I’ve never felt so helpless researching or writing a story as I did with this story. It took me twice as long as it normally does to write and I’m still not sure I’ve managed to capture the essence of the story.

The strength of the human spirit astounded me as I listened to this tale unfold and realised how many times this innocent soul was shattered and fought back. This is the story of a girl whose fate was decided by everyone around her. This is the story of the cycle of shame.

Armed with pictures to support each different time period, she met me on a quiet Wednesday night on a Skype call. She was gorgeous, with long flowing hair and delicate facial structure, cuddled in a warm onesie and holding a mug of hot chocolate in her hands, she’s sitting poised and ready to tell her story.

She looks me dead in the eye and jumps straight into the story: “I was sixteen and pretty innocent. I looked like one of those cute chubby kids you see on tv, the ones who look like little balls.”

At this point she holds up a picture and demands I see what she means too. Then when she sees that I have noted that she was in fact an adorable little ball of a kid she continues with her story.

“There was this guy who I had known since preschool who randomly started talking to me again. Naturally I was quite chilled and willing to chat to him, I never expected it to change my life so drastically.

After a while, it was school holidays, I’d just moved house and he came over to visit. We were chilling in my room, chatting away and for some reason I remember that I was wearing white jeans and white socks. He had this T-shirt with a teddy bear on it that said “get stuffed”. “

At this point, she stops and shakes her head in disbelief and then muttered something that sounded like “shit, I never said that out loud before…” After a few minutes of her looking bewildered she looks up at me again and in a shaky voice she continues with her story again.

“Any ways… *deep breathe* somehow he had lent over and kissed me on my lips and my brain froze for a second as it tried to figure out what was happening as the kiss expanded into a full blown make out. In a perplexing tone, I was thinking “okay…” but when he went in to lift my tee I started to say no. I remember yelling, “NO! What are you doing? I would never ever do anything more than kiss someone! What are you doing?!?” and trying to struggle away.

He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Don’t worry sweetie, I’ve never done this either…”

I kept mumbling, “no, no, no.”

At this point, I suggested a break because my mind was picturing the whole situation unfolding and even I was tempted to scream no. I knew where it was going but she insisted she carry on because she feared that she won’t be able to finish telling the story if she stopped now.

“He started fingering me and I’m not sure how but he ended up in his white undies.”

Here she gets a funny grin on her face and tries to add some humour to the memory by saying, ” you know those undies they show you in the movies? The kind where the teenage nerd gets a wedgie or the underwear flying on the flagpole… He had those on.”

Then just as quickly she’s serious again, ” and I was naked except for my white socks.”

She takes a deep breath then says in a distant voice, “weird how it’s been years and I still remember such random details but can’t recall some of the bigger ones…”

It goes silent as we both ponder on this point for a while then just as I’m getting ready to change the topic for a bit she sighs loudly, shakes her head and jumps straight back into her storytelling mode. (by this point both of us are tensed up and teary eyed)

“Any ways… I was telling him that’s enough. Stop.

And he very calmly says, ” I won’t do anything, I Promise. It’s not like we’re going to have sex. I don’t have a condom and I don’t want to be a parent if anything happens…”

I just silently nodded, aching inside and wanting it to end.

Before I could try to protest more, he shoved into me using his underwear as a condom. I screamed at him that he was hurting me but he pinned me down and as soon as I could I shoved him off, curled up and cried.

He hugged me from behind, telling me it’s okay it always hurts the first time.

Then he turned me over and pinned me again. This time without his underwear he tried again.

I remember seeing my blood all over his hideous underwear.

He went back in. A few times actually.

I said no just as many times.

The pain got too much and I felt myself losing feeling. I went numb and just did whatever he said to make the pain less. Almost as though my brain had left my body to it’s own devices and run away. I was a zombie.

He came. Not in me but all over me.

Then while I bawled my eyes out and laid there completely motionless, he dressed me up. He couldn’t find my white jeans so he grabbed a pair of black ones from my laundry basket. He even put my shoes on and tied my laces. Then he cuddled me against him and told me I was okay.”

 

By this point her words were coming out in hiccups between tears and I was trying very hard not to lose the tiny bit of control I had. To try calm ourselves down a bit, we drifted away from the situation and began discussing the irony of the change in colour of her clothes and focused on mundane details till we could go back to the story…

To give you time to process this horror, I’m leaving this story to be continued…

Still Hurting Inside From Writing This,

Brokebella

Important Note: 

Some of these posts are not up in a timely fashion as I find them extremely
difficult to write and often need time to consolidate my thoughts before I 
post them.

These stories are extremely personal revelations from the victims and often
come from people and hope that you will understand how mentally and 
emotionally involved I become with each victim and story and thus understand
why I need the time to ensure that everything written is true and will not
cause the victims any more pain than they have already been through.