The Horrifying Secrets Of A Teenage Girl
The Story Of Lorenza Jessop
Love the way you lie.
I didn't understand what the video was about, but I knew what it meant. I clicked back the little button, replaying scenes that I didn't need to see. The rapper's voice raged through the speakers, sending shivers down my spine. He sounded like Sam.
I laid hands on her
I'll never stoop so low again
I guess I don't know my own strength
Sam was my boyfriend. Sam hurt me, and he humiliated me. I watched the girl in the video being pinned to the bed, the man stapling her down, his eyes filled with flashing rage. Tears began bubbling at my eyes. I remember Sam pinning me to the hard, concrete floor.
"Why'd you gotta be so damn ugly, huh?!"
"Sam, please,"
"Why'd he even touch ya? You're mine, bitch. Don't let me see him touch you again!"
"Sam, he's a friend. You're fucking drunk Sam, go to bed!"
"You fucking go ta bed!"
"Sam, you're hurting me,"
"I'm hurting ya?! Am I?!"
"Get off me,"
"See this bottle? See it's edges? How about this in your face! Then we'll see how ugly you really are! He'll neva touch you again!"
I traced the raised, pink scar along my right cheekbone. It was wet from my tears. I don't know why everyone liked this song. This girl fought back, I couldn't. I just thought I loved Sam. Every time he slapped me, punched me, kicked me, I just couldn't bring myself to defend myself. I remember all the good times, him cycling up to me in the neighborhood, a lopsided grin on his face, offering me ice-cream. That was 5 years ago. I'm 19 now. I remember my first kiss with him, stiff at the beginning, then it's soft, gentle current at the end. I never wanted to pull away.
Then I remember the first time he hit me. It was stupid. We were 16.
"I saw you at the disco, Sam! Don't fucking lie to me!"
"Oh, really, not now Lorrie. I have a hangover that would kill the devil,"
"I bet you do! I saw you, Sam!"
"Lorrie-"
"You were with that slut! That girl, Sam! After all we've been through, I find you bedding her?"
"A fucking mistake, Lorrie,"
"We shouldn't be making mistakes! It's over Sam!"
"Don't leave me,"
"What are you going to do about it?!"
He then struck me across the face. I remember the shock, the pain, the horror. His face, his eyes stormy with regret. I left his house, crying. He apologized and wrote me a love letter the next day, roses and all. I stupidly forgave him. We moved in together two years later. The beating began again. But an apology always came after, and I accepted every one, convinced it would be the last.
I was wrong.
He was so jealous, the fool. The worst was the broken bottle, just because I chatted with a guy friend. I sat at my computer, staring hard at that video. I watched them be devoured by flames at the end. So they had a sad ending. I suppose me and Sam did as well. The study was dark as I shut down the computer. I rolled back the seat and stood up. Sam's body was on the floor, an unmistakable knife wound in his chest.
"I'm sorry, Sam,"
I picked up my bag and headed for the front door. I exited into the chilling night air, walking away from the man who had made my life a living terror.
Goodbye, Sam.
I didn't understand what the video was about, but I knew what it meant. I clicked back the little button, replaying scenes that I didn't need to see. The rapper's voice raged through the speakers, sending shivers down my spine. He sounded like Sam.
I laid hands on her
I'll never stoop so low again
I guess I don't know my own strength
Sam was my boyfriend. Sam hurt me, and he humiliated me. I watched the girl in the video being pinned to the bed, the man stapling her down, his eyes filled with flashing rage. Tears began bubbling at my eyes. I remember Sam pinning me to the hard, concrete floor.
"Why'd you gotta be so damn ugly, huh?!"
"Sam, please,"
"Why'd he even touch ya? You're mine, bitch. Don't let me see him touch you again!"
"Sam, he's a friend. You're fucking drunk Sam, go to bed!"
"You fucking go ta bed!"
"Sam, you're hurting me,"
"I'm hurting ya?! Am I?!"
"Get off me,"
"See this bottle? See it's edges? How about this in your face! Then we'll see how ugly you really are! He'll neva touch you again!"
I traced the raised, pink scar along my right cheekbone. It was wet from my tears. I don't know why everyone liked this song. This girl fought back, I couldn't. I just thought I loved Sam. Every time he slapped me, punched me, kicked me, I just couldn't bring myself to defend myself. I remember all the good times, him cycling up to me in the neighborhood, a lopsided grin on his face, offering me ice-cream. That was 5 years ago. I'm 19 now. I remember my first kiss with him, stiff at the beginning, then it's soft, gentle current at the end. I never wanted to pull away.
Then I remember the first time he hit me. It was stupid. We were 16.
"I saw you at the disco, Sam! Don't fucking lie to me!"
"Oh, really, not now Lorrie. I have a hangover that would kill the devil,"
"I bet you do! I saw you, Sam!"
"Lorrie-"
"You were with that slut! That girl, Sam! After all we've been through, I find you bedding her?"
"A fucking mistake, Lorrie,"
"We shouldn't be making mistakes! It's over Sam!"
"Don't leave me,"
"What are you going to do about it?!"
He then struck me across the face. I remember the shock, the pain, the horror. His face, his eyes stormy with regret. I left his house, crying. He apologized and wrote me a love letter the next day, roses and all. I stupidly forgave him. We moved in together two years later. The beating began again. But an apology always came after, and I accepted every one, convinced it would be the last.
I was wrong.
He was so jealous, the fool. The worst was the broken bottle, just because I chatted with a guy friend. I sat at my computer, staring hard at that video. I watched them be devoured by flames at the end. So they had a sad ending. I suppose me and Sam did as well. The study was dark as I shut down the computer. I rolled back the seat and stood up. Sam's body was on the floor, an unmistakable knife wound in his chest.
"I'm sorry, Sam,"
I picked up my bag and headed for the front door. I exited into the chilling night air, walking away from the man who had made my life a living terror.
Goodbye, Sam.