My dad was given that title on a technicality. He wasn’t my Dad. He wasn’t my father. He was nothing but a sperm donor. Yet I only know that now. I treated him like a God as a kid because I knew if I didn’t I would be drowned in so much pain. And all I could do was drown my sorrow in that poor rabbit. He was accustomed to tears. He knew that it comforted me. He knew it was the only thing that did. He was the only one that knew. The only one that could sense the terror and pain in my tears and cries. 

But I would never ask for help. I couldn’t. I believed that people would call me crazy. I thought it was me and Cetchup, that poor yellow rabbit that allowed me to show my sorrow. Nobody else would, not even me. I knew if the outside world knew my pain, they would try to help. I knew that people had that power. But I refused to let them. Cetchup was there. And he listened. He knew I was scared. He knew that I cried. And nobody else could.

“Why every night buddy? Why? Is it my fault, I don’t understand? What did I do?”

 I feel pathetic if people see me cry. I felt that I was a disgrace because I let my pain drain out my eyes. I hated it. I couldn’t stop, night after night after night, it happened again and again and again. Screaming, yelling, crying, begging. I could hear it all and it was never going to go away. I heard it and knew what was happening. I knew I couldn’t help her. I wanted to. I wanted to do it every single day. I swore with Cetchup. I wanted to help. But I knew I couldn’t. I knew that it would result in me and her switching places. And I didn’t want to scream, cry, yell and beg. But that meant I couldn’t help. So I lay with my stuffed yellow rabbit and knew that I was safe with him on my bed. I knew that I could cry with him. I knew I wouldn’t feel pathetic with him. 

Because he knew. And only he knew. 

He was with me when the sirens blared outside my window. I saw what had happened this time. I didn’t want to but I wanted to see what the sounds meant. I hid in my room for so long. I rubbed the rabbit in the white spot on his stomach, hugged him, and felt his soft yellow synthetic fur that taught me that I was safe.  Seeing the sirens, I knew what was going to happen. I heard the men in blue. I heard them yelling.

 “ON THE GROUND! GET ON THE GROUND! LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS!”

 I heard my father’s weight hit the floor. I knew that they were yelling at him. It was his fault. It was always his fault. And for the first time, I could see it.

I heard metal snap together and scrape the insides of my ears like nails on a chalkboard. Those were handcuffs. My mom knew. She knew I had seen it all. She knew that I knew what was happening. 

“It’s gonna be okay Roy. You get to see Momo, okay? You get to see her and it’s all gonna be okay. Go grab Cetchup monkey. We are gonna go.” 

“But.. but…but, Mom?”

I still feel her hands on my face when I reflect on this night. All she wanted was for me to be okay.

But I was so scared. Frigid in place. Unable to move.

“Go get him, Roy.” I didn’t like seeing my mom like this. She couldn’t speak without crying. It made me want to cry but I couldn’t. Not yet. I wasn’t safe yet. 

But as she said I grabbed my yellow rabbit. Mom grabbed me by the legs and upper torso and carried me like I was a baby again, like nothing had changed since the good ol’ days. She put me in the car and for the first time, I felt comfortable outside of my room. I had my Cetchup and I had my Mom. And I knew that I was going to be okay. The car ride was completely silent. Gave me time to reflect. And then I fell asleep the second we reached my aunt’s house. And all I can remember is the feeling of hot tears leaving my face, making their way down my chin and dripped, one at a time, one after the other, onto my poor rabbit. The tears warmed my insides and brought me into the deepest sleep of my life. And right there next to me was the sweet, soft, synthetic fur rubbing against my face, teaching me that I was not alone and that finally, for the first time… I was safe.