The Girl Who Cried Rape

“How are you Ryan?” Petunia asks me bright and early Monday morning.

I am in no mood to talk to her about anything really. I am still annoyed about Friday night, about how I was so focused on Eric rather than the movie. I was so annoyed that I couldn’t focus on any homework and had avoided Eric all weekend, it was harder than I want to admit.
“Fine,”

“I’ve been wondering Ryan, a year or two ago what used to make you happy?”

“What?” I ask a frown crossing my forehead,

“What did you use to enjoy doing before your… attempt on your life” She pauses after this waiting for my answer. I want to tell her that it was an accident but I don’t think she cares what I have to say. She knows her truth about me and is just trying to get me to admit it.

“I used to like to write, but I don’t really have any inspiration anymore”

“Maybe you should try again, you never know what will bring you inspiration. Go out into the world, watch people and see how they interact, there is a story wherever you look.”

“My English class has this assignment due in a few weeks, we have to write about loss” I tell her honestly,

“How do you feel about that?”

“It’s stupid. The only think I have ever lost is my goldish when I was seven”

And myself, I think stubbornly.

“Loss doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing Ryan.” Petunia says pouting her mouth is concentration. I stare at her waiting for more, wondering how loss could ever be good. “Sometimes we need to lose things to move forward, to become who we are meant to be” I do not understand. Everything that is lost causes pain, how does pain help people? All it has done is ruin my life.

“How is tutoring going with your non-friend?” I roll my eyes at Petunia, she is so transparent. She wants me to correct her, tell her I have a friend and prove that I am getting better. Only I am not, I am getting worse, I am drowning and no one can save me.

“Fine,” I pause staring at Petunia, I want to know more about her, I want to know if she will understand. “In high school what kind of person where you?”

“What do you mean Ryan?”

“Where you popular?” I ask intently staring at Petunia, gaging her reaction.

“I had a lot of friends yes” Petunia replies with a smile that tells me she doesn’t want to talk about herself.

But I see it, I see the resemblance between my shrink and Tamara. She will never understand me because she is nothing like me, she is like them. I suddenly hate Petunia with a passion, I don’t care if it unfair. We spend the rest of the session in silence, I do not want to talk especially not with Petunia, not anymore.

An hour later I walk into English class and find my seat at the back of the room. Eric is already sitting in the seat next to mine, it has become a sort of thing where we save each other a seat, always.

I am used to Eric’s presence around me in class, it makes it somewhat bearable. “I got you something Ryan,” Eric says looking around in his bag, I lay my head against my desk and close my eyes. They open to an object hitting the table, I crack one eye open to look at a bag filled with pink jellybeans.

I raise my head and stare at the bag and then to Eric, with confusion clearly written on my face, Eric shoots me an almost shy smile. I feel confused I am uncomfortable receiving this gift, but I am also kind of happy Eric did something nice for me.

“Why?” I begin only to be cut off by the booming voice of our teacher,

“Welcome class, since I am so nice I will be giving you the first information on your main assessment task for the term.” I tune out the teacher reaching for a pen and paper to scribble a note to Eric, a note asking why.

You said you like pink jelly beans.

Right… But I didn’t mean you had to get any for me.

You don’t smile enough… I like your smile. Study tonight?

I think the old Ryan is breaking through more and more as I spend more time with Eric, it terrifies me because I can’t trust Eric. I want to believe me I do but I can’t, not after my trust was broken so badly. I crumple up the note and nod my agreeance to Eric, turning back to the teacher and ignoring Eric for the rest of the session.

I climb the newly familiar stairs to Eric’s room after school. I stand at his iPhone dock and put my iPhone in, “I think we need to start with the basics,” I tell Eric feeling excitement bubble within me, something I haven’t felt in so long.

“Now punk is a very personal thing, there is not really a definition of what is or isn’t a punk song,” I explain to Eric as I plug in my iPhone, Eric is watching me with a lazy smile as I play one of my all-time favourite songs. “I think this is a good place to start,” I say as the first chords of Sheena is a punk rocker by The Ramones filter through the speakers.

“What do I do?” Eric asks, he sits on his bed and stares at me with confusion I let out a small stilted laugh. I feel so odd to laugh, to enjoy myself finally especially around a boy so like the one that broke me.

“You listen silly,” I tell him, so he does as he is told and lays back and closes his eyes and listens.

My eyes search Eric’s face for some kind of reaction, but it is blank. I watch as his thick lips twitch and his dark lashes fall softly against his face. I take in every detail from the small scratch at his forehead to the smooth slope of his mouth. I blush when I realise he is staring back at me.

Why am I staring at him?

“It’s good,” Eric tells me but I know he is lying, I can tell and that scares me.

“You don’t have to lie,”

“It just seems… disconnected”

“That is the beauty of punk, it is disconnected, it is pure emotion. It isn’t about perfect pitch or harmony, or even the seamless blending of instruments, it’s about passion”

“Why do you care so much about a music genre?” Eric asks sitting up and staring at me, really staring like there is nothing else but me to look at,

“It was all I had for a while” I reply honestly, standing awkwardly in the corner of the room. My body is telling me to run but my heart is telling me to stay, I feel so confused and awkward.

“You can sit on the bed you know” Eric tells me closing his eyes again. I stare at the bed, the last time I was near a boy I was violated and raped, videotaped and photographed in pure vulnerability, so of course I decline. Opting instead for a chair at his desk, it is still close to Eric but far enough away for my heart beat to stop staggering so.

I stare at the bed, the black sheets sending my mind back into a fuzzy memory,

“She’s awake,” Someone whispers close to my head, it hurts so badly and I cannot open my eyes. I feel panic bubbling through my body, I want to open my eyes so badly, I want to move, to kick, to feel but something heavy is holding me down. I kick my leg but it barely moves, I feel hands holding me down but I am not sure if they are real or imaginary.

“Shhh” Someone else says near my ear; I feel their hot breath seep into my skin. I smell their familiar aftershave and it sticks to my nostrils, burning into my memory. I feel their weight on my body and I feel dizzy.

I try to open my eyes, they flutter open for a moment and I see Seth above me smiling at me in that oh so familiar way, the way that sends me into panic and I don’t know why. But then I feel it.

I feel a sharp sting and tearing in my vagina, I try to scream but something covers my mouth. I feel sweat against my lips, only it is not sweat it is too thick and salty, I do not understand. A tear slips down my face as Seth hovers above me, breaking me with each thrust, moving back and forth in rhythmic succession.
I don’t understand what is happening.

“God your pussy feels so good,” He mutters into my ear and suddenly I understand, I understand everything. The pain, the liquid running down my legs, the thick liquid on my lips. Nothing has ever been clearer but my eyes flutter shut.

It hurts to stay awake so I sleep for a little while longer.