Part Two: The Angels (4/7)
April 16th, 2010 - Evening
Rico Mendez’s House
( If Sensitive To Sexual Assault, you can skip to ‘I awaken.’ )
Grabbing and pulling me by the wrist, he talked to me as...as if I was his. He kept going on about how he would make me a fine woman. About how...my body would get him such a good price.
I don’t remember...too much...
It’s dark . . . No . . . I don’t want this. No. Please, don’t. I can’t see that well . . . I kick, scream, and cry for my life. But, no one answers. No one is there to help me. Please, someone, help me. Someone stop this. This isn’t fair. I dig my nails into his skin, I want to rip him apart, but no matter what I do, he won’t stop. HE WON’T STOP—heavy breathing, pained, emotional breathing. Stop. . . why am I making these noises? I don’t want this. I don’t want ANY of this. Stop. Stop. Stop. “You must be new to this, Chica.” is all I can remember hearing during all of this. No matter how much I scream and cry for him to stop. He continues. Please . . . god. Let this stop. Let this end. My mind...is going blank...why...did this happen...to...me..?
There I lay on a bed, my fingers and nails dug into the sheets. My tears were dripping down onto the pillow and sheets. My breathing is heavy and labored. It happened . . . I was . . . raped. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t DO anything. I couldn’t GO anywhere! I was at his house -- and I was too god damned tired to do . . . anything. I stare off blankly. I feel like I’m dissociating. I’m still crying. Why, why, why, why. Why did this happen to me? Why, god, why did this happen to me. Why me? Why my family? Why my virginity? Why. Why.
Haha...even after what I’ve been through, I can’t get rid of the thought of my family. The family that was just TAKEN from me. I want them back. I want to run into my parent’s arms and be protected by them . . . no. I’m all alone now. I’m alone. I have no one else to call family here. I’m officially by myself in this big . . . big scary world. There is no longer anyone to help me, no one to protect me. It’s just me.
“You know, Chica. I used a condom for a reason. Having STDs or any sickness like that will, REALLY, drive away customers. You’re welcome for that tip.” Rico spoke out to me, buckling his belt back onto himself. Shove that advice up your ass, you fucking disgusting prick . . . don’t act like you haven’t just done what you did to me, you SCUM of the Earth...
“Go use the shower. I don’t want customers to be turned away by how sweating and smelly you are,” he said before opening the bedroom door and leaving, closing the door behind him. There’s. . . a bathroom connected to this bedroom. I barely muster up the will and energy to sit up on the bed. I’m naked . . . he took it all off. God, I feel so fucking disgusting right now. Why . . . why.
I slowly stand up to my feet and begin to stumble my way to the doorway, sobbing and crying the entire time. Why am I even using his bathroom? Right. I have nowhere to go . . . and I really want to wash all of this off . . . to wash all of HIM off and out of me. Fuck him . . . I turn on the shower and turn the heat up relatively high, with the steam. I need it to be hot . . . to cleanse all of this off of me . . .
Grabbing a brush and soap, I begin to scrub myself down thoroughly—every nook and cranny of my body. No matter how hot I think the water is, I stay in hot water. I want all of this OFF of me. Get this off of me. I hate it. I hate it. No matter how hard I scrub, no matter how much in the same spot: Nothing. I wash, scrub . . . It won’t go away. Why isn’t it getting off of me? I’m tainted . . . I’m undesirable now. Look at me, look what happened to me. Who the fuck would take pity on me --
I collapse to my knees to the floor of the shower as I begin to cry—full-blown sobbing. I scrub harder and harder. It hurts, it really really does, but I want this to go away. Where I clean. . . it’s red. But I don’t care . . . please . . . please, just get off . . . I drop the brush and soap before falling back onto the floor on my ass. I enter the fetal position, hugging my knees close to me as I continue sobbing and crying. Why . . . did this happen . . .
“. . .” I can’t say anything. Not even to myself . . . no matter how much I scrub and was myself, nothing. I still feel violated and tainted. Dirty, used...
It’s not that I feel so disgusting on my body. It’s not that at all... it’s what’s on the inside...how he violated me within...no amount of scrubbing will ever fix what has happened to me...no matter what I do. No matter how raw I scrub my skin... I will always be...