Unjust Succession
1/1
Aluminum chairs gathered neatly in a circle, perfectly set up and not one chair misplaced. The chairs appeared to be a trap, waiting to strike mercilessly against a defenseless victim. Anyone that even dared to step foot inside that circle never left the same, and those changes being considered positive or negative weren't easily judged. Then again, who is an outsider to judge someone's personal issues?
Aside from the frigid chairs, the tiled floor was a much lower temperature. Freshly mopped, with water streaks illuminated by the fluorescent lights suspended from the ceiling, the ground seemed unforgiving. The room as a whole seemed dangerous and as if it were seconds away from swallowing somebody whole and deteriorating their soul.
In reality the place was nothing more than an overrated oxymoron. Group, that is. People come in, having high hopes of riding themselves of burdens breaking their backs with overwhelming weight. Yet upon initial introduction the place that is meant to welcome you, seems more as if it is scaring you away. The cruelty of the situation is usually too much for a first timer to handle. Fear instilled and realism digested. Which lead to the current approaching victim. Watching her feet carefully she trotted down the short hallway to the awaited destination. The doors were cool to the touch, causing a chill to shoot throughout her body instantly. She took a deep breath to cool herself. It was her suggestion to come here, to better everything and step forward in life. Now was the perfect opportunity.
Currently seated in the circle, the group of visitors turned and looked to see a frail girl stumble inside. Her actions were uncertain and clumsy. She was obviously dreading this encounter, and the look in her eyes agreed with the theory vigorously.
"Hello," the group manager spoke. Her voice was strong, too strong to have ever gone through a traumatic experience. "What's your name?"
All eyes landed on her. She opened her mouth to speak, only to close it just as fast. Being under the spotlight wasn't something she liked. The pressure to reply pushed at her vocal cords and strained her throat.
"Phoebe," she managed, ringing her hands together an attempting a smile.
"Well, Phoebe," she paused, nodding hes head and giving Phoebe a small gesture of her hand. "Have a seat."
With a curt nod she obliged and cautiously made her way over. She dared not to look into anyone's eyes. She could only imagine how ruthless they would be toward her. Phoebe took a seat next to an older woman, she seemed unaware of her surroundings and that fact gave Phoebe a bit more comfort than she felt beforehand.
"Would you like to share?" the head woman asked, as Phoebe averted her attention to the lady.
Everything in Phoebe told her to shut her mouth, keep everything inside, and to not expose anything. However, she knew that letting all of the pent up feelings that were kept inside for so long would do nothing but clear her chest, an allow her to breathe easier. This was what she needed, this was why she was here.
"Yeah," Phoebe paused, taking a trembling breath. "I've been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder."
The woman nodded, her mind taking in the statement. She replied, "What caused it?"
A moment of solitary silence enveloped the room before Phoebe answered.
"I was raped," she let the words roll from her chest, and release her from any boundaries. She closed in eyes and soaked the moment in briefly.
"Tell us more," the woman nodded, encouraging Phoebe.
"I don't remember much. . . I was drugged. Rufinol was found in my system. I woke up while it was happening, that's how I seen his face. Before I could do anything I passed back out, and when I woke again it was over," Phoebe zoned out, her eyes staring into the patterned tiles.
"Do you know who he was?"
"Yeah," she replied, her gaze still not faltering. "A boy that I went to class with," she looked up, her eyes meeting those of the counselor.
"I see," her lame comeback fueled Phoebe to continue.
"You'd think the rape was enough, but he and his friends took pictures. They posted them on a few sites," Phoebe lost track again as she found herself looking at nothing, just thinking back onto the memory.
"Have you gone to court?"
"Yeah, he was faced with four charges," she began, crossing her legs and bringing her eyes up to the lights, the pain not fazing her as she continued. "Found not guilty on all four."
"Why was that?"
"The drugs in my system, they stated that they could of caused me to hallucinate or something," Phoebe let out a small laugh, a maniac laugh of a sort.
"But the pictures?" a young woman across the circle asked.
"I could have agreed to them, I was under the influence of drugs," a shrug concluded her rant.
"Thank you for sharing, Phoebe. Who's next?"
The weight lifted from Phoebe's form was enough to make her feel intoxicated. Never since that night had she ever felt so free. Though the process hard, and justice was ultimately under minded, Phoebe managed to succeed triumphantly.
Aside from the frigid chairs, the tiled floor was a much lower temperature. Freshly mopped, with water streaks illuminated by the fluorescent lights suspended from the ceiling, the ground seemed unforgiving. The room as a whole seemed dangerous and as if it were seconds away from swallowing somebody whole and deteriorating their soul.
In reality the place was nothing more than an overrated oxymoron. Group, that is. People come in, having high hopes of riding themselves of burdens breaking their backs with overwhelming weight. Yet upon initial introduction the place that is meant to welcome you, seems more as if it is scaring you away. The cruelty of the situation is usually too much for a first timer to handle. Fear instilled and realism digested. Which lead to the current approaching victim. Watching her feet carefully she trotted down the short hallway to the awaited destination. The doors were cool to the touch, causing a chill to shoot throughout her body instantly. She took a deep breath to cool herself. It was her suggestion to come here, to better everything and step forward in life. Now was the perfect opportunity.
Currently seated in the circle, the group of visitors turned and looked to see a frail girl stumble inside. Her actions were uncertain and clumsy. She was obviously dreading this encounter, and the look in her eyes agreed with the theory vigorously.
"Hello," the group manager spoke. Her voice was strong, too strong to have ever gone through a traumatic experience. "What's your name?"
All eyes landed on her. She opened her mouth to speak, only to close it just as fast. Being under the spotlight wasn't something she liked. The pressure to reply pushed at her vocal cords and strained her throat.
"Phoebe," she managed, ringing her hands together an attempting a smile.
"Well, Phoebe," she paused, nodding hes head and giving Phoebe a small gesture of her hand. "Have a seat."
With a curt nod she obliged and cautiously made her way over. She dared not to look into anyone's eyes. She could only imagine how ruthless they would be toward her. Phoebe took a seat next to an older woman, she seemed unaware of her surroundings and that fact gave Phoebe a bit more comfort than she felt beforehand.
"Would you like to share?" the head woman asked, as Phoebe averted her attention to the lady.
Everything in Phoebe told her to shut her mouth, keep everything inside, and to not expose anything. However, she knew that letting all of the pent up feelings that were kept inside for so long would do nothing but clear her chest, an allow her to breathe easier. This was what she needed, this was why she was here.
"Yeah," Phoebe paused, taking a trembling breath. "I've been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder."
The woman nodded, her mind taking in the statement. She replied, "What caused it?"
A moment of solitary silence enveloped the room before Phoebe answered.
"I was raped," she let the words roll from her chest, and release her from any boundaries. She closed in eyes and soaked the moment in briefly.
"Tell us more," the woman nodded, encouraging Phoebe.
"I don't remember much. . . I was drugged. Rufinol was found in my system. I woke up while it was happening, that's how I seen his face. Before I could do anything I passed back out, and when I woke again it was over," Phoebe zoned out, her eyes staring into the patterned tiles.
"Do you know who he was?"
"Yeah," she replied, her gaze still not faltering. "A boy that I went to class with," she looked up, her eyes meeting those of the counselor.
"I see," her lame comeback fueled Phoebe to continue.
"You'd think the rape was enough, but he and his friends took pictures. They posted them on a few sites," Phoebe lost track again as she found herself looking at nothing, just thinking back onto the memory.
"Have you gone to court?"
"Yeah, he was faced with four charges," she began, crossing her legs and bringing her eyes up to the lights, the pain not fazing her as she continued. "Found not guilty on all four."
"Why was that?"
"The drugs in my system, they stated that they could of caused me to hallucinate or something," Phoebe let out a small laugh, a maniac laugh of a sort.
"But the pictures?" a young woman across the circle asked.
"I could have agreed to them, I was under the influence of drugs," a shrug concluded her rant.
"Thank you for sharing, Phoebe. Who's next?"
The weight lifted from Phoebe's form was enough to make her feel intoxicated. Never since that night had she ever felt so free. Though the process hard, and justice was ultimately under minded, Phoebe managed to succeed triumphantly.