Chapter 3

Viol

I sat on the edge of the parking lot for about fifteen minutes, my head buried in my lap, sobbing my eyes out. How could the kids at school be so vicious? What had I done to them? How could I ever go back there after all that? How could I face them again? My life was over.

I sniffled and lifted my head. No, I couldn't let this get to me. My life wasn't over. I still had my family. My father was on his way to rescue me, and we could figure out what to do about this together, later. I grinned bitterly to myself. My daddy would help for sure. He'd bust into that school and teach that mean ol' Tara and Sarah something for sure. He'd straighten things out. That's what fathers did.

No need to worry. Everything would be alright.

What I felt most badly about was how poor William had been dragged into this mess. It was my fault. Now people were saying these awful things not only about me, but about him too. He was as much a victim as me. I needed to make sure to do something to make it up to him. Or would that just make things worse? Maybe it'd just be best to never have any contact with him ever again.

Poor William.

I unfolded my legs from my chest and tried to steady my nerves. As I sucked in a deep breath of air, my T-shirt stretched tight against my chest. I flicked my eyes down and saw my offensive breasts were visible. I gasped and quickly slouched forward, obscuring them once again underneath the fabric of my shirt. It was all because of these damn things. That's why everyone was being mean to me. That's why everyone was treating me coldly.

Did having them automatically make me a slut? No. It couldn't be that. All women have them. My mother has them. All women weren't sluts.

Were they?

My father's brown Honda came into view as it turned into the parking lot. It pulled into the spot next to where I sat and my father rolled down his window.

"Angela, honey! You okay? Get in, and I'll take you home."

I staggered to my feet and ran around to the passenger's side and climbed in, fastening my seatbelt as my father pulled out of the parking lot. As we drove, my father began to question me.

"So, Angela, what happened? You promised to tell me."

"Oh, Daddy! It was horrible! Mom took me to the park on the weekend and told me that I needed to reach out and make new friends. I took her advice and tried to make friends with a boy at school, William Strong. But everything went wrong. These two girls in my class, Tara and Sarah, they spread rumors that I did bad things with William! And everyone laughed at me!"

My father was silent a moment. "They said you did 'bad things' with this William boy?"

"Uh-huh."

"What kind of 'bad things'? Did they say that you hit him? That you pushed him? You know your mother and I taught you that violence is wrong."

I shook my head adamantly. "No, Daddy, not those kinds of bad things. They said I did.....you know.....bad things."

My father frowned and glanced quickly at me. "You don't mean bad things as in something sexual, do you?"

I grimaced at my father's use of the word. When my parents had taught me about sex, they had avoided using those types of words. I had been a "birds-and-bees" child through and through. "Yes." I said, very quietly.

My father grunted disapprovingly. "Why would kids in your class be saying that you did things like that?" My father glanced at me again. "You didn't, did you?"

"No!" I shouted, dismayed. "How could you even think that I might?"

"I didn't!" My father said quickly. "I just can't imagine why kids your age would spread filthy lies like that. When I was young, kids didn't even know enough about that kind of thing to say things like that."

"But what am I gonna do? I can't go back now. I just ran out of there after screaming at them. How will I ever be able to show my face there again?"

We were now heading south around the lake to South Vale. I looked past my father to the water. It calmed me, somewhat.

"Angela," my father continued, "what they said wasn't true. Why are you so worried?"

"You don't understand. Even if it's not true, people will make fun of me so badly for it. I think some of them believe it, too. And they teased William about it, so he hates me now as well. I miss Melissa. Since she left, I've had no friends."

"I know you miss her, honey. But she's gone, and living in the past won't do any good. Look, don't worry about it for now. We can sort it later. For now, let's just get you home."

My father parked the car on the street near the apartment complex, and in a few minutes we were back in our apartment. I headed for the living room. Some TV might help me take my mind off of things. As I started walking, however, I felt my father's hands firm on my shoulders. "Angela, come with me for a second."

He led me into my parent's bedroom. I was confused. What was he doing?

He led me to the long mirror on the wall of my parent's bedroom. He stood behind me as I looked at myself in it. My eyes were all red from crying, and I had these weird red splotches all over my face.

"Angela, the other day, when you got upset at me after I came home from work? I don't think you were just stressed out that day. You saw me look at you."

I looked into my father's eyes in the mirror and nodded.

"You were upset that I noticed. I did notice, Angela. You are growing up. You're getting older. You're......developing. It's nothing to be ashamed of, even if the other kids find it strange or frightening. Most girls your age aren't developing like you yet. That is why they are being mean to you. They are jealous. Or scared. They might be a little confused, too."

I nodded again. My father stared into my eyes in the mirror. I returned his stare. He was right. It was my breasts that were the problem. But it wasn't my problem. It was theirs.

"Thanks, Da--" I began.

"Angela, take off your T-shirt." My father said suddenly.

"Huh?" Did he just say what I thought he said?

"You heard me." His tone of voice had changed. He was no longer speaking in a comforting tone, but in a demanding one. His facial expression had changed, too. He was glaring at me now. "Take off your shirt."

I didn't understand. My heart began to race. Why was I suddenly so uncomfortable? He was my father. I didn't need to be scared. But why was he asking me to do this? He must have a good reason to, though. I did as he said. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked....strange. I didn't like them.

"Yes.....that's good..." My father murmured. I looked back at his face, and saw his eyes flick from my breasts back to my face.

"What did you say?" I asked. Something was wrong here. But what?

"Angela, look at yourself. Look at them. See that they are normal. A little odd-looking to you, I'm sure, but they are normal. They are nothing to be afraid of. Neither you nor the other kids at school have anything to fear from them. They are.....beautiful."

I said nothing. Warning signals were blasting in my brain. Something was desperately wrong here. I gasped as I suddenly felt cold hands on me. On them. My father had reached around and grabbed my chest from behind. "No!" I shouted, grabbing his hands and wrenching them off of me. "What are you doing?" I yelled, wheeling around and backing up against the mirror.

"Only what you are asking for, Angela. You wore that tight little sweater to lure me. To lure them, too, whether or not you realize it. Oh, it's been so long since your mother has let me touch her like that."

What was he doing? What was he talking about? "I'm not asking for anything! Mom bought me that sweater! I had nothing to do with it! What are you saying?"

He took a step towards me. "You know that you want it, Angela. It's human nature. We all want it. It's nothing to be ashamed of, either." He reached out for me again, and I screamed.

The next second I felt a sudden burst of pain on my right cheek. My head also snapped to the left. He had slapped me. I put my hand to my cheek and looked back at him, my vision blurring from tears. "What--?" I began.

"Don't scream, Angela. Please. I don't want to hurt you."

Then a sudden blur of movement. I found myself flying face-first into something soft. I blinked tears out of my eyes and saw the mirror. My father had thrown me behind him onto the bed. I saw him move around the bed to where my legs were. In a sudden, horrifying moment, I suddenly understood what was going on. I began to shiver, and a panic attack began to set in. I shut my eyes as I felt my shoes and jeans being removed. I needed to get away. I needed to get help. Why was he doing this? My father had always seemed so nice. He never seemed to be the violent kind at all. I tried to get up but I felt him push me roughly back down. I heard a rustling behind me from where he was.

I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror at him. I saw what he was doing and fought hard not to scream. I shut my eyes again, sobbing quiet tears and choking on my own muffled cries. I braced myself, but nothing could have prepared me for the horrible, stabbing pain that suddenly shot through what seemed to be my entire pelvic region. I bit down on my tongue, fighting not to scream, but in a few moments the pain began to stab even worse through me. It now seemed to shoot down to the tips of my toes and up my spine.

I couldn't take it any more. I opened my eyes, hoping to God that he wasn't doing what I thought he was. What I saw in the mirror confirmed it. I lost it. I began to scream and struggled to my knees, desperate to get away. I felt him shift behind me. "I thought I told you NOT TO SCREAM!" I felt his hand grab me roughly by the back of my head.

I took a deep breath and screamed at the top of my lungs. 'NO!!!!!!!!!!!" Suddenly his grip on my head tightened and he shoved my face down into the mattress. My nose bent uncomfortably, shooting more pain across my face. I hadn't had a chance to close my eyes before he jammed my face into the bed, and my eyes were burning as tiny fibres from the comforter got into my eyes.

I couldn't breathe.

I began to panic. I couldn't get any air. I tried to struggle to get my face away from the bed to get some air, but I heard him scream something else unintelligible and push my face even harder into the bed.

My lungs felt like they were going to burst. I began to see dark spots appear and I realized I was going to die. I lost all the strength I had to fight and began to submit to the quiet oblivion that was beckoning me.

Then his handlet go of my head. I felt one more stab of pain as I pulled my face up, gasping air into my lungs. I lay my head back down on the bed, my face to the side, towards the mirror. My vision was still very blurry, but I could see him moving away towards the door. The door shut, and I lay completely still for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. I finally regained my wind, and then burst into tears again. Huge, wracking wails that jolted my entire body where it lay. This caused only more pain, and I gasped again.

After a small amount of time, I tried to sit up, but this caused even worse pain. I screamed, and then nearly had a heart attack as the door burst open again and my father strode into the room. He walked over to the foot of the bed where I was sitting and bent down to my level. I shrank backwards as best I could. He wasn't going to hurt me again, was he?

"Angela, your mother will be home with Brian from the school soon. I want you dressed and in your room. I will tell her that you are upset about what happened at school. I will tell her the exact truth of what happened there. You are not to tell her anything about what just happened here. If you do, she will think you are a slut, just like the other girls at school. Not. A. Word. Understand? To anyone. Are we clear?"

I could do nothing but nod, my face screwed up as I fought the urge to vomit.

"Good. Now, get dressed, as I said. We will decide what to do about the situation at school later." With that, he turned and left the room again.

I gingerly got to be feet and carefully put my clothes back on. As I carefully put my pants back on I pulled my hand back and saw there was blood on my fingers. I ran to my room, slammed the door, and then lay on my bed, sobbing into my pillow.

A short time later I heard the front door of the apartment open. Mom and Brian were home.

Oh, God, what was I going to do? I couldn't tell them what had happened. Dad was right. They would think I was horrible.

I was all alone on this.

"Angela had a really bad day at school today," I heard my father saying, "it's nothing serious but I think we should let her be for now. I'll tell you what happened while we get dinner ready."

So I lay there, shivering and fighting to keep from going insane. I couldn't look this upset, or else my mother would suspect that something more was wrong than just school bullying.

Eventually, somehow, I managed to get myself calmed down to a point that my mother wouldn't suspect a thing beyond the Sarah and Tara incident.

"Angela, honey, I know you're upset but can you come out for dinner?" I heard my mother call through the door. "We can talk about it after supper. I promise everything will be okay."

I took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll be right out."

I should have said something then. I know that now. I could have ended it right then and there had my father not manipulated me into scared silence.

Things were about to get much, much worse in the months to come.