The Pink Carpet

She is sitting in the middle of the floor in a room decorated all in white and pink. Decorated for a girl becoming a woman, even though she is not quite there yet. It is an innocent room, with walls that have never heard of the worldly injustices or starvation and hunger, walls that still believe in fairytales and 'happily ever after'.

The girl on the floor does not quite belong in the room anymore. Maybe she did, once, but it must have been a long time ago. A bit strange that, considering she is no more than 16 years old. Hardly old enough to have seen the darker side of life, those that her parents talk about when they think she is not listening.

Her heart sped faster and faster as the train came closer and closer to its final destination. For every second that went by she traveled further and further from the security of home and closer and closer to Him. Her nervousness grew steadily. She could not believe she was actually on her way! Her journey had been long and hard, filled with lies to her parents and wonderful phone calls to him.

The girl on the floor sighs heavily and shifts to find a better position for her legs. The pink carpet feels rough against her skin, and for a moment she considers moving to the bed instead. But thoughts of action seldom lead to more. She remains on the floor.

"Would you like some wine?"

She had never drunk wine before, but admitting that would be truly embarrassing! She nodded and he poured her a glass. It tasted bitter and she did not like it, but surely he would consider her to be a child if she asked for soda instead.

He had made tacos for dinner, her favorite. It tasted good, but she was all too aware of him sitting there, watching her. She was afraid she would spill her wine or make a mess of the food. She wondered how they would spend the rest of the weekend.

Wine… She had never liked it. The acrid taste made her throat feel like a desert that had not gotten water for decades. She still told her parents she had never tasted alcohol. Should they ever find out she was lying… The thought made her shudder where she sat.

They sat quiet for a long time in the sofa. She picked up an old newspaper and turned the pages absent-mindedly. Once again she was aware of the warmth from his body beside hers. He thought she was experienced; at least that was what she had told him. What would he say if he found out she was a virgin? She did not dare tell him. She put the newspaper back on the table but did not dare to speak. The silence was becoming unbearable.

"Come a little bit closer", he said and smiled.

It warmed her body and she moved closer, still hesitant. He was so warm and her heart beat like crazy. He put his hand on hers and reached for her chin with the other. Gently he moved her face towards his and kissed her sweetly. It was not her first kiss, but definitely better. She was nervous now, did not know what to say or do.

The kisses became deeper, more serious. It was going too fast, they were moving too fast! She pulled back an inch and he felt her hesitation. He stopped for a moment to look at her. She saw she question in his eyes but still she did not say anything. He got up and reached for her hand, led her into the bedroom. He asked her to lie down on the bed and she cautiously did. She still did not know how to behave. He smiled and lay down next to her.

A drop of blood finds its way from her palm to the pink carpet. Her nails have made deep scratches on her hand and arm. She is not even aware of what she has done. She sees the blood, ponders over the stain on the carpet, but she still cannot see it comes from her. She cannot feel the pain of the wound or the salty tears on her cheeks and lips. She hardly knows where she is. All that is real is her heart – its steady beating and the ache that never subsides.

"I'm a virgin", she blurted afraid that it she did not say it fast he would become angry.

But he just looked at her and smiled. His hand strokes her hair and she was comforted by his touch. He leaned over and whispered in her ear that it does not matter. His hand moved from her hair over her shoulder and down her body. She shifts, unable to decide whether she liked it or not. He catches her eye, and she could see the pleading. He said nothing, but she could feel he was excited through his clothes. She did not want to, not yet, not like this.

"Please" he begged. She did not dare to say no. Where would she go if she did? She did not know anybody here and she had nothing besides the ticket for the train the next day. Besides, she did not even know where the train station was. After moments of hesitation she let him take her clothes off.

Another tear runs down her cheek. Again, it tastes like salt. She cannot be strong anymore, she cannot hold back. She lets the pain come and the tears with it. Burying her face in her hands she cries. The girl sitting on the pink carpet in the middle of a room cries. But the tears cannot heal her. They cannot make the pain go away and they cannot make her pure again. She cries now as she did then. She cries, and it does not matter, just as it was then.

It took time before the bleeding subsided. For a while she was afraid it would not, that she would have to go to a hospital. When she came out from the bathroom he is in the bed, his back facing her. When he heard her he turns towards her and smiles. She smiled back bleakly and lay down gently beside him. He talked, but she did not hear what he was saying. She was cold and she shivered when he slowly brushed his fingers against her naked skin. She sighs inside, but what does she have to protect anymore? Why should she refuse him now?

She remembers everything as if it happened yesterday. How cold he acted in the morning, how they barely spoke until she was leaving. On the train back she had sat in a corner crying, watching the happy children playing. Her heart was once again speeding, like it had on her way here. The difference now was that she knew there was no hope, no fairytale endings. There would be no 'happily ever after' for her. Life is no story.

Looking back she blames herself for not realizing sooner that he was only taking advantage of her. But a girl who has grown up in a room decorated in white and pink still believes that fairytales comes from reality. But as she sat there now, in the middle of that pink carpet in the room that belonged to the dead naïve girl, she knows with such certainty it hurt, that fairytales do not come true. There are no princes. Life is no story.

"Honey, there's someone calling for you. A boy named Michael."

The girl slowly lifts her head and smiles. When she reaches for the phone a scar on her arm is clearly visible along with several drops of dried blood.