Lily’s father Character Analysis

“My father was abusive. […] Sometimes he would buy me stuff because he knew I hated it when they fought. When I was a kid, I found myself looking forward to the nights they would fight. Because I knew if he hit her, the two weeks that followed would be great. […] When I got older I realized that not doing something about it made me just as guilty. I spent most of my life hating him for being such a bad person, but I’m not so sure I’m much better. Maybe we’re both bad people.”

Ryle looks over at me with a thoughtful expression. “Lily,” he says pointedly. “There is no such thing as bad people. We’re all just people who do bad things.”

I open my mouth to respond, but his words strike me silent.

I open the shoebox on my lap and pull out the contents. On the very top is a small wooden, hollow heart. I run my fingers over it and remember the night I was given this heart. As soon as the memory begins to sink in, I set it aside. Nostalgia is a funny thing.

I move a few old letters and newspaper clippings aside. Beneath all of it, I find what I was hoping was inside these boxes. And also sort of hoping wasn’t.

My Ellen Diaries.

“Mom, he was trying to rape you!”

[…] “It’s not like that, Lily. We’re married, and sometimes marriage is just…you’re too young to understand it.”

It got really quiet for a minute, and I said. “I hope to hell I never do.”

[…] When she finished crying, I looked around the room and Atlas had left [...] She never did say anything about him being there. Not one thing. I waited for her to tell me I was grounded, but she never did. I realized that maybe she didn’t acknowledge it because that’s what she does. Things that hurt her just get swept under the rug, never to be brought up again.”

I start shaking my head, wanting the last fifteen seconds to go away. Fifteen seconds. That’s all it takes to completely change everything about a person.

Fifteen seconds that we’ll never get back.

He pulls me against him and starts kissing the top of my head. “I’m so sorry. I just…I burned my hand. I panicked. You were laughing and…I’m so sorry, it all happened so fast. I didn’t mean to push you, Lily, I’m sorry.”

I don’t hear Ryle’s voice this time. All I hear is my father’s voice […]

I just want him away from me. I use every ounce of strength I have in both my hands and legs and I force him the fuck away from me.

He’s not like my father. He can’t be. He’s nothing like that uncaring bastard.

We’re both upset and kissing and confused and sad. I’ve never felt anything like this moment—so ugly and painful. But somehow the only thing that eases the hurt just caused by this man is this man […]

I’m hurting so much on the inside, yet my body craves his apology in the form of his mouth and hands on me. I want to lash out at him and react like I wish my mother would have reacted when my father hurt her, but deep down I want to believe that it really was an accident.

It’s been almost a mother since the incident on the stairs. Even with everything Ryle told me about his childhood, the forgiveness was still hard to come by.

I know Ryle has a temper. I saw it the first night we met, before we ever even spoke a word to each other. I saw it that awful night in my kitchen. I saw it when he found the phone number in my phone case.

Bur I also see the difference between Ryle and my father.

Ryle is compassionate. He does things my father never would have done. He donates to charity, he cares about other people, he puts me before everything […]

I am a strong woman. I’ve been around abusive situations my whole life. I will never become my mother, I believe that a hundred percent. And Ryle will never become my father.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and then begin dialing Atlas’s number.

I hate myself more in this moment that I ever have in my entire life.

I hate myself, because the day Ryle found Atlas’s number in my phone, I lied and said I had forgotten it was there.

I hate myself, because the day Atlas placed his number in my phone, I opened it and looked at it.

I hate myself, because deep down inside, I knew there was a chance that I might one day need it. So I memorized.

“Hello?...Lily?”

[…] I hate myself, because he knows the tears are mine.

I don’t even know where to start. I know you don’t know anything about my current life or my husband, Ryle. But there’s this thing we do where one of us says “naked truth,” and then we’re forced to be brutally honest and say what we’re really thinking.

So…naked truth.

Brace yourself.

I am in love with a man who physically hurts me. Of all people, I have no idea how I let myself get to this point.

There were many times growing up I wondered what was going through my mother’s head in the days after my father had hurt her […]

I hate that I can empathize with her now.

People on the outside of situations like these often wonder why the woman goes back to the abuser. I read somewhere once that 85 percent of women return to abusive situations. That was before I realized I was in one, and when I heard that statistic, I thought it was because the women were stupid.

[…] I love my husband, Ellen […] Preventing your heart from forgiving someone you love is actually a hell of a lot harder than simply forgiving them [...]

The things I’ve thought about women like me are now what others would think of me if they knew my current situation […]

I’m sad that those are the first thoughts that run through our minds when someone is abused. Shouldn’t there be more distaste in our mouths for abusers than for those who continue to love their abusers?

“My father was abusive. […] Sometimes he would buy me stuff because he knew I hated it when they fought. When I was a kid, I found myself looking forward to the nights they would fight. Because I knew if he hit her, the two weeks that followed would be great. […] When I got older I realized that not doing something about it made me just as guilty. I spent most of my life hating him for being such a bad person, but I’m not so sure I’m much better. Maybe we’re both bad people.”

Ryle looks over at me with a thoughtful expression. “Lily,” he says pointedly. “There is no such thing as bad people. We’re all just people who do bad things.”

I open my mouth to respond, but his words strike me silent.

I open the shoebox on my lap and pull out the contents. On the very top is a small wooden, hollow heart. I run my fingers over it and remember the night I was given this heart. As soon as the memory begins to sink in, I set it aside. Nostalgia is a funny thing.

I move a few old letters and newspaper clippings aside. Beneath all of it, I find what I was hoping was inside these boxes. And also sort of hoping wasn’t.

My Ellen Diaries.

“Mom, he was trying to rape you!”

[…] “It’s not like that, Lily. We’re married, and sometimes marriage is just…you’re too young to understand it.”

It got really quiet for a minute, and I said. “I hope to hell I never do.”

[…] When she finished crying, I looked around the room and Atlas had left [...] She never did say anything about him being there. Not one thing. I waited for her to tell me I was grounded, but she never did. I realized that maybe she didn’t acknowledge it because that’s what she does. Things that hurt her just get swept under the rug, never to be brought up again.”

I start shaking my head, wanting the last fifteen seconds to go away. Fifteen seconds. That’s all it takes to completely change everything about a person.

Fifteen seconds that we’ll never get back.

He pulls me against him and starts kissing the top of my head. “I’m so sorry. I just…I burned my hand. I panicked. You were laughing and…I’m so sorry, it all happened so fast. I didn’t mean to push you, Lily, I’m sorry.”

I don’t hear Ryle’s voice this time. All I hear is my father’s voice […]

I just want him away from me. I use every ounce of strength I have in both my hands and legs and I force him the fuck away from me.

He’s not like my father. He can’t be. He’s nothing like that uncaring bastard.

We’re both upset and kissing and confused and sad. I’ve never felt anything like this moment—so ugly and painful. But somehow the only thing that eases the hurt just caused by this man is this man […]

I’m hurting so much on the inside, yet my body craves his apology in the form of his mouth and hands on me. I want to lash out at him and react like I wish my mother would have reacted when my father hurt her, but deep down I want to believe that it really was an accident.

It’s been almost a mother since the incident on the stairs. Even with everything Ryle told me about his childhood, the forgiveness was still hard to come by.

I know Ryle has a temper. I saw it the first night we met, before we ever even spoke a word to each other. I saw it that awful night in my kitchen. I saw it when he found the phone number in my phone case.

Bur I also see the difference between Ryle and my father.

Ryle is compassionate. He does things my father never would have done. He donates to charity, he cares about other people, he puts me before everything […]

I am a strong woman. I’ve been around abusive situations my whole life. I will never become my mother, I believe that a hundred percent. And Ryle will never become my father.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and then begin dialing Atlas’s number.

I hate myself more in this moment that I ever have in my entire life.

I hate myself, because the day Ryle found Atlas’s number in my phone, I lied and said I had forgotten it was there.

I hate myself, because the day Atlas placed his number in my phone, I opened it and looked at it.

I hate myself, because deep down inside, I knew there was a chance that I might one day need it. So I memorized.

“Hello?...Lily?”

[…] I hate myself, because he knows the tears are mine.

I don’t even know where to start. I know you don’t know anything about my current life or my husband, Ryle. But there’s this thing we do where one of us says “naked truth,” and then we’re forced to be brutally honest and say what we’re really thinking.

So…naked truth.

Brace yourself.

I am in love with a man who physically hurts me. Of all people, I have no idea how I let myself get to this point.

There were many times growing up I wondered what was going through my mother’s head in the days after my father had hurt her […]

I hate that I can empathize with her now.

People on the outside of situations like these often wonder why the woman goes back to the abuser. I read somewhere once that 85 percent of women return to abusive situations. That was before I realized I was in one, and when I heard that statistic, I thought it was because the women were stupid.

[…] I love my husband, Ellen […] Preventing your heart from forgiving someone you love is actually a hell of a lot harder than simply forgiving them [...]

The things I’ve thought about women like me are now what others would think of me if they knew my current situation […]

I’m sad that those are the first thoughts that run through our minds when someone is abused. Shouldn’t there be more distaste in our mouths for abusers than for those who continue to love their abusers?