Tell Peter Pan I'm a Liar

It's not important to the story that I tell you why I went to his house. It's not important that I was high on myself and thought I was invincible. No, it's not important I ignored all of Heidi's warnings about him. Because when he called, I went willingly.

One call. That's how easy I was.

Things started normal. I arrived a little later than he asked, but I didn't want to look too eager. Did I? I most certainly didn't.

So I arrived five minutes late in dark jeans and a beaded blouse my father had bought me because he wasn't in town for my birthday.

I burned that blouse. Shame, too. I'm sure it was very expensive.

As he complimented how I looked, his fingers innocently brushed against my waist. Boys just like to touch girls, I thought. Boys just like to touch girls. I was so busy reassuring myself of this I didn't notice him lock the door.

Opps.

I sat down on the couch and made small talk. About school, about friends. Really anything. It didn't take me long to feel comfortable. Lance and I had been friends for awhile, so hanging out wasn't anything new. But it was getting harder to ignore how close he was to me, or how his eyes always traveled to my mouth.

Before I knew it an hour had passed, and I was relieved. I have to go, I said. Stay, he answered, with a mischievous look in his eyes. But I shook my head and started to the door. Suddenly he was behind me, and I felt a sharp tip on my back.

My eyes widened, and I slowly turned around. I couldn't seem to form the scream that was aching to come out. For some reason, my mouth had gone completely dry.

"Just relax, Isabelle." He murmured, moving his hard body closer to my small one. Softly, he pressed his mouth on mine, and if it weren't for the knife sliding gently down my side, I might have enjoyed it. But there was a knife, so I couldn't.

Despite my lack of response, he continued kissing me. Exploring my mouth with his tongue. I wanted to cry, and I couldn't understand why exactly. All I knew was that this was wrong. This was extremely wrong.

He scooped me up in his arms and threw me back down on the couch that, not long ago, I had innocently sat next to him on. Nimble fingers slide that beaded blouse off of me, and unzipped my jeans. Then he was on me again, groping me and touching me in ways so foreign that I couldn't begin to describe what it was like.
My mind was shrieking at me to kick, scream, bite, anything. But I was frozen. Paralyzed by fear.

Before I knew it we were both naked, and I felt sick to my stomach thinking of what would be happening in a matter of seconds. Sick that I'd let it go this far. Suddenly he shoved into me in a place that had never been touched before, and I woke up as if someone had throw ice water on me. I screamed out and sobbed. Begged, even. But all that got me was more pain, and a hand over my mouth.

Lance took his time with me. I had counted to 233 before he grunted and shuddered over me. He stood up and put his clothes back on, then kissed my jaw before he left.

When I heard the door shut and his car start, I ran to the bathroom and heaved up my stomach's contents. Then I washed my face and bandaged my wounds, trying to make myself presentable. I'm not sure how long I stayed in his bathroom, not making a sound. I was past the crying stage, now I was trying to sort this out. Part of me thought I should tell someone. If not my parents, the cops. But I knew I couldn't do that. Fear of what he might do if he knew I told, but mostly humiliation, stopped me.

No, I wouldn't tell. I wouldn't ever tell.

***
I sat up in my bed, still unable to sleep. Parts of me hurt that had never hurt before, and it made me feel disgusting. Figuring my father wouldn't mind to sleep on the couch tonight, I padded to him and my Mom's room and prodded his back.

"Daddy," I whispered. "Do you mind if I sleep in here tonight?" He grunted a response and shook his head, then got up and half stumbled to the living room. I crawled in and snuggled next to my mom, who absentmindedly stroked my hair.

I sighed and shut my eyelids, counting breaths until I slipped into sleep.