Status: Active Once More
The Girl Who Cried Rape
But From My Brain Is Where I Bleed
It is 3.08 in the afternoon, and I have a cramp in my right thigh and a hunger in the pit of my stomach that craves sadness. It is 3.09 pm and I feed that pit as I sit cross legged at the foot of my front right tire waiting for something I am not sure exists, a hero maybe. I am gripping my keys so tightly I know they are leaving an imprint on my hand but that doesn’t stop me from clenching them a little tighter, neither does the pain my hand emits.
When I was twelve my mother and I got a flat tire on the way back from a visit with my grandparents who lived in Florida. I had watched my mum as she stared at the tire and waited, much like I currently am, for someone to come save her. And when my dad arrived I had promised myself I would never let that happen to me, I would never depend on someone else to save me. I had asked my dad to teach me to change a flat tire, and I still remember each step as if it were yesterday. But something is stopping me. Not only the fact that my spare tire is also flat but because I want so desperately for someone else to save me.
A boy to save me.
Not just any boy but the one that kisses me goodnight every night through my window and calls me when he knows I am unable to sleep to talk to me till I feel tired. Eric. And I hate myself so much for depending on him to save me, I should know by now the only person you can really depend on is yourself. But there is just something about Eric and his honey sweet kisses that make my brain a little loopy and I forget.
It is 3.10 now and people are going to start filing out of school soon but I don’t move. I can’t move. Even if I could where would I go? My front tire has been slashed and deflated, I can’t even walk home because I know my parents will freak out if they find out someone slashed my tire. And I really don’t want to freak them out, for once in a really long time everything is going so well. So I sit and I want for a boy, I once promised myself to never get attached to, to save me.
Eric leans against my car fifteen long minutes later as people walk past staring and snickering about my slashed tire, from their smiles I think they believe I deserve this. Eric says nothing and just stares at me, my heart flutters in my chest because I want so desperately to kiss him a thousand times but I can’t even make myself look him in the eye. I feel pathetic as he stares at me and then my tire assessing the damage silently.
Eric is wearing an old pair of converse shoes and I can’t help but stare at them as he slowly sits down across from me. I really want to look him in the eye and say something, anything at this point, but I can’t manage to look at anything other than his stupid shoes. I hate myself just the tiniest bit.
“What happened?” He asks softly, and I am terrified if I look up I will see the same look of disgust on his face as I see on everyone’s faces around us, I can’t even manage to look at his shoes anymore. I don’t reply because the only thing that will roll off my tongue are words I don’t mean in an attempt to send him away, because that is what I do apparently. I send people away when all I want is to depend on them; I think maybe I am more broken than I realised.
“Do you know who did it?” He asks and honestly the thought never crossed my mind before Eric asks. I am caught so off guard that I stop and stare into his eyes for a really long time.
He is wearing his glasses because the other night I told him when I was tipsy on tiredness that I like them, and how they leave the little imprints on the sides of his nose. I hadn’t mentioned I hoped to leave imprints on him too, but he had laugh and has worn them ever since. When he kisses me they bump my nose and even though it hurts a little, it is wonderful and I wouldn’t change it for a thing.
I stare at Eric and ponder his question, a year ago I had ended up in a similar situation only I hadn’t had Eric and his beautiful glasses to save me. I had sat at the wheel of my car and waited for everyone to leave the parking lot before bursting into tears. I had cried because I knew who did it, because she always did vicious things like this. Tamara had popped my tire and spray painted every nasty word in the English language on my car. It had taken me three days and all of the money I owned to get off the spray paint, but sometimes when I look at my car I can still pinpoint exactly where the words were.
This time I know, however this is not the work of Tamara, but rather one of her lackeys. It is the work of someone who is pissed off not only because of what happened last year, her then boyfriend was a part of the group who tortured me, but also for what happened in this very parking lot against my car nearly two weeks ago,
Amanda.
But I don’t tell Eric this and I am not sure why. Maybe because I want him to save me yet I am terrified of the very thought. Despite all this when Eric offers me his hand to stand up I accept because as terrified as I am I am more terrified of losing Eric. Eric has big hands and they envelope mine and I don’t think I will ever get used to the feeling of Eric’s hand in mine or his lips on mine. I also don’t think I will ever adjust to all the butterflies that have blossomed in my stomach since that first kiss.
I am not sure I ever want to grow tolerant to such wonderful things, but as soon as I am happy I remember the last hand that held me down and I think I am going to be sick. Eric’s hand feels so warm and lovely in mine and I am no longer sure of what I feel. I do know however with absolute certainty I will never tell Eric any of this, because as much as I need him I need my secret more, I want it more.
No amount of dependency could ever make me reveal to him the truth of the night, the whole truth. The one that is patchy and painful and has left me so bruised and broken I am still waiting for the scars to fade. Eric knows I was raped what he doesn’t know is what happened to me was so much more than rape. It was five boys he now calls his friends.
And I know no matter how much I want Eric I will always want my secret more, and that is a truly awful thought.
When I was twelve my mother and I got a flat tire on the way back from a visit with my grandparents who lived in Florida. I had watched my mum as she stared at the tire and waited, much like I currently am, for someone to come save her. And when my dad arrived I had promised myself I would never let that happen to me, I would never depend on someone else to save me. I had asked my dad to teach me to change a flat tire, and I still remember each step as if it were yesterday. But something is stopping me. Not only the fact that my spare tire is also flat but because I want so desperately for someone else to save me.
A boy to save me.
Not just any boy but the one that kisses me goodnight every night through my window and calls me when he knows I am unable to sleep to talk to me till I feel tired. Eric. And I hate myself so much for depending on him to save me, I should know by now the only person you can really depend on is yourself. But there is just something about Eric and his honey sweet kisses that make my brain a little loopy and I forget.
It is 3.10 now and people are going to start filing out of school soon but I don’t move. I can’t move. Even if I could where would I go? My front tire has been slashed and deflated, I can’t even walk home because I know my parents will freak out if they find out someone slashed my tire. And I really don’t want to freak them out, for once in a really long time everything is going so well. So I sit and I want for a boy, I once promised myself to never get attached to, to save me.
Eric leans against my car fifteen long minutes later as people walk past staring and snickering about my slashed tire, from their smiles I think they believe I deserve this. Eric says nothing and just stares at me, my heart flutters in my chest because I want so desperately to kiss him a thousand times but I can’t even make myself look him in the eye. I feel pathetic as he stares at me and then my tire assessing the damage silently.
Eric is wearing an old pair of converse shoes and I can’t help but stare at them as he slowly sits down across from me. I really want to look him in the eye and say something, anything at this point, but I can’t manage to look at anything other than his stupid shoes. I hate myself just the tiniest bit.
“What happened?” He asks softly, and I am terrified if I look up I will see the same look of disgust on his face as I see on everyone’s faces around us, I can’t even manage to look at his shoes anymore. I don’t reply because the only thing that will roll off my tongue are words I don’t mean in an attempt to send him away, because that is what I do apparently. I send people away when all I want is to depend on them; I think maybe I am more broken than I realised.
“Do you know who did it?” He asks and honestly the thought never crossed my mind before Eric asks. I am caught so off guard that I stop and stare into his eyes for a really long time.
He is wearing his glasses because the other night I told him when I was tipsy on tiredness that I like them, and how they leave the little imprints on the sides of his nose. I hadn’t mentioned I hoped to leave imprints on him too, but he had laugh and has worn them ever since. When he kisses me they bump my nose and even though it hurts a little, it is wonderful and I wouldn’t change it for a thing.
I stare at Eric and ponder his question, a year ago I had ended up in a similar situation only I hadn’t had Eric and his beautiful glasses to save me. I had sat at the wheel of my car and waited for everyone to leave the parking lot before bursting into tears. I had cried because I knew who did it, because she always did vicious things like this. Tamara had popped my tire and spray painted every nasty word in the English language on my car. It had taken me three days and all of the money I owned to get off the spray paint, but sometimes when I look at my car I can still pinpoint exactly where the words were.
This time I know, however this is not the work of Tamara, but rather one of her lackeys. It is the work of someone who is pissed off not only because of what happened last year, her then boyfriend was a part of the group who tortured me, but also for what happened in this very parking lot against my car nearly two weeks ago,
Amanda.
But I don’t tell Eric this and I am not sure why. Maybe because I want him to save me yet I am terrified of the very thought. Despite all this when Eric offers me his hand to stand up I accept because as terrified as I am I am more terrified of losing Eric. Eric has big hands and they envelope mine and I don’t think I will ever get used to the feeling of Eric’s hand in mine or his lips on mine. I also don’t think I will ever adjust to all the butterflies that have blossomed in my stomach since that first kiss.
I am not sure I ever want to grow tolerant to such wonderful things, but as soon as I am happy I remember the last hand that held me down and I think I am going to be sick. Eric’s hand feels so warm and lovely in mine and I am no longer sure of what I feel. I do know however with absolute certainty I will never tell Eric any of this, because as much as I need him I need my secret more, I want it more.
No amount of dependency could ever make me reveal to him the truth of the night, the whole truth. The one that is patchy and painful and has left me so bruised and broken I am still waiting for the scars to fade. Eric knows I was raped what he doesn’t know is what happened to me was so much more than rape. It was five boys he now calls his friends.
And I know no matter how much I want Eric I will always want my secret more, and that is a truly awful thought.
♠ ♠ ♠
Title: Soul to Squeeze by RHCP.