I swear I didn't know what would happen when I said those
words.
You have to believe me.
He guided me upstairs—finger pressed to his lips, that
god-awful smirk plastered on his face.
I hate him.
I do.
Believe me.
Once we were inside, he sat on my bed. His voice low,
coaxing. "So… you want the secret to womanhood, eh?"
I was so naïve.
So stupid.
I eagerly bounced on the mattress, hands in my lap, eyes
wide and hungry to learn.
"Yes! Yes, yes—tell me!"
All I wanted was to impress my mom. To make her see I was
strong. Mature. Brave.
Worthy.
Just like he said I was.
That's all I wanted. I swear it.
I swear it was.
Believe me.
He rubbed my shoulder softly, and the way he looked at me…
it disgusts me now. But I was too blind to see then.
I nodded.
"Yes, please."
He did the last thing I expected.
He slid his hand up my thigh, and I froze. My eyes wide. His
voice was low, like he was trying to soothe Me, when the best way to do that
was leaving me alone.
"Shh, it's okay. Just relax. This is how to become a woman
faster."
He touched me like Ryan did. The same way. The touch I told
him about. The touch that made me feel disgusting. Uncomfortable. Ashamed.
He kissed my neck, leaving trails of wetness. Dammit just thinking about it…
I hate him.
I hate him.
God. I fucking hate him.
He began to undress me.
And all I could think was—could anyone stop this?
Where was my mom?
Where were my brothers?
Pastor Taylor?
God?
I even pleaded for my absent father. He was a veteran. He
could help me, right? He could save me.
Someone. Anyone...
"Please…" I whispered, crying, as he unzipped his pants. He
leaned over me, his hot coffee breath in my
ear.
I've hated coffee ever since.
That bitter repugnant smell.
"I know you're eager, Rhea," he whispered. "Don't worry. I'll give you the key."
I don't remember much after that.
I just saw the flowers.
Bright, pretty yellow flowers in a wide open field. I could
smell them. There were birds too. Humming birds and a cockatoo. So beautiful. I
could hear them. The grass was a vibrant green, blowing in the breeze. The sky
was cloudy and warm. I loved it there. It made me happy.
And then I saw one flower wilting. Its petals falling one by
one. I rushed to protect it, covering it with my body. But clouds filled the
sky, then the rain came. A heavy, cold
pour. It drowned everything. The flowers all began to die, until there was
nothing left and my body was drenched with the sickening feeling of cold, smelly downpour.
Why can't I ever be happy?
Why can't I ever have anything?
Any peace I ever had was always taken. Always.
"Good job, Rhea," I heard him pant. "You are a woman now. An amazing one."
That snapped me back. He wiped his face with my sheets,
leaving a faint yellow stain of sweat.
Being a woman hurt.
I laid there frozen, stiff, like a dead bug on its back. The pain between my legs made it impossible to move.
He sat on the edge of my bed, nonchalant. Satisfied.
Praising me like he didn't just fucking rape me.
"Relax. This is what you asked me for. I warned you, Rhea. Tough price to pay to be a woman."
Then he stood, zipped his pants, and left.
Ignoring the blood.
My blood.
I laid in that bed, in that same position, for hours. No one checked on me. I just stared at the ceiling.
The shadows on the wall told me time was passing — early
evening into night.
Eventually, I tried to move. My arms, my legs. They were stiff, like my bones were cracking apart. Like I was bending something in a way
it wasn't supposed to bend.
Have you ever tried to open your glasses past the hinge
point? It was like that.
My legs.
My arms.
They felt unnatural.
I felt swollen on the inside. Disgusting. Wet. Sticky.
I wanted to move, but I couldn't find the energy.
Finally, I rolled weakly onto my side. Tucked the blanket
between my legs, trying to plug that sticky feeling between them.
I had never felt so disgusting in my life.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to think. My mind was racing a mile a minute.
I asked for it.
He told me it would be hard.
I didn't believe him.
I begged for it.
He told me no.
I forced him to.
It was my fault.
My fault.
Guilt ate me alive. The pain in my body was nothing compared
to what I thought I deserved.
So I did the only thing I knew. I dug my nails into my skin,
over and over, leaving sweltering weeping scratches, whispering a mantra of
curses at myself.
"You stupid bitch. Filthy stupid bitch. You should die. You
deserve it."
I cried until I fell asleep.
And now? Looking back?
I just wish I could go back and hug her. Kiss her forehead.
Tell her it wasn't her fault.
It wasn't her fault a fat, old pedophile took advantage of us.
We weren't wrong.
She wasn't wrong.
She was a kid.
A kid who didn't deserve any of this.
If only I knew better then. I wouldn't have tried to heal us
with more wounds.
I'm sorry, Rhea.
I had managed to force myself to sleep, but I didn't findmuch rest.
The next morning, I could barely move. I just felt heavy.
School was starting soon.
My mother hadn't checked on me the night before, but she was
there in the morning, throwing my door open. It wasn't because she cared about my education. She just wanted me gone. She stood in her robe, blonde hair a mess, staring down at me in tired irritation. She didn't
even notice my state of undress, the stiffness in my body.
"Rhea, get up. School bus is going to be here soon."
She smacked my bare thigh gently. A sharp pain shot through me, and I whimpered.
The touch shouldn't have been that painful. Maybe that's
what finally made her look at me — my distant, tired eyes, the red on my
sheets, the swollen patchiness of my thighs. The self-preservative ball I'd
curled into to protect what was left of me.
"What happened to you?"
I could barely move, barely speak.
"I… don't know."
There was silence. Then, for the first time, I thought maybe
I could tell her.
She asked.
She noticed.
She was looking at me
with something close to a waiting expression.
She had to care, just a little.
Right? Right?
I whispered like he could hear me…
"It… Mr. John… did it."
I waited. Watched her with a hopeful and pleading gaze. I just wanted to be acknowledged.
Hear me.
Help me.
But what little emotion had flickered in her eyes was gone.
Flat.
Tired.
Empty…
Her next words gutted me.
The nail in the coffin of my childhood.
"Welcome to womanhood. Just let it happen—it's easier."
She turned to leave. Paused. And then..
"Sleep."
That was it.
I felt my heart drop. I felt the life drain out of me, like
a dwindling fire snuffed out by a single breath.
My only line. The woman who gave birth to me.
And even though she showed me time and time again…
You may ask why I kept putting hope in her.
I don't know.
Maybe I just thought she'd care. At least enough to hold me.
To tell me it would be okay.
I wasn't expecting her to scream, or yell, or call the police. Not even to confront him.
Even just sitting with me in silence would've been enough.
But instead, she turned a blind eye.
And it happened again.
And again.
And again.
For years.
T-the thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and
that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing…under
the sun.
Ecclesiastes 1:9