winning the battle against PTSD. And to remind us that still in this day and age there are still Kylies. I would do anything to be their Warriors. Blessing to all of you.
If you are an adult victim of child abuse and or suffering from PTSD, PLEASE don’t stay silent with your struggle and pain. It’s not yours to endure. Reach out, there is help available. Psych Central has an extensive list of various resources available for people worldwide. Please click on the link.