Status: Always in Progress

A Tiny Little Dot

One

I wasn’t always this fucked up. There was a time when I was completely normal. Well, maybe not completely. I’ve always been a little different from everyone else, but I just got used to it. I used to be a beautiful, friendly straight-A student. Then my life turned into a total shit storm. I’ll just tell you my side of the story.

7 MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT
“Here’s your food, Sullivan,” the guard says rudely as he slides a tray of barely-edible morsels through the latch on my cell door.

“Why, thank you, Richard,” I call over with a smile. I hear him grumble and then walk away. I stand up and walk over to pick up my dinner. I pick up the tray and look around at my cell.

Since I have attempted to escape—and almost succeeded—over a dozen times, they have me in the most maximum security you could possible have. The walls are twenty feet high and solid cinderblock. I have a bed that is a mere two inches thick with no springs. I have no blanket or pillow. I don’t even get outdoors time. This is how I have to live for the rest of my life.

I sit back down on the floor and dig into my food.

6 MONTHS BEFORE THE EVENT
“Virginia. Virginia!” My algebra teacher, Mr. Simmons, calls out to me.

I stop writing in my journal and snap out of my trance. When I realize Mr. Simmons is standing right in front of me, I slap my hands down on the paper to hide what I wrote.

“Virginia, stop writing and pay attention. Also, I would like to see you after class.” Mr. Simmons demands sternly. He then walks back up to the front of the room to continue his lecture.

Mr. Simmons is a halfway decent teacher. He is a staggering six foot, five with a strong, thick build. He has thinning dark brown hair and thick eyebrows that looks like caterpillars traveling into those deep, sunken eyes that hide behind his thick glasses. He has an unusually large butt for a man of his size and he is obviously insecure about it.

There are rumors going around that he masturbates during his planning period while watching gay porn online. But I know that isn’t true. Well, at least the gay porn part is false. He is far from gay. He is constantly checking me and the rest of the girls out. I see his eyes following the swaying hips of my fellow female classmates while they walk back from their seats from his desk.

Suddenly, the bell sounds. Rustling papers, slamming books and conversation bursts around the room. I overhear conversation of last night’s basketball game, the plans to go to a college party this weekend and about some girl named Sonia giving head to a school security guard behind the field house.

“Virginia,” Mr. Simmons calls from his desk. I sink down in my seat and look up. I see him motioning with his right index finger to come. “Come here.”

I sigh and close my book. I shove it in my bag and hoist it up over my shoulder. I cross my arms and walk towards my teacher’s desk with my eyes cast down to at the cheap, plastic gray carpet. I drag my feet so there is some kind of sound.

“Pull up a chair and sit.” He commands when I reach his desk.

I turn around and grab the first chair I see. I place it in front of his desk and plop down in it, not meeting his eye. I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. I don’t know why, but whenever someone tries to talk to me about serious stuff, I can’t help but laugh.

“Now, Virginia, I asked you to stay after today because I am concerned about you. I have noticed the past few weeks that your attention has been elsewhere.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I think to myself. “Is anyone ever actually paying attention in this fucking class?”

“And your grades have been slipping as well. If there is something going on, you should maybe talk to a school counselor.”

I then glare up at him. I straighten and look him dead in the eye. “Nothing is going on. Trust me. I am perfectly fine. And I don’t need some school counselor to be all in my business.”

“Um, okay,” he stammers in shock at my hostility.

“Now, is there any other aspect of my privacy that you would like to try to invade?” I ask harshly as I cross my arms.

“No, that will be all,” Mr. Simmons mumbles.

“Okay, goodbye then.” I rise quickly and slam the classroom door behind me. I make my way to the nearest exit door and begin my short walk home.

Mr. Simmons is right though. The past few weeks have been even rougher than usual. It all started when my mom started dating this total douche bag. Well, just another douche bag. I’m so sick of it. She has no self-awareness. She claims she’s just trying to move on with her life since my dad left us when I was two. Well, that was fourteen years ago.

My parents weren’t married when I was conceived. They were barely even dating. My mom got knocked up and my dad bailed. So not cliché, I know. When he left, she became extremely depressed and then took her rage out on me. She then found another outlet: general sluttiness. She picks up guys at bars, the gas station, the grocery store—you name it.

This guy is different though. And I can definitely tell you why. He makes his moves on me too. Three weeks ago, he came into my room in the middle of the night. And well, you know. When I told my mom, she got angry at me for being with her man. She’s so stupid and oblivious. I feel like I can’t go to the police because I just don’t want to deal with it. Enough shit has happened to me. One more thing won’t make a difference.

I jam the key into my house lock and twist it. I run up to my room and close my bedroom door behind me. I throw my book bag in the corner of my room and turn on my computer. While I wait for my laptop to start up, I notice something new over on my bookshelf. I walk over to find a sealed copy Nine Inch Nails’ first CD release: Down In It. This most likely cost anywhere from $125 and $150.

I feel a piece of paper on the back. I flip the CD case over. There’s a sticky note that has “Don’t tell anyone,” written across it. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. I throw the case across my room. It slides under my bed. I stomp back over and slump down in front of my computer.

I go through my normal routine. I check my e-mail, log on to Twitter, check my Facebook, and then I finally open up my Tumblr so I can escape my boring life and be amused for a few hours by pictures of my favorite bands, food, and meaningful stories.

“Your math teacher called me today,” my mother says as she leans up against my door frame, sucking on a cigarette.

“And?” I ask sarcastically, not looking up from the screen.

“He said you’ve been distracted lately, and that it’s affecting your grades.”

“I’ll see about doing some extra credit.”

“Alright… dinner will be ready in about five minutes.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You can’t just stay locked in your room all night! You’re becoming a loser! Get out! Go have some fun! Meet a boy!” She waves her arms around.

I turn to look at her. “I’ll be down in ten minutes,” I say with a mocking smile. My mother then leaves the door frame.

She doesn’t get it and she never will. Why the hell would I ever want to eat microwave dinners in front of the television with her? I would much rather eat my frozen burritos in front of my computer alone. It may not sound like a difference, but for all those misunderstood, awkward teens, it makes perfect sense.

And I know the only reason why she is bringing up the whole teacher and school thing is because she has to. It’s what good mothers do. Good mothers get after their kids for slipping grades. It’s the one true motherly thing she has ever done, and she’s not even doing that right.

I exit out of all the extra tabs in my window and turn in my seat. I slowly get up and walk out of my room. I stomp down the stairs, mentally preparing myself for the psychological torture that is eating dinner with my mother. I turn around the corner to find my mother’s boyfriend sitting on the couch.

“Hey there, sweetie,” he says with that God-awful grin of his.

“Hi, John,” I say, trying to hide my disgust. I walk to the kitchen. My mother is pulling a lasagna out of the microwave. “You didn’t tell me John was coming over tonight.”

“Do I need to? Like I need your permission to invite my boyfriend over.” She scoffs and grabs three plates.

“I’m really not in the mood for lasagna, Mom.” I grab a jar of peanut butter and run back up to my cave.

I lay on my bed, spooning the peanut butter in my mouth with my finger. As I open and close my mouth against the sticky mass, I begin to think about the night John came into my room.

7 MONTHS BEFORE THE EVENT
“Hey there, sweetie,” I hear from a familiar voice as I’m awoken from a deep slumber.

“What—what’s going on?” I ask, groggy.

“Oh, nothing,” John says, rubbing my shoulders. “Just lay back and hold still.” He pulls down his pajama pants and gets on top of me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, fully alert now.

“Shh, sweetie, I just want a little sugar. You know you want it.” He pulls down my blanket and runs his hand in between my legs.

“Stop it! Don’t!” I shout in protest.

John slaps his hand over my mouth. “Stop yelling. You wouldn’t want to wake your mother, would you? I don’t think she would be too pleased with you sleeping with her man. Now, just let work my magic. I know you want this. I see it in your eyes.” He licks my neck.

I start to cry as he yanks my pajama pants and panties down. His hand muffles my sorrowful moans. When he enters me, pain rakes through my body. It feels as if I’m being ripped in two. The nerves in my brain all burst at once, causing an enormous pressure on my head. I feel blood pool on my sheets.

John stops thrusting. “Ah, you’re a virgin. I didn’t expect that. But you’re not a filthy whore. No, you’re a good girl.” He carefully moves some of my hair out of my eyes.

He starts his thrusting up again. Each push into me is another strike of the whip. I hear him mumble and whisper obscenities as he reaches climax. My breathing becomes even heavier against his hand. More turns pour from my eyes.

“Fuck!” He says in satisfaction.

I feel a thick, warm liquid between my legs. John releases his penis and stands up. I turn over so I don’t have to look at him. I hear him slide his boxers and pajama pants back on. I curl my knee up against my chest.

Suddenly, I feel a hand grab my face. “If you ever tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” I then hear him stomp out of my room.

I wait until I know for sure that he’s back in my mom’s room to break down. A flood of tears flows from my eyes. I shove my fist in my mouth to quiet my sobs. I lie in the blood, semen and sweat until I see the light of the sun coat my bedroom wall before I manage to get up.

6 MONTHS BEFORE
I look down at the jar of peanut butter. I suddenly feel like I’m going to vomit. I throw the plastic container down and jump up. I run down the hall and quickly click on the light, barely making it. I lean over the toilet and the contents of my stomach blast my mouth.

After a few more hurls, I stand over the toilet, making sure my body is finished. I spit a few times and then flush. I pick up a towel and wipe my mouth. I close the bathroom door and lock it. I slide down against the bath tub.

I sit there, numbly for a few moments until I can’t take it anymore. My face twists as I crumple. I put my hand up to my face and weep into it quietly. I then bury my face in the towel, wishing I could just bury myself completely.
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I'm very pleased to introduce my first public original fiction story. :) More will be coming soon.