[ WP ] That secret you said you 'd take to your grave ? Now you 've met your maker , and they are asking you to explain yourself

“ Ex-explain myself? ” 
 
 The words choke me. I sputter under the weight of Its gaze, unable to understand. 
 
 “ It was my fault? MY fault? ” 
 
 My voice shakes at first, indignant. In life, I hid all my pain and my rage beneath jokes and smiles. I was unshakeable, or at least I told myself I was. I made myself strong, invulnerable. 
 
 But my mask can ’ t seem to settle over my face the way it used to, and the words I never said and the memories I tried so hard to push away claw at my throat. 
 
 “ What, was my skirt too short? Was I asking for it? I WAS EIGHT. ” 
 
 I scream as I search for It, desperate for something to touch, something to hurt. But there is nothing to take my anger out on. I feel It here, but I am alone. 
 
 All of a sudden I'm that little girl again, crumpled on the floor, scared and lost. My voice is small, cracking with the effort of trying to sound okay. 
 
 “ *Where were You*? ” 
 
 Silence. 
 
 I need to know. I *deserve* to know. 
 
 “ Where were You? ” 
 
 “ **Where WERE You?! ** ” 
 
 But my cries are lost in the void that contains It. 
 
 Though It says nothing, Its condemnation rattles through me. 
 
 The floor is cold against my palms. My hands curl into fists. How dare It validify all the fears that kept me from reaching out to anyone who could help me, anyone who could save me? How dare It blame me? 
 
 “ I couldn ’ t let anyone touch me, not for *years*. I couldn ’ t be alone, but I couldn ’ t be close with anyone. Not even with myself. He made me *empty*. He was supposed to be one of Yours. How could you let it happen? How could you let him… touch… me? ” 
 
 Rage built from decades of loneliness and hate twists against my chest. I howl like an animal in pain. 
 
 “ **YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE ME** ” 
 
 One last sob shudders through me, and I focus on taking even, steady breaths. Slowly, I rise from my knees. In. It is not my fault. Out. I am okay. In. I am worth loving. Out. It is not my *fault*. 
 
 My breathing steady, I stare accussingly into the black. It is only when I have perfect control over my voice that I speak, my words a snarl of venomous disdain: 
 
 “ Explain Yourself. ” 

