Your Body

My Rape.

By January 29, 2016 1
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It doesn’t fade, you know. The memory is still perfectly intact.

And considering the fact that I’m picturing it now like it was yesterday, I suppose it will always be that way.

When you’re young, you can’t wait to grow up, but for me all that changed one night; I didn’t want to grow anymore, I wanted time to stop— or maybe I wanted it to go on—just without me.

Merely days after my 14th birthday, my mom dropped me off at my young boyfriend’s house. I neglected to tell her that we would be going to the park later that night for his baseball scrimmage. My parents were pretty strict. I sure wasn’t allowed out past dark, least of all, alone by myself, But I’d always had a reckless side to me. My mom would tell me that ever since I learned how to walk, I was always wondering where I wasn’t welcomed. Growing up she’d warn that I was too curious for my own good and that I needed to learn to just leave things alone.

Unfortunately that just wasn’t in my nature.

I was on the phone with a friend on the bleachers as I cheered my boyfriend on from the side lines. Mid-conversation, I got up to use the bathroom. The restrooms were practically across the park in a small, square, brick building; one side for ladies and one for men. Approaching the facilities it was dark and I couldn’t help but feel that someone had eyes on me.

Must just be my imagination.

My friend still on the line, I told her that I’d made it to the restrooms and that I would ring her as soon as I had finished.

It was fast.

I had turned the corner when out of nowhere, a man pinned me hard against the brick wall. Naturally, I began screaming at the top of my lungs, and so he put his hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. I bit down hard in defense but that only made him more furious.

“Shut up bitch”, he scolded, as he struck my face.

I’d never been hit in the face before.

I felt his dirty hands forcing their way down into my shirt.

I’m an innocent virgin, what’s happening?

We tussled for awhile and I thought I stood a chance when he fell, but as much as I struggled to get away, he was too quick. Too strong. He threw me over his shoulders and headed into the bathroom. I remember grabbing the sides of the door entry but it was no use.

And then there was the smell.

It was foul like body odor masked by the stench of sewer. It was so dark I could barely see my own hand in front of me. I continued to kick and shove and scratch and push, but nothing worked.

Click.

Now something cold was being pressed to the side of my head. He had a gun to my temple, and he told me that I had to behave. He hit me over the head with that gun, and I believe it must have been a sink my head hit when I fell. The floor was so cold and so damp. He was less than gentle. I was lying on that bathroom floor, half naked and vulnerable, as his clammy hands violated my pure body from head to toe. Every second of it made me gag. I remember he wouldn’t stop striking me, I think it’s because I was crying. And then he was inside of me, and the agonizing pain I felt between his fists and the penetration is indescribable.

He’s looking into my eyes. 

I can still hear the way his voice sounded as he insisted that he loved me.

“You’re the best I ever had”

I don’t know what that means yet. 

“You’ll never be loved like this”

Love? What can this animal possibly know about that concept?

“You’ll never forget me bitch, I fucking love you bitch, YOU’RE MINE

This frightens me.

“Do you love me bitch?”

He demanded an answer. He was cruel. I remember wondering how much longer it would take for him to kill me, and thinking how afraid I was to get shot. But instead of pulling the trigger he pulled out, kissed my inner thigh, and just left.

He left me there on the floor: violated, embarrassed, belittled, defeated, and alone. As I cleaned myself up from all the blood and gathered my clothes, I took a look in the mirror and started wondering why he’d left me like this; Why he didn’t have the decency to kill me, considering I was already dead on the inside.

He took everything.

My body ached and my legs were so shaky, that I had to sit down beside a tree for a couple of minutes to collect myself. I never called my friend back, she never called me back to check on me. I sat and stroked blades of grass for about five minutes and then, I started laughing. It felt crazy because I didn’t think or feel that anything was humorous.

Why am I laughing?

The giggles turned into a slow sob and then I could hardly breathe.

I have no place and I do not belong. How can I go back to living? I am a slut, I’m 14 years old, and I’ve already lost my virginity,

I was disgusted with myself. I felt dirty and very ashamed. I sat reflecting, trying to make sense of it. My innocent mind tried to sympathize with his actions: had he been abused? Was that his understanding of love? Does he really think that’s what love feels like? Is that what love feels like? Suddenly I was feeling bad for the man as I couldn’t imagine what had corrupted him so. I believed he was sick in the head.

Parts of him are in me though. So maybe now, I am sick in the head too.

I wondered what my new freshman class would have to say about the whore pregnant girl, with no baby father. I was used to bullying, but this new wave would be brutal.

Luckily, I will not go on to become pregnant from this. I also won’t tell anyone about this for almost 3 years. No, I’ll just walk back to the baseball crowd, with my mindset altered, my spirit questionable as well. The game will be almost over, and soon after I’ll be back home and back to living. But I won’t live the same anymore.

It’ll take me awhile to be able to live at all again.

From time to time I wonder how my life would be had that night never occurred. I try to tell myself that everything happens for a reason and that I am okay. I tell myself that I am loved, even if most of the time it doesn’t feel that way much at all.

I like to think that forgiveness frees me.

Realistically, I know I can never get the girl that I once was back, and that’s not fair because I miss her—so does my family, especially mom. And I still somehow do not blame him.

The way I see it, he may have been a victim too.