A True Tale of Horror

8 years ago.

It was a freezing cold February 14^th. -30°C or something close to it.  Usual winter temperatures for this little shit town in the north of Ontario.  I struggled with my long underwear, trying to hurry.  I was late for school as usual.  I brushed my teeth quickly and tossed my toothbrush in my bag, knowing I would want it in the morning.  Tonight’s party was supposed to be great.

School dragged on for what seemed like eons.  I was bored to death and toyed with the idea of blissfully cutting afternoon classes.  Then I remembered I was supposed to catch Lucy’s* bus that night to go home with her.  She and her brother Mike* were throwing tonight’s bash.  They lived way out in the boonies so it was the only way I could get out to their place.  Lucy’s grades were in the dump, so I knew she wouldn’t cut class with me.  I had to stick it out.

I was so clever last night, telling my mom that it was just a sleepover and I’d call her when I got to Lucy’s.  I felt bas about lying to mom, but my parents would have never let their 15 year old daughter go to a party where there’d be drinking, pot and boys.  But I figured “I’m not a kid anymore, I should be able to do what I please.”  Besides, what was that cliché…”what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”

At 2:00 that afternoon, I got a nagging feeling in my stomach that told me to skip Lucy’s party and just go home.  Something awful was going to happen.  I usually pay attention to these warnings, but I ignored its lingering all afternoon and reminded myself that it was probably the guilt I felt from lying to mom.  I got on Lucy’s bus at a quarter to four.

Once I got there I called mom.  It wasn’t long before I was distracted enough to forget that awful burning in my stomach.  People were already at Lucy’s.  I didn’t know any of them, but the music was jacked and I prepared myself for a typical night of partying, like many nights before and probably many nights after.

I opened a drink.  It was blue and sugary.  It was still early in the evening and the crowd hadn’t shown up yet.  I was sitting on the couch while my best guy friend Budd*, Lucy and Stacey* went outside for a toke.  Lucy’s brother Mike* was in another room with his friends, so I called this guy I was sort of seeing.  I had met him a few days prior at the ski hill with a friend.  We chatted on the phone for a bit and that awful feeling came back.  I asked him to come to the party.  I hoped with him there the nagging feeling of dread would vanish.  He never showed up.

After the phone call I don’t remember much.  I remember grabbing a second drink and then it’s all of a sudden the middle of the night and Budd is locking my sick, nauseous self in Lucy’s room.  “Sleepy time for _________”  I’m gonna feel sick in the morning I was thinking. I drifted into what I thought was a drunken slumber with the last thought of “how sis I get so drunk?  I only brought 4 drinks and can only remember drinking two….

I woke up at I don’t know what time to this sick bastard having sex with me.  Unable to move or speak I pass out again and repeat this process a few more times…at one point I managed to scream for Budd.  I cried for Budd, I cried for anyone…no one came but a slap in the face.  My cheek throbbed and I passed out again.

I woke up in the morning bleeding.  Torn and sore and aching between my legs. (The only other time I had sex was when I was eleven and an older boy attacked me in the school yard at night while I was walking home from a friend’s).  the bruises on my ribs and thighs reminded me of what I could not fight off the night before.

I vomited blue syrup, brushed my teeth and got my coat on.  My pants had been ripped at the button, so I grabbed a safety pin off my school bag, and secured them as best I could.  I then began the long, icy, four hour walk home, trying to piece together the details of last night’s nightmare.  The nightmare which prevented me from calling my mom for a ride.  I slept the whole weekend.  This was not unusual for me and raised no suspicion at home.

Monday morning, I stepped out my house a broken, scared child, and at school the biggest whore this little town had ever seen.  I had apparently slept with five guys at Lucy’s party and had a lesbian experience.  The other people supposedly involved were not mentioned.  Funny that 6 people involved with one common denominator just happened to be excluded from the gossip and rumors that would ruin the nest three and a half years of my life, and leave a permanent scar on my being.

My father’s sister confronted me after she heard the rumors while sitting in a burger place with my little cousin having lunch.  She let me cry and falsely comforted me.  I trusted her at that time.  She told me she would let me tell my parents.

My dad was working night shift, I would wait for him to leave and then I would recount everything I could remember to my mom.  That was a good plan.  My heart raced through the rest of the day, and the burning in my stomach never did stop.  I somehow managed to trudge through the glares and crooked smiles that came my way.  The whispers and the laughter sliced and burned to my very core.  To top it off, people I thought were my friends took turns pouring salt into my already weeping wounds.

Maybe I would die of this knot in my stomach.  I wished, I prayed to everything holy I had ever known that I would be killed by a bus or a car or something to end this misery before the day was over.

I opened the door and stood in shock as my parents called me into the living room.  To my surprise and horror my aunt was sitting there with my parents, and had this smirky grin on her face.  She was loving this.  She had told them, but she had told them only part truths and blatant lies.  The real events never make it out of my mouth, they wouldn’t believe me and I couldn’t talk to them in front of my aunt.  I knew at that moment things were never going to be the same after this, for any of us.

After huge bouts of fighting, crying and screaming, my punishments were doled out.  No sleepovers, no parties, no boys, no leaving the house.  Afterward my mom phoned the police, but they agreed with everyone else that I had asked for it, and there was nothing they would do.  I guess I had asked for it wearing my oversized t-shirts and my 4 sizes too big pants, with no makeup and a boy haircut, I’d asked for it.  (Note the sarcasm)

I didn’t know how I was ever going to survive this.  I was terrified, I felt guilty, hurt, dirty and worst of all, alone…

Not much has changed since that February when I was 15 years old.  Life became more difficult, my stomach continued to burn.  I learned soon that the burning inferno that was once my stomach; would forever be a part of me and my daily existence.  I was right, nothing was the same for any of us ever again.  Mt parents had a slut for a daughter, and I was branded with a scarlet letter made from the pieces of what should have been my adolescence.

The most important things I learned from all of that, is that time does NOT heal all wounds.

Sway