July 6, 2011
By Anonymous

I stiffened as I turned the corner, staring into translucent brown eyes shimmering back at me. I froze. Was I terrified? No. I knew him. I trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt me. He was my brother. I sighed, laughing at my sudden nervous idiocy and tried to slip around him to my room. Just as I was about to pass him, he grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. I could see something I’d never seen before in his eyes. I was unquestionably terrified.

Trying to push myself away, I pressed my palms against his chest and yanked my head back. “What are you doing? Let go of me.”

His hands tightened around my wrist s as he pulled me closer. “Be quiet so no one hears,” he said, covering my mouth and pulling me into the kitchen. “Now,” he whispered, “I’m going to let go and you are going to walk down the stairs and into my room. And you better not make a sound.”

He let go and I tried to sprint into my room, but he grabbed my wrist again and wrenched me to the stairs. “Get down there.”

Not knowing what to do, I take a couple steps down the stairs and stop. “What is this? What are you doing?”

“You’ll find out,” he said, pushing me down a stair.

“I don’t understand.” I honestly didn’t. It wasn’t something someone could actually be used to enough to know what to do when it happened. It wasn’t the sort of thing I had been exposed to. “Please just tell me what is happening so I can stop scaring myself.”

“But you should be scared, Jeana. This isn’t too good for you. It’s not going to end that way either. Just keep walking.”

Not knowing what to make of it, I make myself go another few steps, only to trip on myself and fall down the rest.

“Geesh, Jeana. You’re so clumsy.” He smiled down at me trying to pick myself up. “Get up now,” he demanded.
That’s about the time my mind shut off for a while because the next thing I knew, I was in his room, door locked, lights off, and completely naked. This was probably a good thing because of what I’ve heard, the undressing is the worst part. I wouldn’t know about that, but I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as what most girls go through because my clothes were in perfect shape in a neat little pile on the right side of his bed. I find it weird to notice that before anything else, but, as I said, this was a completely new thing to me.
A sharp pain came from between my legs. I glanced down passed my stomach, sickened at what I saw. He wasn’t doing this. This wasn’t happening. I start to cry.
“Don’t cry,” he demanded, slapping me across the face. “Act like you like it.” Smacking again, he laughed.
Pain shooting through my body, I whimper. “I can’t. It hurts stop. Stop. Please stop.”
“Act like you like it,” he demands again, shoving himself further inside me.
Right then, I asked myself why people did that. Sex, unlike what I’ve heard, is actually extremely painful. How could it be? This was because it was rape; not sex. I’ve been told the real thing is actually pretty amazing. I wish I could believe it.
Feeling like he was trying to rip my insides apart, my stomach began to revolt,. “W-.” I take in a deep breath, feeling another pain from inside me.
“Like. You. Like. It,” he demands.
“Stop. Stop. Please stop,” I cry. “I’ll do anything. Just stop. Please stop. Stop.” I try to push him away and slide off the bed, but he was too strong, holding me in place and moving in and out, pain coming from both movements.
“No. Stop squirming. Not until I’m done.” Smiling slightly, he punches me. “Now act like you like it.”
I could taste blood. “This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. It’s all a dream and I’ll wake up soon. This isn’t real,” I told myself.
“Oh, it’s real. It’s very real.”
“No. It’s not. Shut up. This isn’t happening to me.”
“It feels real, doesn’t it?”
“No,” I lie, “It doesn’t.”
He pushes himself further inside me. “How about now?” he asks. “And now?” He laughs and punches me again. “It should feel real. It’s very real.”
Looking up, I saw the creature smile, its lips spreading to reveal so much more than teeth.
To think this started out normal; like my life was completely the same as it had been for nine years. That’s because it was; it was normal. That was before: before it all changed and my life fell apart; before the pieces of me were scattered; before my world, and everything in it, was torn apart beyond repair; before I’d wake up screaming in the middle of the night because of nightmares of that day happening again and again…

Rape. Do you even realize the affect this has on a person? June 27th: the day permanently etched into my mind. This is not because of a birthday or a holiday; this is the day I lost myself. No, this is the day I was taken from myself. I’ve cried too many tears for seven years over this, thinking it was my fault. I only now realize it wasn’t. Those nights I purposefully kept myself awake in case he’d come again was all for nothing. He wasn’t going to come again. Sure, I was weak and hopeless, and doing it again would be so easy – so effortless – but he wouldn’t. He was afraid, just as I was.
And, the stupid part is: I like it because it happened to me; not some other helpless nine-year-old. As much as I hate that it happened, I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else, and, unfortunately, it made me who I am today.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!