Rebecca
Slivers of flashback came in torrents, shadowed images, loud excruciating music, demonic laughter, then gone.
“It’s back, isn’t it?”
I lifted my head towards a darkened silhouette engulfed with bright light.
Jesse.
My eyes adjust and in an instant, I am back in the safe cocoon of my office.
Like wanting to help, the bright sun blazed its full energy through the glass paneled walls. Jesse is my Office Assistant and my very best friend.
“Yes,” I said weakly.
I had just been promoted Senior Marketing Director of Salita-one of the most prestigious Software Companies in my City.
Those dreadful memories always creep in, in the most inopportune moments especially when I am under a lot of stress.
Jesse hands me a glass of water which I devoured.
“I’ll be ok.”
I assured her.
The ringing of the phone on Jesse’s desk outside, broke the seemingly awkward silence between us.
“It’s your daughter,”
she announced on the intercom.
A smile broke on my face when I heard her sweet voice.
“Hi Mommy!”.
Emilia is such a calming respite in the midst of a storm. She reminded me of my promise to take her to go get ice cream after work.
I can’t believe it has been 4 years since I had made the most important decision of my life while faced with the agony of what happened that fateful night.
The Police Department’s resignation to put the case in the unsolved files of their office added to the dilemma and frustration I felt, as I digested the fact that the total violation of my being yielded no resolution.
Four years ago, I was sexually assaulted in my own car by three unidentified men a few blocks from my home.
My name is Rebecca.
The hard rain and darkness of that night added to the horror of the tragedy. I was coming out of a 24 hour gym late at night on the way to where my car was parked. When I opened the car door, I immediately felt strong hands shove me in the back seat, and felt the car start. I wanted to scream for help but it seemed like my vocal cords became paralyzed with shock.
After a few agonizing minutes, the car stopped. I heard men’s voices. The full moon, as if to conspire, casted shadows on their faces. They might as well be faceless. I just remember the strong smell of alcohol.
I heard my car radio turn on to very loud rock music.
My clothes were yanked off me and somebody started to rape me.
I tried to fight but I was held down so strongly and was unable to move. Finally, I just gave up and just stared at this monster on top of me.
As if on cue, I saw him stare at me as well. Then, he immediately got off.
I then heard three different voices arguing, and car doors slammed. The loud music was cut off, replaced with the trickling sound of rain on the roof of my car, then blackness.
The intensity of the pain I felt all over my body or was it in my heart woke me up and found me wondering if I had dreamt it all. My eyes adjusted to light and wandered around the back seat of my car.
As if on cue, reality struck its ugly forks at me, and I remembered what had happened.
My mind, like the beginning light of dawn, helped confirm what I did not want to accept.
From the window, I saw the bluest of sky, as the soft whispers of birds emanate the peace of early morning.
I got up slowly trying to ignore my tattered workout clothes all around me that seemed to mock me for not being careful especially at night. I wanted to cry but my tears seem to have a mind of its own. Instead, my eyes felt like it would burst with the insatiable feeling of hate and violation yielding desperation and the quest to get even.
My fingers found my discarded cell on the floor and began dialing 911.
After which, I drove straight home. I ran the shower with scalding hot water and stayed there for I don’t know how long. I felt so dirty ignoring the instructions of Police not to shower for the rape kit.
What followed were months of investigations, police reports, and persons of interests. It was all a blur to me as I viewed police lineups on a regular basis. Faces started to look alike, and they might as well be, since I really did not see faces that night.
I grew numb and quit caring at all.
The fruitless manhunt left everyone devastated, especially people that cared about me.
I went through a series of therapy for months. The sessions all failed to break the invisible wall of hurt, desperation, numbness that resurrected inside of me. The more I refuse to give in to the re-creation of the situation in order to be able to give words to my feelings, made everything easier to handle.
As a result, the flashbacks and the nightmares became a permanent fixture of my everyday life that sleeping was something I learned to dread.
Then, I learned I was pregnant.
I dismissed the symptoms I have been feeling for months as related to the incident and so did not feel the need to see the doctor. Each morning seemed like a failed attempt to get up and get going for the day. I felt sick to my stomach each time and could barely eat because the mere sight of food disgusted me.
So when I got confirmation from the hospital that the test was positive, I felt like a brick smacked me in the head. As if I did not have a pile of unfortunate events already.
My first thought is to get rid of any memories of that night.
The sick smell of alcohol, sweat, manly smell and now, my unborn child. I was determined to put everything behind me and had set an appointment at the abortion clinic. I knew full well that it was my body, and I am the only one who can decide about the pregnancy. What followed were even more sleepless nights as I pondered on my final decision.
To be able to elevate the darkness and negativity of what happened to that of hope, promise and the unfounded goodness that an otherwise dreadful situation had produced, is no easy task for a 32-year-old woman who’s never been married and had this one childhood dream to be a mother someday.
I thought that maybe, if I kept the baby, I would disrupt the ugly throngs of reality and eventually help me heal. I don’t know how many times I told myself, sure, I want to be a mother, but not like this. Driven by career and coupled with failed relationships, motherhood has been put behind the back burner.
Keeping Emilia had changed my life.
Police never found them.
We even tried everything including hypnosis and psychic help but those failed as well. There were no witnesses. No one came forward despite urgings from social media and police bulletins.
The torrential rain that night blurred the outside cameras and DNAs on the scene returned inconclusive. I eventually gave up on further DNA tests on the fetus. I decided to move on equipped with my final decision.
But there was one thing that tied me up to the trauma of what happened.
I realized after the fact that the necklace my grandma gave me when I was 5 was no longer on my neck. It must have fallen somewhere. It had a heart pendant with two floating diamonds in it.
“I want you to keep this forever”. I remember her wrinkly eyes as she looked at me intently, and I never took it off ever since.
My parents died in a car crash when I was barely two and my grandma practically raised me until her death a few years ago. The necklace was irreplaceable just like that part of my soul that was tattered to pieces that night.
