Title: Submission

Summary: After getting away from Jordan who raped her, Rory ends up in New York where she meets Jess.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except maybe for Jordan, but I don't know if I should be happy about that.

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. My wrist still hurts.

A/N: This whole chapter is Jess speaking…

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When I was younger, I was happy. I had no dad, but that was okay. Me and my mom, we were a team. Nothing could ever come between us. Or that's what I thought. I never thought she needed anything other than my love. I thought that we would always be together. I didn't mind being a mommy's boy. I loved her so much. I still do, but things are too ruined between us now.

When I was about twelve, mom met a new man. Mike. It didn't take her long to fall in love with him. And he fell in love with her too. I was kinda jealous, but in a way I was happy for her too. He was everything she needed. If she had smiled before, she was laughing out loud now. She was so happy. I remember her dancing on the table the night she had met him. I remember her buying me an expensive book when he had taken her out for the first time. I couldn't wait to meet him. If he made my mom so happy he had to be a great man. So every time I asked my mom when I would get to see him. She always put it off.

Turns out, he was a little jealous. She hadn't told him about her son. He thought she was just a divorcee, living alone woman, thing like that. It wasn't until he had asked her to move in with him that she told him about me. He seemed to take it well. Said that he didn't mind. That he had always wanted a son. That the three of us would be so happy. So my mom said yes. We would move in with him. I wasn't allowed to pack too much stuff because my room would be small. After all he hadn't counted on me, but he had been kind enough to clear the storageroom for me. I wasn't allowed to say anything about the matter. I didn't care much, either. I just wanted mom to be happy.

As soon as we had moved in I noticed something was wrong with Mike. He was always friendly to me when my mom was there, but it was fake. As long as I minded my own business though he left me alone well enough. So I hung on the streets, avoiding him when mom was out to work, and played good son when they were both home. Things were okay for a while. Then I turned fourteen. I had asked my mom for a book I had wanted for forever. She gave it to me in the morning and I got so wrapped up in it that I forgot about everything around me. I was sitting in the living room when he came in. He supposedly called out my name but I didn't hear it. So he grabbed the book out of my hand and tore it in half. I started yelling at him that I would tell mom.

That's when he hit me. I was so surprised that I stopped screaming and just looked at him. He wasn't done yet. He grabbed my hair and forced me closer. There was something in his eyes that made me shut up, just because I knew that he wanted me to scream. That he loved having power over me. It was that day that I knew he loathed me. I tried to struggle free, but he hit me again and grabbed my wrists with his other hand. He was a big guy and a lot stronger than me. I wasn't really scared at first, because I didn't know what he was capable of. I just thought that I would get hit. Big deal. I got in fights on the street all the time. I could handle it. So I hit him back you know. Kicked him where I could reach him. He threw me on the floor. I think my head hit the wall because I remember blacking out for a few minutes. When I woke up...

……..

You know what I'm going to say, aren't you? Yeah. You have to know though. I have to say it. You have to realise what drove me to it. And why I don't want the same thing to happen to you.

He abused me. Tore my clothes apart and violently attacked my body. He made me...made me...it disgusts me to say it. I need a shot. God, I need a shot.

Okay. I'm okay again. Dammit. This happens to me every time I think about it. I've never talked about it actually. I should have known it would be worse like this.

He made me suck him. There, I said it. Don't look that way. Don't pity me. Please. I can't take it. I'm fine. Really.

Well no. Not really. I became a junk because of him. Because it wasn't the only time he did it. From then on, every time I was alone he abused me. It didn't stop at blowjobs. He wanted to own me. So he did. He owned my body, but he couldn't own my soul. That made him so angry. Every time it got worse. He tried to destroy my resilience by saying awful things. I tried so hard to think of books I was reading when he did that.

In time, I couldn't do that anymore. I couldn't take it. Every time that I was alone images flashed in front of my eyes. Images of him, talking to me, forcing me to strip. I needed something more. Something numbing. That's when I started using drugs. At first weed was enough. It gave me a boost. I could handle it. Maybe he would stop when he realised that he couldn't break me.

I was just foolish. It made him even angrier and the abuse became even worse. I couldn't even wear shirts anymore. My arms and legs were continually covered in bruises and bitemarks. Weed wasn't enough anymore either. I started doing worse stuff. Heroin. Coke. Everything I could get my hands on. It was an expensive habit, so I started dealing. I was just so empty inside. I needed the drugs to survive the abuse, but part of me wondered why I was even so willing to survive.

I was glad when he threw me out. I didn't care anymore that he had won. I didn't care that I would never see my mom again. As long as I didn't have to live through his abuse anymore... I thought I could handle it. I thought that when the abuse ended I would be okay again. But I wasn't. I'm still not okay. I am addicted to the numbness because when I'm not numb I'm reliving the cruelty over and over again. I don't know why I'm still alive. Death would be the ultimate numb.

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