Thirteen

“If you tell anyone, I’ll tell them it was all you.

You were the one making me do it.

I’ll tell them you did worse things to me.

And they’ll never believe you over me.”

She starts touching me.

She’s touching me in places no one else does.

It’s not the only time she’s done this.

First she uses her fingers.

Then she uses her tongue.

It feels funny.

“Now, you do it to me.”

I look at her like she’s crazy.

“Don’t you remember our little agreement?

DO IT.”

I don’t want to do it.

I don’t like when she does it to me.

It feels wrong.

But she’s my only friend.

What if she never plays with me again?

What if she really does tell everyone I was the one who started it?

I take a deep breath and reluctantly try imitating what she just did.

I guess I do an okay job because she stops reprimanding me.

Finally, she tells me I can stop.

I lie next to her but turn away.

I don’t want her to know how ashamed I feel.

I wonder if this is what other girls are doing in second grade.

One-Hundred Fifteen

“Have you ever done this?”

I shake my head no.

I wanted to add, “And I’m slightly fucking terrified.”

But I didn’t.

Do I want to do this?

I know it’s a bad idea.

I can feel it in every follicle.

But I can’t tell him “no.”

I can’t even speak right now.

Without warning, he slowly enters me.

 “Are you okay?”

I nod, and he keeps going.

It hurts.

But the more he does it, the quicker he goes, the less it hurts.

I almost enjoy it.

When it’s over, he stays inside me.

We fall asleep.

He wakes and slips out.
It startles me.

And I feel the emptiest feeling.

How is it possible in the span of a few short hours to go from never having experienced such fullness, never knowing I was empty, to having the keenest awareness of the gaping space I now possess?

Nothing can adequately describe this feeling.

And it’s not just about the sex.

The sex is just a symptom.

It’s about pulverizing a frontier I never thought I’d approach.

And now that I’ve done it, I can’t cross back.

He walks back into the room, snapping me from my trance.

“Ready to go home?”

I look up and nod.

Though, home is the last place I want to be.

It’s no longer where my heart lives.

Ninety-Two

It’s so...

Bright.

And quiet.

But that’s typical for a Saturday.

Rubbing my eyes, I roll out of bed.

I walk through the house and notice something is different.

Where’s my mom?

It doesn’t smell like smoke.

Everything is clean.

Hmm… her room is empty.

Finally, I look out back.

There she is, planting little purple flowers around the house.

I open the door, and the warmest sun kisses my face.

My heart is the liveliest it’s been in months.

I can’t believe she’s awake.

Before me.

Sober.

“Good morning, Sis.

Want to help me plant?”

I nod my head yes and pick up a spade.

She’s even playing some of my favorite songs.

Can every day be like this?

Maybe she’s changed.

We plant for a couple hours.

“Okay, girl.

I think it’s time for lunch.”

I put down my spade, go inside, and head for the bathroom.

As I’m coming out, I see her tightening the little brown cap on her favorite glass bottle.

My heart sinks.

Things are just as they’ve always been.

Like they’ll always be.

Forty-Five

“Hey.

Fat ass.

I told you no dinner tonight.”

I look up at his face.

I don’t want to give up my dinner.

I haven’t eaten since lunch at school, and it’s almost seven.

“But I’m hungry,” I retort.

“Yeah. And you’re fucking fat. Give me that plate.”

Without another thought, he’s running after me.

I know he’s going to hit me.

I make it to my room and head straight for the closet.

He starts yelling, again.

“I’m going to teach you to listen to me.

I won’t have a fat little girl living with me

Let me in.

NOW.”

I start to cry.

So many tears, I can’t see anymore.

But he thankfully can’t hear them over his rage.

I hear my mom say, “She’s six! Let her have dinner.”

I hear him push her down.

Then, she must have gotten up, because she walks away.

“You think this is some joke?

You think little boys like fat little girls?

They don’t.”

He doesn’t know, but I’ve been barricading the door since I locked myself in here.

I hope he trips if he ever makes it in.

He punches the wall next to the door and curses.

He opens the closet door, takes in the colossal mess, then peers at me.

“You little shit,” he says, tripping over my stuffed horse.

“I will fucking beat you next time you defy me.”

He walks out, howling about the mess I just made and the rug burn on his knee.

I slink down the wall.

At least he didn’t get to me.

Tonight.

Sixty-Eight

“Open up.”

He slips a ball-gag into my mouth.

I’m lying.

Facedown.

Naked.

Tied to a four-poster bed.

He slips on the blindfold.

My world reduces to darkness.

Then, the headphones magically appear in my ears.

The sounds of sweet, melancholy orchestra filling my soul.

He touches me with something hard, letting me know it’s beginning.

Whack. Whack.

The force billows through my body.

I grunt, feral noises escaping my lips.

Noises I never knew I had in me.

I no longer feel like the desperate, wretched girl I did when I walked in.

I feel strong.

I feel fearless.

But I’m so, so lost.

I don’t have to feel it to know it’s true.

I can see how people get lost in this.

But I need to get out, before I get stuck.

I’m just not sure I want to.

He moves through several items, using each one to stimulate me in new ways.

Gloves with needles on the palms.

Whips. Floggers. Paddles.

A violet wand, for zapping.

And I drown in every movement.

Forgetting more and more whom I was when I walked in.

Embracing the magic of losing myself to something bigger than myself.

He takes out the headphones.

He’s untying me.

First one ankle, then the other.

Then the gag and the mask.

Finally, the wrists.

And I’m back.

The brightness of this world is harsh.

It’s not loud enough.

I do not want to be back.

He pulls me into him, rubbing the places he just desecrated.

Making me more aware of my depravity.

I am wordless.