Tell Me What's Wrong
By DaveTheWordsmith
Disclaimer: Boondocks is owned by Sony Pictures Digital Inc. and Aaron McGruder. All the copyrights associated with Boondocks belong to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.
Chapter Two: March 29th, 20XX
The last thing Jazmine wanted to do was look at her face in the mirror, spot the dark, deep cut on the bridge of her nose, and shriek in pain. Her once soft, flawless face was gone and would never return. Every cosmetic product known to man would not remove the itchy scar, a scar inflicted by a person so vile, so disgusting that she would vomit at the thought of his masked face. Jazmine stared at her visage in the mirror, moving her hand, palm outward, toward the clean glass. A faint smile on her face would make anyone that knew her for her entire life wonder who went and kidnapped the real Jazmine and replaced her with an unauthentic carbon copy. She reached back to feel her orange-reddish hair, unkempt and frizzy from lack of care and attention. Growling, she pulled on both large puffs on the back of her head, in a mixture of what she felt to be frustration and anger.
Staring at the woman in the mirror, she murmured after a raspy growl, "Why are you so retarded? Why?"
"Because you let yourself become that way."
Jazmine's hands dropped to her side. She had to be dreaming. Her twin in the mirror frowned at her real-life counterpart, arms crossed, her red, wool sweater gleaming from the bright light in the room.
The real Jazmine leaned closer to the mirror, her hands on the counter in front of the sink. "What?"
Her reflection shook her head. "I've tried to talk to you before, for the past eight years, since that day…"
Jazmine finished the sentence in her head. Her eyebrows furrowed at what she said, that would have sounded like silence to anyone but herself. That day…you were raped.
Tears formed in her eyes, piling higher and higher under her eye. As the water overflowed and slid down both cheeks, she turned her head away from the mirror. Her lips quivered. Her shoulders moved up and down from the intense sobs that came from her wrinkled up face.
Her twin shook her head. "Look at me," she said. She frowned, her lips twisted up in disgust. "I said, look at me, Jazmine!"
Jazmine turned her back to her doppelganger trapped in the mirror. She frowned, her nose and lips twisted. "No! Leave me alone!" she said, after a few more cries.
"Face it Jazmine, you can't. I'm you, and you're me. I'll never leave you alone. Until the day you die, you have to see me, hear me, even feel me.
"For eighteen years, I kept quiet. I thought you would learn on your own about what to do and what not to do. But it turns out I was wrong. I warned you not to sleep in your bedroom. Remember when I suggested you go over to the Freeman's? But no, you didn't wanna listen."
As her subconscious went on with her soliloquy, giving the vivid, detailed story from her past, Jazmine watched her tears drip down to the pink tile, her bare feet, facing each other in an in-toe formation. She jammed her thumb in her mouth, in an attempt to stifle her cry.
"Jazmine," her other self said. "The only way you can get over this is to talk about it."
"No, now leave me alone," she said.
She left the bathroom, not acknowledging her reflection as she passed the large mirror, and sneaked into bed. Within minutes, she found herself in sleepy land.
A few hours later, Jazmine's own scream shook her from a deep, intense slumber. She couldn't close her eyes again, or else the shadowy figure would return in her mind. The shadows that surrounded her darkened bedroom made her shiver. She brought her blanket higher up, above her chest to her neck. Her pink fingernails dug deep into the cotton sheets and fleece comforter. She jumped at the heavy whirling of a helicopter. Its bright lights flashed into her room. The dresser littered with toys, stuffed animals and other jewelry she owned since she was ten came into view for a split second, then returned to darkness.
A tear slipped down her face, then another, and another.
The memories came back.
Of being violated.
Of being raped.
The evil laugh he uttered in her ear before he threw her on the very same bed, tied her with chains to the headboard, pinned her down, ripped off her blouse, struggled with her bra before it finally came off. His loud, citrus-y cologne that made her throw up in her own mouth, she couldn't take it. As he was about to kiss her, she slammed him in the head with her own, anything to make him stop. If her legs were free, she would've done much worse. Her attack did not work.
Her reward: a huge slap to the face. Then one more. And one more. One last one made her break. Jazmine wailed like she never had before. Her yells could've destroyed every piece of glass in the house once she saw him take off his jeans, his boxers, then her jeans, move her panties to the side, and force himself in her. She could feel her whole face grow tenser and hot, her face never before felt so hot and cold at the same time. She buckled and moaned in extreme pain with each stroke he inflicted to her entrance. His hand grabbed her face that moved from side to side, so she could only look into his light brown eyes, ones that made her think of him. Jazmine felt her lips shrink and suck backward into her mouth as he kissed her lips, her neck, everywhere north of her chest. He brought another hand to her face, this time a whack to her cheek.
Stop your cryin', bitch! I said, stop cryin'!
Jazmine only cried more, which made her oppressor more aggressive, pumping his phallus with more force than before. She felt it stop all of a sudden, only to scream as he turned her around, her back facing him. She wanted to throw up all over his face the moment he brought his gloved hand over to her ass, squeezed it and swarmed it as if he were checking a melon for ripeness, then smacked it in a downward motion.
Huey! Huey! Help me!
As he entered her again, she felt her lips whisper the name of her first and only true love, wishing she could have said his name the same way she yelled it in her mind. The fact he couldn't, the fact he was in Washington D.C. for an important Pro-Black Coalition meeting, it made her almost collapse. She yelped as he smacked her ass again and again and again. His heavy breathing hit the back of her neck, her head right in front of his thanks to his hand that snatched a handful of her hair and jerked her to him.
Time to leave you a present you'll never forget.
Her cries overcame his moans and outcries, warning her he was gonna come: not for her, but inside her. She wished her life could come to an end. Come to an end so she could watch her soul float above her body and thank God for saving her from enduring the rest of the unbearable, searing, piercing, unspeakable pain.
As soon as he finished, he sent her crashing face first into the bed. She didn't care he set her free from bondage, she only worried that what she saved for who she wished to be her husband, was now gone. Her cries turned into deep, dark sobs and nasty coughing fits. The mattress sank less now that she knew he was gone. Her bedroom door slammed shut.
Looks like I killed you the way these bed sheets are lookin'.
She didn't need to look under her, nor did she want to. She knew it was her own bodily fluid, a sign she had lost her chastity, her virginity. His voice before he left made her throw up everything she had bubbling in her stomach. Luckily it ended up on the floor on the side of the bed.
As Jazmine returned to the present, she buried her face in her palms. She wondered how she was able to cry so much over the past eight years over the same memory, one that haunted her every night, one that she kept a secret.
"Jazmine?"
She jumped at the sudden call of her name. She turned to her right. Huey's stern face somehow made itself completely visible in the darkness. He lay under the covers next to her, his eyes not leaving hers. "Hmm?"
"You all right?"
She picked at imaginary balls of lint on the blanket. She returned back under the covers with Huey. "Yes. I'm fine."
Jazmine turned her back to him, unable to face him. She couldn't tell him the truth. The fact that their daughter might not be…
Her face shrank into a silent cry, the impact of the feeling that she lied about it only being Huey's child finally hitting her. She realized she wasn't only crying for lying about it to Huey. She knew it would hurt Zora if she knew the truth. If she knew the truth.
"Jazmine."
Freezing cold chills ran up her spine. When he usually called her, it was in the form of a question. This time, it was more of a command.
"Jazmine. Tell me the truth."
She swallowed the large ball of mucus that welled up at the very top of her throat.
Please don't ask, Huey…please don't ask, she repeated to herself. She faced Huey, almost unable to see him from the wall of water over her eyes.
"The truth about what?"
Huey slanted his head a little, as if to ask if Jazmine seriously had to ask. Her head sank deeper in her pillow as she waited for Huey's response.
"About Zora."
At this point, Huey had grown to one hundred feet tall while she became a small army figure in terms of how much she felt so embarrassed about something she should have confessed years ago.
"What about Zora?"
"Am I Zora's biological father?"
. . .
Note: I'd like to thank Secrets4theunderground, KrisB.723 and Darkgene1988 for reviewing the first chapter. I can't thank you enough for the feedback. Once again, school made it impossible to put this up at the time I wanted, but it's better than nothing.
One other thing: it was probably obvious from the beginning, but I had to bump the story rating up from T to M because of this chapter, but this was the only one that needs it.
