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isn’t that funny? It’s true though, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. And yet he
hurt her. He doesn’t like people who pick on those who are weaker,
yet he chose her, didn’t he.
His lack of intent doesn’t change anything for her though. She’s
the one that’s got to live with it.
In the story she tells herself, she is the survivor. Not the victim,
not the abused, but the one who got up and went on. She is her own
saviour, she is the one who had to get herself out of the alleyway,
and she is the one who had to wash away his touch. Some days, she
actually lets herself believe it. Other days, she mourns; her
innocence, her youth, her childhood, all stolen by a boy who was too
bloody plastered to ask if she wanted him. Her mother sees her
tears, and asks if she’s worried about school. Her father sees her
shaking, and asks if she’s eaten anything. The eighteen year old
male cashier sees her flinch, and keeps his silence. He wonders if
she’s alright. She’s not, but maybe someday she will be.
When she starts throwing up the next month, she doesn’t talk
about it. Doesn’t want to think about the possibility of such a thing.
But it sneaks inside her mind, tormenting her. The feeling that even
though she showered, she didn’t quite wash him all out. She feels
lost, and sick, and tired. So tired. She thought she got away. She
thought it was over.
She imagines that she can feel it sometimes. Moving in her. She
knows it can’t be true, she’s only seven weeks pregnant, but logic
doesn’t seem to help in the face of ungodly fear. Ungodly. What a
joke. To be frightened of having a child, rather than the fear of
losing it. A cruel irony.
She can’t tell her parents. They’re devout catholics, and they
would insist on her keeping it. She doesn’t, in the end. Even though
it goes against everything she has been taught, she can’t keep it. She
justifies her actions – the child wouldn’t have parents, it would
always struggle to understand the nature of its conception, it just
wouldn’t be fair. But that isn’t the truth. The truth is that she can’t
bear the product of her defilement growing within her, shackled to
her forever. He already took her innocence, he won’t take her future.
In this story, there are too many villains. The police who called
her stupid, the boy for not listening, the people who turned a blind
eye. They can be so cruel, these little beings of mine.
In this story, there’s shame, and tears, and ignorance. There’s no
No End
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