Disclaimer: i don't own anything so please don't sue me, thank you
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Note: okay, this is the second installment in the sexual encounter series lol. I owe this completely to katie who helped me out so much, thank you katie :). and i'd also like to thank sam and everyone else who reviews me, i totally appreciate it. This story is kathryns pov, it is entirely fictional and i'm not sure if it works so let me know lol thanks, morgan
Kathryn
My life was never bright, there were no pastels in the world i inhabited. Every shade was morose, even pinks and purples held no vibrance. This wasn't something that occurred overnight. It was a fact that has been ever present...that i make things dark. Even as a baby, my mother said that i fidgeted when shown affection and violated any and every rule that was enforced upon me. My mother went through 13 nanny's when i was between the ages of 3 and 12. She said they all complained of my coldness and irritability but the most prominent complaint...every room i occupied was cloaked in shadow. Being told your a monster at the tender age of 9 would be too much for any child to handle. Any child told such things would no doubt feel like a freak of nature, in turn, causing them to act out in rash ways, ways such as pushing nanny number 11 down an endless flight of gold leaf stairs, which caused some chips in the paint that my mother still hasn't forgiven me for.
Yes, its been an ever present fact that i was no ordinary girl, so to say that one particular incident turned me into what i am, or even a few incidents, would be a falacy. But it would be fair to say, i think, that some things have contributed to my current state. That sounds about right, some things and more importantly...some people...some person.
My mother married him when i was 12. It was a summer wedding which i was overjoyed with because i got to wear pretty summer colors, colors that my mother frowned upon due to the fact that a girl such as myself didn't belong in childish colors. And also, according to her, i just made them black anyway, that's me, always a shade, never a color. The first time i saw him was when i was slowly making my way gracefully down the aisle, pretending i was the bride. I hadn't been aloud to attend the rehersal dinner due to my "bad behavior". It didn't bother me however, i didn't really want to be included anyhow. He was attractive and not "older man" kind of attractive, if i had been more childish i'm sure i would have referred ot him as a "dream boat" like all the other young girls at my mothers wedding did. All eyes were on me, not my mother, as she came, no, sauntered down the aisle. Already i could see the envy in her eyes, turning them an even deeper shade of green, like my own, and i could tell at that moment she was regretting making me the maid of honor, for i got to stand before all and soak up the admiration as she took second seat yet again, it made me smile.
I always despised weddings if not simply for the fact that i had to attend one almost every weekend, most were usually my mothers. The vows were always the worst part. The sappy, syrupy goop that made most people weep made me queasy. Liars telling lies in the house of god, may our lord and savior forgive them. These vows however, were slightly intrigueing, mostly because my mothers new husband was making eyes at me while simultaneously swearing to the lord his devotion for her. Nothing could have possibly made me happier in that moment, the only thing i actually took great pleasure in was defying the whore who birthed me. And what could possibly be more defiant then eye fucking her new hubby?
This continued for quite awhile, this innocent flirting, not that it was at all innocent, not on his part, or honestly, on mine. She pretended not to notice the subtleties. The eyes he made at me, the lips i licked for his viewing pleasure. Even at 13 i knew how to entice, i did not however, no what to do once they had been enticed. I wasn't a whore, not then, i only fancied myself one. I had next to no experience although i would never confess to such things. So, naturally, i had just assumed that the line was drawn, a very thick line that he wouldn't dare to cross, assumptions are for morons thats why i no longer assume, he taught me that, he taught me many things. My "schooling" began the summer following the day we met, the exact day, there one year anniversary, our one year anniversary.
A fight had errupted over something or other, probably me, which would explain her fuming about and eventually leaving for a week to galavant across europe. I'm quite sure that she knew what was going to happen, she knew what he wanted to do, and she left me alone to recieve my punishment but instead of her it was he who inforced it. I think that is why i hate her the way i do, she knew, and simply handed me over like a bribe, take kathryn, do what you will to her, just don't leave me, thanks mom!
The day was sticky and a cloud seemed to loom over me while in every other part of the sky only sun could be found. I had just got back from tennis lessons, which i always found to be a waste because my athletic ability had always been lacking, and he was there waiting, in my room. I knew from the moment i stepped into my room what was going to happen. I could smell it in the air, his impatience, his frustration, his reckless need. Reckless, because wanting a child of 13 is anything but safe, anything but secure. I wasn't afraid as much as i was angry. That was my room! He had the gall to simply wander about my room, picking up my things and making quips. I made a mental note of everything he touched so i would remember to throw it out later. The momentum kept building, he kept talking about how pretty i was and i was so mature for a girl my age. the fact that he never said my age outloud didn't escape my attention. He was pretending that i wasn't a child, that's ok, i was pretending too. I pretended that it didn't hurt, i pretended that i wanted it and most of all i pretended that this wasn't what it was. His hands only compared in size to that of baseball gloves, yes, big baseball gloves that tore my skin off the bone.
The worst part was the sounds, the sound of the act was enough to make me vomit. Slapping noises reverbirated off of the walls, along with his pants and dirty words. He just wouldn't shut up, he felt the need to describe the feelings, to describe what my insides felt like. I did my best to stay quiet, to not cry, i couldn't cry, i couldn't acknowledge pain, but it was ever present and unsubsiding. My tiny fists balled themselves and pounded on the bed. My eyes hid underneath there lids like the cowards they are. My legs became limp and gave up hope. The only part of my body that didn't cower away in fear was the part he was ever so gently barreling into, the part that took the brunt of his excitement, the part that was subjected to his torturous abuse.
I know now, that it didn't last long. At the time i was confident that he would never stop, that this whole sex business was a never ending activity. But eventually, it stopped, he emptied himself on me, woulnd't want to soil the child right? And with that he left, he muttered something incoherent and made his way out my door and into his office to call my mother, i'm still not sure what the topic of conversation was. I laid still and panting on my filthy sweat covered 300 thread count sheets. I could feel it all, i could feel his handprints embossed on my pelvis. I could feel his teeth marks on my neck. I could feel the blood pooling under my skin, creating black and brown bruises, the colors i hated most of all. And just as i expected, upon inspection, i looked like a piece of damaged fruit, a bruised peach. At that moment i hated the mirror, it was showing me the truth and i've never really taken to the truth. My hair was all mussed. My belly was covered in him, my eyes trailed after it as it made its slow journey down towards the one area i was terriffied to look at. The area that was once a nice, tiny, little place that i use to enjoy was now the cause of my shame. I told myself over and over not to look, that was, until, i heard the noise. I looked at the fawcet hoping i hadn't turned the tap properly, but no, luck has never been on my side. the sound refused to stop "drip drip drip", i had hoped it was water but the sound was far to angry to be water. It wouldn't cease, it just continued to mock me. my eyes inadvertantly went to the place they didn't want to see, the used place, the bad place.
My inner thighs were covered with a pink sticky fluid and the beautiful mexican tile my mother paid thousands for was marred by a growing pool of blood. I suppose now, looking back on it, that was a metaphor for my existence. The blood tainted the pure white of the tiles just like i would taint everything in my life from a pretty white to a sickly black. In that moment i hardened, my arteries turned to stone and my skin thickened, a girl who at the temder age of 13 was already hard was now harder then concrete, harder then the tiles she was hemmoraging on.
He smelled it, the blood, he always came back for more, like a shark. It lasted until i was almost 15, my mother found a new suitor, one who didn't seem to find me quite as intoxicating, she found what she was looking for. She knew! he was anything but discreet about it, flaunted it as if it were a love affair. And even though it was no such thing i let her believe it was. She wanted it to happen, wanted him to hurt me because she was so envious of her little girl, and although i'm sure the aftermath of it is what i am today, i couldn't let her know it hurt, i couldn't give her the satisfaction. I'd rather be seen as a whore then a weak rape victim, because i'm not a victim, i have victims.
He always came back for more. He knew when i was alone, knew when to strike, and just like a shark, he could smell my blood in the water.