Tales of Teenage Turmoil

I remember the police stood at the door. We were watching TV. Me and my sister. It was a normal school night. Things were back to normal. I wondered what they wanted. Had my Mum done something wrong? Had someone died? Everyone important to me was in that house. What could have happened that they had to come at 8 O’clock on a school night?

I remember the conversations that followed. How he wasn’t who my sister thought he was. How he’d done this to lots of girls. Done what? The questions swirled in my head. What had he done to my sister? All I knew was that it was bad. Really bad.
I don’t remember anyone crying, I guess I was trying to be strong for everyone. Try and be brave and pretend that I understood what was going on. I understand now. He groomed her. The expression used to make me smile, but now it makes me feel sick. He groomed my sister for sex. She was only 14 years old. He was older than he said. Much older.

I remember him coming into our house. The conversation with my parents behind closed doors. I thought he seemed nice. He was older than me, but so was my sister. I didn’t think it was strange. My sister had always been mature. So why shouldn’t she have an older boyfriend.

I remember the break up. When my sister decided it was enough. I only realise now how much bravery that must have taken. For her to say goodbye too someone who had done this a million times. He fooled her. He fooled everyone. He changed his name, he worked in a school. Why didn’t they notice? Why couldn’t they have found something?

I remember the day they went to the trial. My Mum and the police officer who had become a friend. My Mum said she wanted to be there. To represent our family. I didn’t understand that. What did I have to do with anything? This didn’t happen to me. It happened to my sister.

My Mum told some of my teachers at school. I still didn’t understand. Why did they need to know? Surely I wasn’t hurt by this? I wasn’t the one who was the victim. I knew how hard it was for Mum and Dad. They felt like it was their fault. I could never understand that. But I guess when you’re a parent you want to protect your kids and if you can’t then you blame yourself. Sometimes I just want to tell them. To tell them that it wasn’t their fault. It was his fault. He did this to her. And to them.

I never understood how it affected me. Until a few weeks ago. I had been talking to someone. On the internet. I liked him. I wanted to meet up with him. Just like she did. My big sister. She met up with people online all the time. Some my parents knew about. Some she lied about. But I was honest. I told my parents. I was honest with them. I said they could meet him too. He was happy with that. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t meet him and I wasn’t allowed to talk to him anymore. I was so hurt. I tried my best but I still got in trouble. I tried being honest. Perhaps I should have lied. Maybe I should have done what she did. What she did all the time. I was angry. Angry at her and at my parents. I know they were just trying to protect me, but I just wanted to live a little. I was being careful. He was a nice guy. I’m sure of it. But now anything we ever could have had is over. Just like that.

I never realised how angry I was with her. My sister. I know that he was the cause of this. But couldn’t she have done something? Maybe if she hadn’t lied about how old he was. Maybe if she had been honest with my parents. This might not have happened. It hurts so much. The thoughts swirling around my head. I bury my head in my pillow and cry. I cry because she lost her innocence, I cry because my parents are hurting, I cry because there are so many things I will never get to do. Because of him. I hate him.

I bury my nose further into the pillow. I wish I could be stronger for them. I want to be able to make all this go away. I turn the music up on my iPod. The words crash against my brain. ‘And oh, my, my, you're oh so sly, let's leave unsaid what's left unspoken, and oh, my boy, you're oh so coy, let’s just pretend that nothing’s broken.’ And with those words I pull myself together. ‘Nothing’s broken’. I repeat the words in my head as I plaster on a smile and open my bedroom door. On the outside nothing’s broken. On the inside, everything is.