Once a month, Jess dragged me out to get me out of the house, out of my head.
"I want to get smashed," I announce, leaning forward to put on my mascara, "Completely, totally, out of my mind, smashed."
Jess grins wickedly at me in the mirror, "Not afraid that I'll get you drunk and take advantage of you?"
After Grant, I'd been so cautious- maybe too much so. I never really told Jess why, all he knew was that I wasn't ready for sex and, surprisingly, he was ok with that. We could, night after night, sleep in the same bed without him trying anything.
"What? You? Mr. Nice Guy?" I joke, and he laughs, coming up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist and kiss my neck.
"I'm glad you're feelin' better, babygirl. You haven't been up to clubbin' in awhile."
I shrug, "I'm a waitress in a bar. Going to another bar isn't exactly what I want to do with my off time."
The club was dark, strobe lights flashing sporadically in the gloom. Couples grope in the hallways and guys and girls shoot up on the upper floors. The floor was sticky with dried beer, sweat and, I'm sure, blood.
"Whatcha want?" Jess yells over the dim of some rapper's new single.
"Vodka, straight!" I yell back.
The dance floor was a throbbing mass of humanity: guys, girls, and everything in between writhe on the floor, on poles, on each other. Some guy with a shaved head and "HATE" tattooed on his knuckles, grabs me, pulling me along and I go with it, jumping up and down, moshing, screaming until my voice goes out.
"Cil! Cil!" Someone's yelling in my ear. I've been sitting at the bar, shooting vodka for god knows how long and I'm incredibly trashed. I feel someone pull me off of my stool, slinging my arm around their shoulder as I mummble out "Drunken Lullabies". "C'mon, babygirl. We're goin' home."
Back at the house, I flop onto my bed, my head feeling like it's stuffed full of cotton. Jess crawls in beside me, wraps his arms around me, and kisses my shoulderblades. I roll over and kiss him, tucking my head between his jaw and shoulder blade. His hand slowly slides down my arm, picks it up, and brings it to his lips. Lightly, he kisses the snake-shaped scar that runs from my wrist to my elbow.
"I love you, Cecillia." he whispers into my arm, so softly that I can barely hear him, or be sure of what I'm hearing. "I don't know what made you do that, but I swear that I will never hurt you that badly."
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Mr. Sandman
The streets are dark, the fog is hovering thickly a few inches above the ground, looking like clouds are falling from the sky. I'm wandering the streets, feeling deep down inside like I have lost something- something important, and I have to find it before it's too late. There! There's a glimpse of something just out of the corner of my eye, turning a corner and going out of sight. I hurry after it, trying to catch it, calling for it to slow down.
My baby sits peacefully at the end of the street, smiling serenly at me. His chubby arms reach up for me, and I take a step toward him. He faintly resembles Grant, but looks like my family, too- Grant's eyes are prominent in his face, giving him a sad, puppy dog expression, but his smile is all mine. "William," I whisper, and he smiles, gets up, and runs off in to the fog. "Wait!" I yell, running after him. He turns, not smiling anymore, and suddenly his eyes are Grant's, his face lengthening and thinning out from baby fat to a man's face, all strong jaw and cheekbones: Grant's face. He moves toward me, snarling like a nad dog that is about to bite, and I hurridly back up, knowing what is going to happen. In a flash, Grant is looking above me. I force my eyes open, just in time to see his hand descend, and the stars explode behind my eyes. I gasp, the pain magnified until it feels as if I strucck live wires to my tounge; then the world explodes into darkness again, and I open my eyes (correction, my eye, since my other one is swelling quickly shut) n time to see him unclench his fist and massage it.
"Why?" I moan, feeling hot blood running down my throat and clutching my hands to my mouth. "Why are you doing this?" The question is garbled by the blood, almost to the point of incomprehension, but I keep asking. Grant ignores me, hitting and slapping, beating me until I curl up on the ground in a ball, trying to keep my vital organs protected, knowing that he will kill me if this keeps going, and all the while begging him to stop.
I wake up slowly, aware first that someone is shaking me, secondly that I am crying. I can still feel the places where Grant's blows fell, and raise my hands to my lips, surprised that they come away clean, rather than spotted with blood. The room is pitch black, the color of the early, early morning after the moon has disappered and before the sun has appeared in the sky- what Jayson used to call the "in between hours" the times when anything could happen. Shadows sinisterly slide into the corners and behind the desk and I sit up, disoriented.
"Cillia, baby, you ok?" Jess is shaking me, rubbing my back in large, soothing circles. "You were crying. And screaming."
"Bad dream." I mumble, even now trying hungrily to remember how my baby looked in those too-few, precious moments before he changed into Grant.
"Do you wanna talk about it? Was it about...your anniversary?"
I roll over, burying my face into his warm, bare chest. "Yeah, I think. I was running...and saw the baby....and Grant..." I'm crying, sobbing unabashedly, like I've never cried, not in front of Jess or anybody. Jess, shocked, holds me close to his chest, murmmering soothing things into my hair. "He...hit me..." I choke out. "That's what I never wanted to tell you. But he did." Jess' body tenses, and I bury my face deeper into his chest, needing to get this out of my mind, at least to him, the one that I never lied to. "I thought, for a long time, that if I did everything right....if I kept him happy...everything would be fine, and he would stop. But he didn't. He never stopped. Not even when I begged."
My baby sits peacefully at the end of the street, smiling serenly at me. His chubby arms reach up for me, and I take a step toward him. He faintly resembles Grant, but looks like my family, too- Grant's eyes are prominent in his face, giving him a sad, puppy dog expression, but his smile is all mine. "William," I whisper, and he smiles, gets up, and runs off in to the fog. "Wait!" I yell, running after him. He turns, not smiling anymore, and suddenly his eyes are Grant's, his face lengthening and thinning out from baby fat to a man's face, all strong jaw and cheekbones: Grant's face. He moves toward me, snarling like a nad dog that is about to bite, and I hurridly back up, knowing what is going to happen. In a flash, Grant is looking above me. I force my eyes open, just in time to see his hand descend, and the stars explode behind my eyes. I gasp, the pain magnified until it feels as if I strucck live wires to my tounge; then the world explodes into darkness again, and I open my eyes (correction, my eye, since my other one is swelling quickly shut) n time to see him unclench his fist and massage it.
"Why?" I moan, feeling hot blood running down my throat and clutching my hands to my mouth. "Why are you doing this?" The question is garbled by the blood, almost to the point of incomprehension, but I keep asking. Grant ignores me, hitting and slapping, beating me until I curl up on the ground in a ball, trying to keep my vital organs protected, knowing that he will kill me if this keeps going, and all the while begging him to stop.
I wake up slowly, aware first that someone is shaking me, secondly that I am crying. I can still feel the places where Grant's blows fell, and raise my hands to my lips, surprised that they come away clean, rather than spotted with blood. The room is pitch black, the color of the early, early morning after the moon has disappered and before the sun has appeared in the sky- what Jayson used to call the "in between hours" the times when anything could happen. Shadows sinisterly slide into the corners and behind the desk and I sit up, disoriented.
"Cillia, baby, you ok?" Jess is shaking me, rubbing my back in large, soothing circles. "You were crying. And screaming."
"Bad dream." I mumble, even now trying hungrily to remember how my baby looked in those too-few, precious moments before he changed into Grant.
"Do you wanna talk about it? Was it about...your anniversary?"
I roll over, burying my face into his warm, bare chest. "Yeah, I think. I was running...and saw the baby....and Grant..." I'm crying, sobbing unabashedly, like I've never cried, not in front of Jess or anybody. Jess, shocked, holds me close to his chest, murmmering soothing things into my hair. "He...hit me..." I choke out. "That's what I never wanted to tell you. But he did." Jess' body tenses, and I bury my face deeper into his chest, needing to get this out of my mind, at least to him, the one that I never lied to. "I thought, for a long time, that if I did everything right....if I kept him happy...everything would be fine, and he would stop. But he didn't. He never stopped. Not even when I begged."
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Crying Lambs (2)
I lead her to a stone bench at the top of the stairs, catty-cornered to the bathroom, and sit down heavily, closing my eye. "Let me know when the lambs stop screaming, Clarisse." I whisper.
"What?"
"It's a quote. 'Silence of the Lambs'." Val looks confused and I shake my head, "Never mind.. Not that important." I take her hand and run it over my left arm.
Her eyes grow wide, "Oh my God. Did he..." her voice trails off.
"No. No. That was me. But...he wasn't fully without fault. I was pregnant when I did this-almost a year ago now."
"So," he voice sounded unsure in this new territory. "You have a baby? With Grant?"
"No, I lost it a few months later. Not because of this..." I sigh, "When I told him, Grant wanted me to get an abortion. We had a huge fight about it and..."I hold up my arm and there is the end, the long scar that shows milky in the moonlight. "I loved him. Fully. Desperately. He'd spent so long trying to convince me that I was pathetic, ugly, that he was the only guy who could ever love me. I started to believe it." I stop. The door to the ballroom opens, then slams closed. Val opens her mouth to speak, but I hold a finger up to my lips, gesturing her to get into the bathroom. She walks in quickly and I slip off my shoe, massaging my heel.
"Val?" Grant peeks around the metal door, getting an unintended look down my dress top. His eyes pop slightly and I sit up quickly.
"Apparently, I'm not here. Why you looking? Your puppy dog get loose from her leash?"
"She went to the bathroom." he shoots back. "I wasn't sure.."
"Not sure if the Big Bad Bitch was telling her more horror stories?"
He glares at me, "I don't want you feeding her a line. It's taken long enough to convince her that I'm not the Devil Incarnate."
"You aren't? Wow. Coulda fooled me." my mind, still attuned to Grant's moods, begins to tell my mouth to shut up, because I am about to get myself into trouble.
He moves closer, "Listen, bitch, know that you talked to her when I asked you about my car. I don't know what you said, but you got her to stay away from me for a week."
"Ooh, poor Grant." I sneer, feeling mean and snarky, "You didn't have your blow-doll for a week. Don't know how you survived, 'cause Lord knows you live for sex."
He sneers back, "I haven't had sex with her. I actually care about her- you were just a fuck toy. You're still just a pathetic little bitch, aren't you? Still just as ugly and as much of an attention-whore as you were when I left you."
I close my eyes, willing myself not to listen, not to let him drag me back into that place where he has control. "Shut up, Grant."
"You always wanted it." he continues, taunting, trying to pull me back into the sick little games that he played when we were dating. "It was never rape- it's not rape if you don't say no. And if I smacked you around a little bit, it was just to keep you in line."
"So that's what you're gonna do to her? 'Smack her around' to keep her in line? Or has she just given in to all of the shit that you feed her about being ugly and worthless? Gonna knock her up and leave her to die, too? Jerk." I spit, trying to think of something that will hurt him half as much as he's hurt me. "You're just a jerk, Grant, a runner. A coward. Just like your father."
His hand shoots out so fast that I don't even have time to react. All that I know is one minute, I'm standing up, the next, I'm on the floor, dimly feeling pain.
"Bitch." he spits, angrily, slamming the ballroom doors behind him.
Slowly, I stand up. There is blood all over my palms and my face feels sticky. Mutely, I walk into the bathroom, bending over the sink and ignoring Val's face, ghost white, behind me. Carefully, I sponge most of the blood off of my face, and lean my head bac, keeping a towel under my nose. "Crap," I mutter, "I really hope that this isn't broken."
"He hit you." Val's voice comes from behind me. "That's why you kept wanting to make sure that I was ok." I nod, quite an exercise when your head is at a ninety-degree angle with the floor. "But...he hasn't done it to me. It won't happen to me, right? I mean, he couldn't. I love him, and he loves me. Besides, you pushed him."
"Val." I say, closing my eyes, "That wasn't the first time. Besides, if I hadn't said anything, he would have hit me anyway."
"No," she starts to back slowly out of the bathroom, "he just...he wouldn't." she turns and leaves; I slam my hand on the counter: great, I've just lost her.
When I finally make it back to the ballroom, I find Jess and tap him on the shoulder. "Baby," I say, suddenly exhausted, feeling pieces of my world begin to crumble in my hands. "take me home."
Jess paces back and forth in my kitchen, his suit jacket thrown over a chair, his hair falling out of its slicked-back ponytail from him running his hands through it so often. He looks furious.
I sit at the table, holding an icepack gingerly on my nose, hoping that it, along with some carefully-applied makeup, will cover the extent of the damage. Dropping the icepack, I turn to Kent, sitting beside me, looking a little bit lost.
"Hon, can you go get my makeup bag? It's in the bathroom, under the sink. The leopard print one."
He nods and practically runs out of the kitchen. I can understand his hurry: for the entire ride home, and the hour that we have been here, Jess has alternately paced the kitche,, and burst out with angry fragments of thought. I have never seen him lose his temper, but now he looks so angry that I am both scared to be around him, and scared to let him leave.
Kent returns, placing the bag on the table, and watches as I sort through the jumbled contents, surfacing with a tube of lipstick, a jar of concealer and one of liquid makeup, and powder. Fascinated, he watches as I blot and rub and powder away, working until the bruising around my eyes and nose is almost totally invisible. When I look up, he seems dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly, like a fish under water. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asks, incredulous.
"Cosmo." I shrug.
"Cillie," he asks, slowly, "how many times has Grant hit you? You know how to do that way too well for this to have been the first time."
I shake my head, shooting a pointed look at where Jess is now standing shock-still. He looks, first at me, then at the makeup bag in front of me, as if piecing everything together. His eyes are practically glowing. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him!" he turns, kicking a kitchen chair and stomping out the door.
"Damnit, Kent." I snap, "You couldn't have just kept your mouth shut?" I grab my keys and purse from the table by the door where I had dropped thme when we came in, and follow Jess out, Kent close on my heels. Stopping to slide on my heels, I hear Jess' Harley engine turn over and roar out of the driveway.
Outside, I jump into the car and throw my phone to Kent. "We need Chris and Mose, whoever you know that's big. No cops- we've already got enough problems on our hands. You have Val's number?" he nods. "Call." I command, "and put her on speaker. Tell her to get Grant out of there. And to haul ass doing it."
"What?"
"It's a quote. 'Silence of the Lambs'." Val looks confused and I shake my head, "Never mind.. Not that important." I take her hand and run it over my left arm.
Her eyes grow wide, "Oh my God. Did he..." her voice trails off.
"No. No. That was me. But...he wasn't fully without fault. I was pregnant when I did this-almost a year ago now."
"So," he voice sounded unsure in this new territory. "You have a baby? With Grant?"
"No, I lost it a few months later. Not because of this..." I sigh, "When I told him, Grant wanted me to get an abortion. We had a huge fight about it and..."I hold up my arm and there is the end, the long scar that shows milky in the moonlight. "I loved him. Fully. Desperately. He'd spent so long trying to convince me that I was pathetic, ugly, that he was the only guy who could ever love me. I started to believe it." I stop. The door to the ballroom opens, then slams closed. Val opens her mouth to speak, but I hold a finger up to my lips, gesturing her to get into the bathroom. She walks in quickly and I slip off my shoe, massaging my heel.
"Val?" Grant peeks around the metal door, getting an unintended look down my dress top. His eyes pop slightly and I sit up quickly.
"Apparently, I'm not here. Why you looking? Your puppy dog get loose from her leash?"
"She went to the bathroom." he shoots back. "I wasn't sure.."
"Not sure if the Big Bad Bitch was telling her more horror stories?"
He glares at me, "I don't want you feeding her a line. It's taken long enough to convince her that I'm not the Devil Incarnate."
"You aren't? Wow. Coulda fooled me." my mind, still attuned to Grant's moods, begins to tell my mouth to shut up, because I am about to get myself into trouble.
He moves closer, "Listen, bitch, know that you talked to her when I asked you about my car. I don't know what you said, but you got her to stay away from me for a week."
"Ooh, poor Grant." I sneer, feeling mean and snarky, "You didn't have your blow-doll for a week. Don't know how you survived, 'cause Lord knows you live for sex."
He sneers back, "I haven't had sex with her. I actually care about her- you were just a fuck toy. You're still just a pathetic little bitch, aren't you? Still just as ugly and as much of an attention-whore as you were when I left you."
I close my eyes, willing myself not to listen, not to let him drag me back into that place where he has control. "Shut up, Grant."
"You always wanted it." he continues, taunting, trying to pull me back into the sick little games that he played when we were dating. "It was never rape- it's not rape if you don't say no. And if I smacked you around a little bit, it was just to keep you in line."
"So that's what you're gonna do to her? 'Smack her around' to keep her in line? Or has she just given in to all of the shit that you feed her about being ugly and worthless? Gonna knock her up and leave her to die, too? Jerk." I spit, trying to think of something that will hurt him half as much as he's hurt me. "You're just a jerk, Grant, a runner. A coward. Just like your father."
His hand shoots out so fast that I don't even have time to react. All that I know is one minute, I'm standing up, the next, I'm on the floor, dimly feeling pain.
"Bitch." he spits, angrily, slamming the ballroom doors behind him.
Slowly, I stand up. There is blood all over my palms and my face feels sticky. Mutely, I walk into the bathroom, bending over the sink and ignoring Val's face, ghost white, behind me. Carefully, I sponge most of the blood off of my face, and lean my head bac, keeping a towel under my nose. "Crap," I mutter, "I really hope that this isn't broken."
"He hit you." Val's voice comes from behind me. "That's why you kept wanting to make sure that I was ok." I nod, quite an exercise when your head is at a ninety-degree angle with the floor. "But...he hasn't done it to me. It won't happen to me, right? I mean, he couldn't. I love him, and he loves me. Besides, you pushed him."
"Val." I say, closing my eyes, "That wasn't the first time. Besides, if I hadn't said anything, he would have hit me anyway."
"No," she starts to back slowly out of the bathroom, "he just...he wouldn't." she turns and leaves; I slam my hand on the counter: great, I've just lost her.
When I finally make it back to the ballroom, I find Jess and tap him on the shoulder. "Baby," I say, suddenly exhausted, feeling pieces of my world begin to crumble in my hands. "take me home."
Jess paces back and forth in my kitchen, his suit jacket thrown over a chair, his hair falling out of its slicked-back ponytail from him running his hands through it so often. He looks furious.
I sit at the table, holding an icepack gingerly on my nose, hoping that it, along with some carefully-applied makeup, will cover the extent of the damage. Dropping the icepack, I turn to Kent, sitting beside me, looking a little bit lost.
"Hon, can you go get my makeup bag? It's in the bathroom, under the sink. The leopard print one."
He nods and practically runs out of the kitchen. I can understand his hurry: for the entire ride home, and the hour that we have been here, Jess has alternately paced the kitche,, and burst out with angry fragments of thought. I have never seen him lose his temper, but now he looks so angry that I am both scared to be around him, and scared to let him leave.
Kent returns, placing the bag on the table, and watches as I sort through the jumbled contents, surfacing with a tube of lipstick, a jar of concealer and one of liquid makeup, and powder. Fascinated, he watches as I blot and rub and powder away, working until the bruising around my eyes and nose is almost totally invisible. When I look up, he seems dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly, like a fish under water. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asks, incredulous.
"Cosmo." I shrug.
"Cillie," he asks, slowly, "how many times has Grant hit you? You know how to do that way too well for this to have been the first time."
I shake my head, shooting a pointed look at where Jess is now standing shock-still. He looks, first at me, then at the makeup bag in front of me, as if piecing everything together. His eyes are practically glowing. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him!" he turns, kicking a kitchen chair and stomping out the door.
"Damnit, Kent." I snap, "You couldn't have just kept your mouth shut?" I grab my keys and purse from the table by the door where I had dropped thme when we came in, and follow Jess out, Kent close on my heels. Stopping to slide on my heels, I hear Jess' Harley engine turn over and roar out of the driveway.
Outside, I jump into the car and throw my phone to Kent. "We need Chris and Mose, whoever you know that's big. No cops- we've already got enough problems on our hands. You have Val's number?" he nods. "Call." I command, "and put her on speaker. Tell her to get Grant out of there. And to haul ass doing it."
Crying Lambs
School is beginning to wind down for the year. Finals are still about a month away, but all of the papers/essay/take-home eams that have been assigned since January and forgotten until now, are starteing to equal stress and many sleepless nights. It has been two weeks since Maria and Grants and I have yet to be alone with, or even see, Val.
The school is putting on a Retro Throwback party tonight and, after much begging and pleading, Jess has agreed to go. He sits in the kitchen, cursing his cuff links and fixing his tie, when I walk in, dressed to kill as a modern-day Betty Boop- tight black and red polka dot dress, red peep toe heels, and elaborately curled hair (as if it isn't curly enough on its own!)
"Wow..." he lets out a wolf whistle.
I blush, smiling, "Oh, hush." I lean in to the mirror by the back dorr, slicking cherry red lipstick over my lips.
The school ballroom is already packed when we get there, kids dressed in everything from early-American colonial to 80's flashdance stand around, drink punch, and goof around with their friends. Kent siddles up to us almost as soon as we walk in, cutting quite a figure in his pinstripe suit and fendora.
"Early Michael Jackson?" I joke. He sticks his tounge out at me.
"Wanna dance?" he asks, shooting a look to Jess. Jess nods almost imperceptably and I put my hand in Kent's letting him twirl me on to the dance floor.
"Oh. My. Gah." I moan later, pulling off my shoes and rubbing the heel of my feet. "How do people walk in these things?"
Kent laughs, handing me a paper cup of punch, "Most people probably get used to it- of course, I'm sure that most of them aren't as anti-heel as you are."
"I'm not anti-heel." I protest, "I just hate wearing them."
"Oh, c'mon, babygirl. I've seen you wear Converse to church."
"Ok," I conceed, "maybe I am a bit anti-heel." I stand up, straightening my dress, "I'm going to the ladie's. Be right back."
The hallway outside the ballroom is long and white, leading to the cafeteria on one side, and flanked by two heavy metal doors that lead to the huge stairway of the student center on the other. My heels click on the tile, echoing in the silence, making me edgy.
"Cecillia." the hiss comes from behind me, toward the stairway, its slight breathlessnes showing that the person doesn't want to attract un-needed attention.
"Val?"
"I'm so sorry! Grant and Maria have been all over me the past few weeks," she looks at her feet, a little embarassed, "Kent said that you were worried about me."
"Are you ok?" I grab her arms, turning them over and over, searching her face and neck, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No! Cecillia!" she grabs my face, focusing my eyes on hers, "He hasn't hurt me. Will you please tell me what happened?"
The school is putting on a Retro Throwback party tonight and, after much begging and pleading, Jess has agreed to go. He sits in the kitchen, cursing his cuff links and fixing his tie, when I walk in, dressed to kill as a modern-day Betty Boop- tight black and red polka dot dress, red peep toe heels, and elaborately curled hair (as if it isn't curly enough on its own!)
"Wow..." he lets out a wolf whistle.
I blush, smiling, "Oh, hush." I lean in to the mirror by the back dorr, slicking cherry red lipstick over my lips.
The school ballroom is already packed when we get there, kids dressed in everything from early-American colonial to 80's flashdance stand around, drink punch, and goof around with their friends. Kent siddles up to us almost as soon as we walk in, cutting quite a figure in his pinstripe suit and fendora.
"Early Michael Jackson?" I joke. He sticks his tounge out at me.
"Wanna dance?" he asks, shooting a look to Jess. Jess nods almost imperceptably and I put my hand in Kent's letting him twirl me on to the dance floor.
"Oh. My. Gah." I moan later, pulling off my shoes and rubbing the heel of my feet. "How do people walk in these things?"
Kent laughs, handing me a paper cup of punch, "Most people probably get used to it- of course, I'm sure that most of them aren't as anti-heel as you are."
"I'm not anti-heel." I protest, "I just hate wearing them."
"Oh, c'mon, babygirl. I've seen you wear Converse to church."
"Ok," I conceed, "maybe I am a bit anti-heel." I stand up, straightening my dress, "I'm going to the ladie's. Be right back."
The hallway outside the ballroom is long and white, leading to the cafeteria on one side, and flanked by two heavy metal doors that lead to the huge stairway of the student center on the other. My heels click on the tile, echoing in the silence, making me edgy.
"Cecillia." the hiss comes from behind me, toward the stairway, its slight breathlessnes showing that the person doesn't want to attract un-needed attention.
"Val?"
"I'm so sorry! Grant and Maria have been all over me the past few weeks," she looks at her feet, a little embarassed, "Kent said that you were worried about me."
"Are you ok?" I grab her arms, turning them over and over, searching her face and neck, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No! Cecillia!" she grabs my face, focusing my eyes on hers, "He hasn't hurt me. Will you please tell me what happened?"
Face Time (2)
"For that thing that you don't want to talk about, right?"
I nod, "He was incredibly ticked- with good reason, of course. But, he found me on Monday. I was lucky 'cause his girlfriend came to warn me, so I had the guys out there with me. But they both- him and Maria- looked like they could kill me on the spot. And now, I'm kind of scared- for me and the girlfriend."
Jess gets up and moves in front of me, gently lifting my face up to his so that wwe are eye-to-eye and cradles my chin. "Babygirl, I know that you don't want to, but it's time for you to tell me what happened with this guy."
I nod, "He was incredibly ticked- with good reason, of course. But, he found me on Monday. I was lucky 'cause his girlfriend came to warn me, so I had the guys out there with me. But they both- him and Maria- looked like they could kill me on the spot. And now, I'm kind of scared- for me and the girlfriend."
Jess gets up and moves in front of me, gently lifting my face up to his so that wwe are eye-to-eye and cradles my chin. "Babygirl, I know that you don't want to, but it's time for you to tell me what happened with this guy."
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Face Time
I haven't seen or heard from Val in three days and am starting to get worried.
"Why are you so fricking jumpy tonight, babygirl?" Jess demands. For the past couple of hours, we have been laying on my bed, watching a movie. Ok. Correction: Jess has been watching a movie. I have been jumping at the slightest sound, getting up to check and recheck the lock on my door, and compulsively grabbing my phone to make absolutely sure for the ten-thousandth time that I haven't missed any calls.
I sigh. There is a reason I haven't told Jess anything about Grant. He was incredibly hot-tempered, and very protective of me. If I tell him, I will either soon be down at the police station (to bail him out if he is stupid enough to get caught) or to give an alibi for him (if he isn't).
"It's about your ex, isn't it?" he asks, his voice a low rumble in my ear. I nod and his arms tighten around me. I put a restraining hand on his arm.
"Swear that you won't do anything stupid." I command, feeling a bit paranoid, but knowing that I have a very good reason to be. He gives a quick, stiff nod behind me. "Well, during Spring Break, Mags and I kind of went and trashed his car. And his dorm door. Kind of payback, really late payback."
"Why are you so fricking jumpy tonight, babygirl?" Jess demands. For the past couple of hours, we have been laying on my bed, watching a movie. Ok. Correction: Jess has been watching a movie. I have been jumping at the slightest sound, getting up to check and recheck the lock on my door, and compulsively grabbing my phone to make absolutely sure for the ten-thousandth time that I haven't missed any calls.
I sigh. There is a reason I haven't told Jess anything about Grant. He was incredibly hot-tempered, and very protective of me. If I tell him, I will either soon be down at the police station (to bail him out if he is stupid enough to get caught) or to give an alibi for him (if he isn't).
"It's about your ex, isn't it?" he asks, his voice a low rumble in my ear. I nod and his arms tighten around me. I put a restraining hand on his arm.
"Swear that you won't do anything stupid." I command, feeling a bit paranoid, but knowing that I have a very good reason to be. He gives a quick, stiff nod behind me. "Well, during Spring Break, Mags and I kind of went and trashed his car. And his dorm door. Kind of payback, really late payback."
The Unnamed Nightmare
“I hate Mondays!” Maria moans, flopping onto Grant’s bed and jarring both me and his laptop, balanced on my lap.
I laugh, “Well then you and Garfield have something in common.”
“Wonderful,” she groans, “I have something in weight with an overweight orange cat.” She lifts her face slightly up from its burrow on Grant’s comforter.”Grant, you almost done with that coffee?” she calls.
“It’s goin’ Maria.” He replies, coming over to sit beside me on the bed. Maria buries her face back in the covers.
After Grant and Maria’s last class of the day, we all came back to Grant’s room to rest and relax. He made coffee and heats up the leftover pizza from his dinner last night, and Maria and I settle on his bed, happily engrossed in Scooby Doo’s Mystery Cruise.
Grants leans over, kissing my neck and I smile, growling deep in my throat: my one weak spot and he finds it within a week. Maria sits, curled up in a blanket, watching the movie, and doesn’t even look up when I turn around, wrapping my fingers in Grant’s hair and kissing him. He picks me up, carrying me into his small, box-like bathroom, and sets me down, kissing down my neck and chest. His hands stray to the button on my jeans.
“Grant.” I say, pulling his hands away, setting them firmly on my waist.
“Cecillia, please?” he asks, pushing me against the wall and kissing me harder. “I really want you.” His hands are back at my jeans; I try to push him off, but his full weight has me pressed against the wall, pining me.
“Grant. No. I don’t want to.” I say, seeing the outline of his face in the darkness. I’ve heard about rape, but never thought that it would happen to me, especially with Grant.
“C’mon, Cecillia. You got me all worked up. You don’t want to be a tease, do you?” he hisses into my ear, pulling my hand down to his zipper as he speaks. I pull my hand away as if I’ve been burned, while my mind starts working over time: Doesn’t no mean anything to this guy? Maybe if I just keep saying it, he’ll stop, just ‘cause I get annoying, right? He won’t go through with this, not with Maria in the other room! Doesn’t he realize that I tell her everything?
“Grant, no. Stop. I don’t want to.” I plead. I say it forcefully. I repeat it until it gets annoying, even to me. He has me pinned; I try to push him off with my hips and legs, since my arms are pinned, but he just takes it as a sign of passion and pulls me closer, groaning through lips mashed against mine. He has my jeans unbuttoned, one hand inside of my underware. Finally, I do all that I have left- I zone out, focusing on one corner of the ceiling. I feel as if I’ve just gone completely numb, as if every emotion that I could possibly feel ever has drained out of me, and now there is just nothingness. After what feels like two or three eternities, Maria knocks on the door.
“Yall have been in there forever!” she whines. “Kyle says that if you shake it more than twice, you’re playing with yourself.”
Grant laughs and I get up, dressing slowly, knives and long knitting needles stabbing every inch of my body below the waist. I’m thankful that my best friend has come to my rescue, somewhere deep down in the part of my mind that never really shuts down. Pulling up my jeans, I run my fingers through my hopelessly knotted hair and avoid Grant’s eyes, following me around, even as he pulls his own clothes back on. I run my hands over my face and closed eyes and feel moisture- I was crying and didn’t even realize it, something that , up until now, I thought only happens in books and movies.
I walk out in front of him, still feeling as if there was a gauze veil separating me from the rest of the world. Grant was- as my great Grandpa would say- smiling like a pig in shit, as was Maria, making me feel like I have missed out on some huge joke that they have been told, and they aren’t willing to let me in on it quite yet.
Admittedly, I was embarrassed. Quickly, I left the dorm, head to my car and, after I get there, sit with my head propped up on the steering wheel, replaying the whole scenario in my head. I should have fought, I think, and suddenly feeling dirty, all the way down to my bones. I strip off Grant’s sweatshirt and throw it into the backseat. My hands shake as I try to pick up my phone and call someone, anyone, to come get me; but, if I call someone, I argue, there are going to be questions, serious ones that I don’t want to answer. Again, I replay the episode: I stopped saying “no”, right? I didn’t fight him, or even attempt to. No one in their right mind would call what happened rape. Rape is like those videos they show us in P.E. when we were in middle school: when they hit and clawed; where the boys had beat them up to make them still enough to finish what they wanted. In none of those videos did the girl give in. No, what happened was just sex, that was all.
I drive home, still in a fog, and get into the shower as soon as I walk in the door. The hot water runs and runs, fogging up the mirror, the steam making it hard to breathe. When I feel as if my lungs will explode for the humidity, I open the bathroom, then get back in until the water runs cold.
Yeah, it was just sex.
I laugh, “Well then you and Garfield have something in common.”
“Wonderful,” she groans, “I have something in weight with an overweight orange cat.” She lifts her face slightly up from its burrow on Grant’s comforter.”Grant, you almost done with that coffee?” she calls.
“It’s goin’ Maria.” He replies, coming over to sit beside me on the bed. Maria buries her face back in the covers.
After Grant and Maria’s last class of the day, we all came back to Grant’s room to rest and relax. He made coffee and heats up the leftover pizza from his dinner last night, and Maria and I settle on his bed, happily engrossed in Scooby Doo’s Mystery Cruise.
Grants leans over, kissing my neck and I smile, growling deep in my throat: my one weak spot and he finds it within a week. Maria sits, curled up in a blanket, watching the movie, and doesn’t even look up when I turn around, wrapping my fingers in Grant’s hair and kissing him. He picks me up, carrying me into his small, box-like bathroom, and sets me down, kissing down my neck and chest. His hands stray to the button on my jeans.
“Grant.” I say, pulling his hands away, setting them firmly on my waist.
“Cecillia, please?” he asks, pushing me against the wall and kissing me harder. “I really want you.” His hands are back at my jeans; I try to push him off, but his full weight has me pressed against the wall, pining me.
“Grant. No. I don’t want to.” I say, seeing the outline of his face in the darkness. I’ve heard about rape, but never thought that it would happen to me, especially with Grant.
“C’mon, Cecillia. You got me all worked up. You don’t want to be a tease, do you?” he hisses into my ear, pulling my hand down to his zipper as he speaks. I pull my hand away as if I’ve been burned, while my mind starts working over time: Doesn’t no mean anything to this guy? Maybe if I just keep saying it, he’ll stop, just ‘cause I get annoying, right? He won’t go through with this, not with Maria in the other room! Doesn’t he realize that I tell her everything?
“Grant, no. Stop. I don’t want to.” I plead. I say it forcefully. I repeat it until it gets annoying, even to me. He has me pinned; I try to push him off with my hips and legs, since my arms are pinned, but he just takes it as a sign of passion and pulls me closer, groaning through lips mashed against mine. He has my jeans unbuttoned, one hand inside of my underware. Finally, I do all that I have left- I zone out, focusing on one corner of the ceiling. I feel as if I’ve just gone completely numb, as if every emotion that I could possibly feel ever has drained out of me, and now there is just nothingness. After what feels like two or three eternities, Maria knocks on the door.
“Yall have been in there forever!” she whines. “Kyle says that if you shake it more than twice, you’re playing with yourself.”
Grant laughs and I get up, dressing slowly, knives and long knitting needles stabbing every inch of my body below the waist. I’m thankful that my best friend has come to my rescue, somewhere deep down in the part of my mind that never really shuts down. Pulling up my jeans, I run my fingers through my hopelessly knotted hair and avoid Grant’s eyes, following me around, even as he pulls his own clothes back on. I run my hands over my face and closed eyes and feel moisture- I was crying and didn’t even realize it, something that , up until now, I thought only happens in books and movies.
I walk out in front of him, still feeling as if there was a gauze veil separating me from the rest of the world. Grant was- as my great Grandpa would say- smiling like a pig in shit, as was Maria, making me feel like I have missed out on some huge joke that they have been told, and they aren’t willing to let me in on it quite yet.
Admittedly, I was embarrassed. Quickly, I left the dorm, head to my car and, after I get there, sit with my head propped up on the steering wheel, replaying the whole scenario in my head. I should have fought, I think, and suddenly feeling dirty, all the way down to my bones. I strip off Grant’s sweatshirt and throw it into the backseat. My hands shake as I try to pick up my phone and call someone, anyone, to come get me; but, if I call someone, I argue, there are going to be questions, serious ones that I don’t want to answer. Again, I replay the episode: I stopped saying “no”, right? I didn’t fight him, or even attempt to. No one in their right mind would call what happened rape. Rape is like those videos they show us in P.E. when we were in middle school: when they hit and clawed; where the boys had beat them up to make them still enough to finish what they wanted. In none of those videos did the girl give in. No, what happened was just sex, that was all.
I drive home, still in a fog, and get into the shower as soon as I walk in the door. The hot water runs and runs, fogging up the mirror, the steam making it hard to breathe. When I feel as if my lungs will explode for the humidity, I open the bathroom, then get back in until the water runs cold.
Yeah, it was just sex.
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