My Sister Threatened To Have Me Kicked Out If I Didn’t Leave Her Room…

The Shadow of a Diagnosis

My sister threatened to have me kicked out if I didn’t leave her room at 3:00 a.m. until one day she reached out to me with a secret. My parents adored me until I was nine and diagnosed with high-functioning autism.

My parents thought they were too lenient on me, so they increased their penalties. Sarah, my elder sister, defended me for years.

She sneaked me food at night when my parents served me 25% of what I should eat. She would hug me as I wept when my parents yelled at me to battle the autism.

I only avoided suicide most days because of her. She abandoned me when I was 16 and she was 17.

When I entered her room at 3:00 a.m. to talk, she threatened to ask our dad to kick me out if I didn’t leave. Sometimes I was overstimulated and rubbed my thumb with my cheek.

Sarah usually sat with me and held my hand. She hurried to inform our parents I was doing it again, knowing they’d punish me.

After that, I lived like a heartless zombie. I was disconnected daily.

When I came back to reality, I forced myself to zone out again because I wanted to finish school and move out, especially since Sarah wouldn’t leave soon. Thank goodness my parents did anything for me.

They covered my college costs. They demanded it.

I suppose they wanted me gone. I didn’t care since a victory is a win.

A Secret at the Hostel

Time for my second dorm night. I got the text then.

It was Sarah. “Don’t reply to this please pick me up and drive me to your dorm at 5:00 p.m. on Saturday don’t tell our parents I’m sorry I love you”

I trembled before the text. She wanted to hang out.

She wanted to be my sister again. That night I couldn’t sleep.

My mind kept replaying memories like a record. Even when I thought of Sarah laughing at me getting wailed on or telling my parents to drive autism out of me faster, I felt something.

I felt grateful because Sarah attempted to give me a childhood. It seemed I owed her.

On Sunday I drove her. She said, “Go faster.”

Upon entering, she then hid on the back seat floor and refused to talk to me until we were at the hostel. At last she broke down.

I calmed her during her anxiety episode like she did for me years ago. After 45 minutes she spoke. “I never meant to hurt you Emily I swear”

I thought she was pranking me, but then she told me something so shocking I felt like throwing up. “Do you remember my 17th birthday?”

She asked, voice shaking. I nodded.

My dad had driven me to a field miles away and left me there until the day was over so I wouldn’t ruin the day with my autism. Well, she said, “Dad.”

Her eyes filled with tears. My stomach fell.

He took my first time. I grasped her head and rubbed her back.

Our dad had snatched her innocence. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” She repeated. “He said talking to you would make me ugly because your autism would rub off if he caught me he’d do it to you too.”

It all made sense, and I felt guilty for ever disliking my sister. Our mom knew, but she didn’t care.

I asked if they knew where she was, and she shrugged. This was good because my dorm was far from campus and they didn’t know where I lived.

I told her I loved her and would keep her safe. She didn’t know it, but I was going to make our parents pay for everything.

The Monsters Play Their Card

The next morning Sarah shook me and had wild eyes. “Emily Tom texted me mom and dad are saying I’m mentally sick and made everything up”

I checked my messages and saw Tom had texted me too. Family is being enlisted to find her.

What’s happening? My stomach sank.

They were monsters, but they understood how to play the worried parent card. “What do we do?” Sarah wondered, pacing the small dorm room.

“What if people believe them?” I pondered.

Remember the evidence. They say what they want, but we have proof.

Sarah started pacing, biting on her thumbnail as we did as kids. “And dad was in a bad mood they’re going to find me” She murmured.

“They’ll track my phone or something” I held her shoulders. “They’re not you’re secure I swear”

I didn’t tell her my anxieties to avoid stressing her out. “Don’t trust everything you hear” I texted Tom. “Sarah’s safe”

It was too unsafe to let even well-meaning family members know where we were. So Sarah and I missed our customary dining hall excursion that day.

Evidence and Investigations

I went to the convenience store near campus and bought sandwiches and snacks. When I returned, Sarah had pushed my desk in front of the door.

“Just in case” She said.

We spent the day jumping at every hallway noise. Sarah would freeze like a deer in headlights when footsteps approached our door, but it was always other students going about their day.

We were exhausted from being on alert by evening, so I suggested we binge-watch a stupid comedy show on my laptop for a few hours. Things almost felt normal, and Sarah even laughed.

Around midnight my phone buzzed with an email notification. Someone replied to one of our anonymous messages from my burner account.

I opened it expecting the worst, but it was from dad’s company. They needed a victim statement for an internal investigation.

I showed Sarah. Sarah stared at the screen for a long time.

“If I tell them everything it becomes real like officially real it happened and he deserves consequences” Sarah nodded slowly. “I’ll do it but I need a day to write it all down to figure out what to say”

The next day Sarah spent hours typing on my laptop. I sat nearby working on assignments I’d fallen behind on.

Sometimes she’d ask me if I remembered details, dates, or incidents. I helped as much as I could, but some of the worst had happened when I wasn’t around.

While she worked, I checked our parents’ social media. Rachel had posted a tearful plea for anyone who had seen Sarah to contact them immediately.

Her post claimed Sarah was sick and needed medical attention. Dozens of sympathetic comments, prayers, and shares made me sick.

The same woman who watched her husband abuse her daughters for years was now playing the devastated mother, and people bought it. Sarah finished her account that night and asked me to read it before sending it.

It was detailed, specific, and heartbreaking. She described Jon’s sexual assault on her birthday and years of inappropriate touching, comments, and behavior.

She anxiously inquired whether I should take anything out. I held her tightly. “It’s your tale.”

She chose to send it all, connected to a reply email with some of our proof, and sent it to HR. Then Sarah closed the laptop and snuggled up on my bed emotionally exhausted.