SLAM! The door shut. He looked at me, eyes staring triumphantly into my soul. Funny thing was, it was a girl's room.
"You're mine," he half-sneered, half-commented. His shameless, cold-blooded eyes smiled at me, like he was eyeing a particularly juicy piece of meat. Then he reached for me.
Thirty minutes later, I was still sitting on the dirty bathroom floor where he'd tossed me aside. The predator had left without a trace. Nothing but a ruined dress and invisible emotional damage was left. The tears flowed from my eyes, only a miniscule portrayal of the grief and shame I felt inside.
You always hear it happening to other people. Never you. But when it does, it's like someone dumps a bucket of ice water on you in winter. You never expect it, yet it's always waiting, watching. It breaks promises, shatters hopes, and crushes dreams like a rose under a stampede of cows.
I'd been raped.
It started out all right. I wished my friends a happy Valentines Day and daydreamed the day away. Not only did I have the most AWESOME date for the dance that evening, but they were going to have heart-shaped cookies in the cafeteria! I received four valentines from secret admirers (I knew who three were) and as I rode home on the bus, I couldn't wait for that evening.
I primed and polished, primped and pampered, scrubbed and rubbed. I zipped, puffed, painted, washed, dried, styled, fretted, restarted, ect, ect. Finally the time came. I grabbed a few dollars for the admission and headed out the door. Just so all you guys know, it's part of the ritual of getting ready for a big event to make a big deal out of getting ready. It's a girl thing.
I gracefully slipped out of my dad's (recently "car-washed"), big white work truck. The silver accents in my black, fluffy trim caught the light and my, sleek yet flattering, red dress screamed "Hey! Look at me! You're not the only ones who can look good!" A relatively short, "soccer-boy" lean, brown-and-blond shaggy-haired guy took my hand as we walked into the loud auditorium.
We were 'fashionably late', so a slow song was already starting up. He gracefully took my hand (I'm guessing all the plays and Singsations last year helped a bit) and we slow-danced as graceful as two leaves floating gently through the air. However, all good things can't last. The song ended and another fast-paced, rap song started up. Yuck.
I excused myself from the dance floor and headed down to the cafeteria where I got a drink and sat down with a couple of my friends. Eventually we started acting like three drunk old dudes at a bar. It was hilarious. Eventually I had to pee, so I bade them farewell and headed up the stairs.
A guy that looked familiar (at the least) stopped me in the hallway. "What's up?"
"The ceiling. May I pass please?"
"Where are you headed?"
"…The bathroom…" I said cautiously. He said nothing more but followed me as I finished my trek up the stairs. As I turned to walk into the bathroom, he opened the door, pushed me inside, came in himself, and locked the door.
"What is your problem?!?"
"You a virgin?"
I didn't like where this conversation was headed. "I was raped when I was little…"
"How'd it feel?"
I REALLY didn't like where this conversation was headed. "I felt kinda guilty, like it was my fault… He hurt me."
"Great. So you know what to expect."
By this point I was starting to get the feeling that I really should be leaving. So I made a move to go to the door, but he blocked my path.
He grabbed me and ripped at my black sparkly fringe. I called out "Edward! Edward help me!" The door was too thick and by my third cry, he had covered my mouth. I could only watch as more destruction of my body and heart was committed.
As the culprit left, I found no strength to stand from where he tossed me aside, having gotten what he wanted. I had no strength to call out for help; just enough to mutter his name as he opened the window and escaped into the night.