Alright, now some of y'all got me pissed. To those who sent me reviews and messages saying that the rape scene was pointless, lemme tell you a little somethin' somethin':
One in four women will be raped or molested in their lifetime. One in thirty three men will be raped or molested in the time they're in college alone. There's a reason I didn't mark the prior chapter as a Lemon, as I did with my other stories. That's because rape isn't sexy. It's not fun or happy, and that's why it had a disclaimer and wasn't marked as a Lemon. BECAUSE IT WASN'T A GOOD THING! Rape and molestation happens every day, and most people have one of two responses: they sexualize it, or ignore it. This story is marked Mature. The chapter had a disclaimer. If you didn't like it because the content was too mature or raw, I apologize, but I gave all the precautions necessary. If you just didn't like it just because your horny self just wanted fapfiction, then move along; all my stories have an actual plotline, sorry I couldn't satisfy your needs, I'm sure someone else will. To those of you who didn't like it because the attacker was a female, and the victim a male, first of, just get out. If you're so naïve to think only men are attackers, I don't even want you reading this. And, finally, to those who didn't like it because the attacker was the "hot" girl, or because you favor Nazz, please take a moment to understand that just because someone is attractive doesn't mean they can do whatever they want. Consent is everything; one in four victims of sexual attacks know their attackers. 80% of rapes aren't ever reported, and it's arguable that that's because victims are afraid of being blamed for their being attacked. This story covers controversial topics. Deal with it. Rape isn't "pointless." It can happen at any time to anyone, and it's time we stop shying away from the topic or sexualizing it.
To those who are either supportive, or criticize the story in a constructive way (i.e, suggesting different sentence structure, criticize the pace, or are helping with the actual format, and NOT the story line) thank you. This is a website where I can write about whatever I want, and your reviews can either be constructive, or you can leave.
This chapter has some coarse language.
My alarm screeched in my ear early the next morning, bringing me to a startled awakening, suddenly upright and dripping with cold sweat. My eyes scanned the room, searching for the threat, and slowly, the nightmares of the night faded, and something worse took their place; reality. I turned off the alarm, and stared out my window. Yesterday, I had hopped out of bed, chipper and ready to further my educational endeavors. Today, I felt numb. The red numbers on the clock read 6:00am. The far eastern horizon was the slightest lighter shade of blue, the sunrise happily ringing in a new day. It made me sick.
I pulled the covers over my head and hid in my tiny fabric enclave of safety. I felt time ticking by; at this rate, I'd be late for first period. Any other day, I would've tore through the house, a whirlwind of stuttered exclamations in an empty house, my mother and father's cars already missing from the garage. Slowly, I fell into an interspatial limbo; time passed slowly and quickly, and I was not awake or asleep. The world was grey, my skin was grey, my emotions grey.
I'd read plenty on the human brain and the psychological occurrences. Perhaps it was too soon, but I was fairly certain I'd fallen to the common disease of depression. I'd also read that patients can feel relief at a diagnosis; a label to what was wrong with them, and if something had a label, it was treatable, maybe curable. I myself was a lover of labels; my entire personal sanctuary was labeled, from the bedpost to the stapler across the room on my desk.
I wish I felt relief. Wait, no. I wish I wished to feel relief. I didn't even want to feel better. I didn't want or feel anything. The night before was a mental scar that I couldn't rid myself of. I felt skin on skin, nails dragging, panted breathes. I trembled as I was assaulted by my own brain, my friend all these years savagely turning into my perpetrator. It flashed images and memories, reminding me of what had happened.
Why? The word played, a scratched vinyl, whispering through my mind. These things weren't supposed to happen, not to me, not in this cul-de-sac. We'd grown up together, and never in a million year would I have imagined….
I grew hungry. I didn't care enough to get up. I grew hot. I didn't bother to toss of the blankets; I didn't want to see the sun and its damn cheerful rays. I eventually had to use the restroom, and when I crawled out from underneath the musty comforter and the room was a warm yellow with optimistic light, I shut the blinds. Everything was grey. I used the restroom, and I, the germ phobic neat freak, didn't wash my hands. I wished my skin would crawl. I wished I'd gag in disgust and rush to the sink, dousing myself in soap and scrubbing until the backs of my hands were raw, muttering, "filthy, filthy, filthy." But I didn't.
The doorbell rang, and I shrank deeper into my mattress, willing the delivery guy or the solicitor or whomever it was to disappear. I heard the front door handle jiggle and the creak as the wood swung open, and I fought the urge to hide; they must've used the spare key I'd shown them in cases of emergency. Ed and Eddy's loud voices trailed from downstairs, and I heard the fridge open and close before I heard their pounding footsteps on the stairs. It'd be no time at all, until they crossed the landing, walked down the hall….
"Hey, Sockhead, where were you today?" Eddy's jarring voice asked as the crisp pop of a soda can clipped the air. I stayed hidden under the covers, my cocoon of warmth keeping them outside. The blankets lifted away, and Ed peered at me, curious and slightly worried.
"Double D, are you feeling well?" he asked, his goofy voice as somber as it could possibly be. His hand pressed to my forehead, and my voice, which hadn't been used all day, cracked from my dry lips.
"No, I believe I have the flu," I lied, trying to sneak back into the darkness.
"Well," Eddy slurped, wiping some dribbled refreshment from his upper lip, "keep away from me. I don't need to get sick."
"We were looking for you today, Double D," Ed smiled, sitting heavily on the bed near me. I shrank away a little, not wanting to be touched.
"Yeah, I wanna' know how it went," Eddy grinned, winking at me. I felt nauseous. I stayed quiet, tugging nervously at my black hat. "Ya' know, how'd the tutor session go with Nazz?"
"She wasn't at school today either," Ed mused. "Maybe she stayed up late last night reading the New 52 comics."
"That's only the stupid things you do, Ed," Eddy growled, rolling his eyes. I quaked in my bed; did I dare to tell them the truth? Hot and cold mixed in my gut, screaming for both concealment and exposure. Eddy was looking at me expectantly, and his eyes were beginning narrow in suspicion and confusion. "Why are you all wrapped up like that, come on, get out and talk to us," he snorted.
"I don't want to," I muttered, staying in place. Eddy rolled his eyes and slurped more from the tin can loudly.
"Did you finally win the princess's heart, and spirit her away from the demons that held her prisoner?" Ed asked, smiling encouragingly at me. Not exactly, I thought in disgust.
"Ed, shut up," Eddy groaned, irritated. Ed ignored Eddy's snide command and smiled encouragingly, comfortable with who he was. I stayed quiet and tried to melt into the background, praying I'd be forgotten. I wasn't.
"Quit stalling, Sockhead, spill!" Eddy burped, tossing the still partially full can of soda into my waste reciprocal. My throat twisted shut, a tight ball forming in my neck, too large and too uncomfortable. Tears brimmed, words coiled, reality slammed against my chest.
I don't remember telling them what happened. I don't remember the break down or the flowing of the words or my shaky, gasping breaths as I struggled to stay afloat on the sea of last night, huge waves cresting and crashing against me, pulling me, dragging me down beneath the surface, down, down, down, drowning….
"Wow, you lucky dog," Eddy smirked at me. I broke from my mental torture, blinking in confusion.
"Pardon me?" I whispered.
"You're right where every guy in the neighborhood wants to be!" Eddy whooped, winking at me. "Wait till everyone else hears, you'll be like a hero!" I felt my insides clench, and I felt bile gather in the corners of my mouth. Ed looked between the two of us, confusion filling his eyes.
"Eddy, you're not getting it," I croaked. How do you explain this to one who doesn't see?
"I think I got enough, you sneaky little shit," he winked.
"That's not what happened," I protested, insulted.
"Didn't you just say that you and Nazz hooked up?" Eddy tilted his head in confusion.
"No! I most certainly did not!" I shouted, sitting up in bed, the covers flinging off my back.
"Well then, what happened?" Eddy shouted back, his ego flaring at my raised voice. My throat grew tight again; to give what happened a word, to say it aloud and label it would make it real.
"I didn't want it," I whispered, my quiet voice curling in the air, keeping to itself, trying not to be noticeable or take up room.
"Why?" Eddy snorted, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. "She's the biggest babe in school."
"I don't know," I mumbled, deflating.
"You should be grateful," Eddy stated. The room felt silent. Grateful? I thought incredulously. He had to be joking. Grateful for being a victim? I should've bowed and said thank you for forcing yourself on me? I should've been thankful, glad that out of all the sorry saps she chose me? I should consider myself lucky and gifted that I was victimized? "You're blowing this out of proportion, I think you should re-evaluate."
I leapt to my feet, my own shattered soul demanding me to fight. I didn't fight last night, but here, in this moment, I would fight now. I wouldn't be blamed for my attack.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" I screeched, stomping across the room and glaring down at my shorter comrade. "In what sense could you possibly rationalize that I should feel indebtedness?"
Eddy blinked up at me imbecilely. "You got to fuck Nazz, what are you fired up about?"
"Because I didn't want to!"
"She's the hottest chick in school, I don't get why it was a bad thing!"
"BECAUSE THERE WASN'T CONSENT, EDDY!" Silence rang in my ears. We stared at each other, his icy sneer met with the fire of my heated glare. A full minute ticked by, and Eddy and I never broke eye contact, our chests heaving. Ed's brow was furrowed in distress, his eyes zipping between the two of us, not understanding what was happening, upset that his best friends were fighting.
Eddy turned curtly on his heel and stalked out of my room. He thundered down the stairs, and I heard the front door slam. I crumbled. I sank into my mattress, sobbing heavily, kicking and punching the air, screaming in frustration and hate. Eddy didn't understand. He'd been blind.
My mind twisted in a whirl of incoherent thoughts. Of course "no" only meant something if it came from a girl. I was a boy; I was supposed to want anything, at anytime, no thought required, no one wanted to hear how a boy lost his voice in fear, how she was begging him for it, how he said no and was pushing her away, because a man was a man and should only own an affirmative response. What kind of man said no? What kind of man wasn't in the mood? Why was "no" only powerful from a woman? Imagine what would happen if I told someone else; they'd think I was broken, a little bitch, gay, they would blame me. Maybe they would say that I was the attacker, not the victim. I was asking for it, asking for it, asking for it….
My thin limbs tired quickly, and as I stopped thrashing, I stopped the physical self harm and moved on to mental abuse. My own words slashed to my very essence, the very core of who I was, leaving me bleeding and broken and full of self loathing.
A light pressure on my calf; I peek out from the covers, and find Ed still sitting on my bed. He pats and rubs my leg supportively, his eyes wandering the room in curiosity. I hide back under the covers, trying to ignore him. I wanted to be alone, to toil and torture myself, but my fight with Eddy had drained all my fight. He patted and rubbed warmly, silently. After what felt like hours, I felt the pressure from where he sat on the bed lift. He padded quietly across my room, closed the door behind him, and left my home without a sound.
I spent the weekend in my room; when my parents came to check on me, which was rare, I said I was resting before getting back to studying. I never studied; I stayed in bed, a grey fog falling on my life. At night, if they weren't home, or asleep, I'd sneak into the kitchen in the dark and steal crackers to eat. I never really ate enough to be full, I didn't care about my comfort. Just enough to make the ache go away so I could continue to wallow uninterrupted. I avoided everyone.
I don't know how much time passed; all I know is that after that first fight with Eddy, I heard someone enter the house without knocking, enter my room, and sit beside me. I peered out, and Ed was sitting in the same spot, rubbing and patting me again. I curled away from him, wanting him to leave. He stayed put for hours, lightly reminding me that he was there. He would leave for an unknown period of time, then come back for an unknown period of time, always rubbing and patting silently. At first, I resented his visits; I wanted to be alone. However, as this endless, grey day that never ended continued on slowly, I began to look forward to his presence. It was clear he didn't truly understand what had happened, but he always came back. We'd sit in absolute silence for what felt like hours, and while I endlessly cursed myself mentally, he would pat, pat, pat, lightly, reminding me I wasn't alone, that he was there for me, even if he didn't know why it was necessary.
I didn't stop hating myself when he came, and I didn't find peace either, but at least there was someone else there, silent, just caring enough to let me know I wasn't alone. One day, after Ed left, my mother came into my room, which surprised me; they were both doctors, and were hardly home, sometimes spending the night's in the motel closer to the hospital than the hour long commute to their job.
"Edward, the principal just called! She says you haven't been to school in eight days!" I stayed hidden in my covers. "Explain yourself!"
"I…have the flu." I grumbled, wishing for her to leave my room.
"Well, you know very well how to medicate yourself and handle it," she sniffed. "Tomorrow, you're going to school."
"Mother, I'm not feeling well still," I choked, my drab emotionless suddenly sliced for the first time in an apparent eight days by something fresh: panic.
"That's final." She closed the door and I felt dread seep into my cells, infecting my most minuet structures. Eight days; eight days I'd hidden from the world, never leaving the grey haze of my locked house. Tomorrow, I had to go back.
Clarification: in this story, I've decided that Ed has a mental defect that made him, well, goofy in childhood and adolescent years, and impairs his maturity and reasoning skills as an adult. Perhaps something to the like of autism.