"Hey, Maureen? What's this?" I sighed. Mark had found a box of my things from high school, and when I walked into the room, I discovered that he was holding a picture of me, dressed as Dorothy after a performance of The Wizard of Oz, looking very contented, standing next to a rocker with crazy bleach-blonde hair and bright green eyes. I laughed as I remembered that relationship, and how fucked up my life had been.

"That picture got taken after a really hard week. There are a lot of things that I haven't told you about, Marky. Maybe some other time," I put the box and photo aside, and straddled him, planting a passionate kiss on him, which effectively changed the topic and made him blush, but I couldn't help but recall myself as a troubled teen…

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I sat there in my bedroom, blasting the bad rock music that my mother despised (despite the fact that she was never home to hate it), lying in the arms of a man that I despised. I supposed that I deserved it, being the hopeless flirt that I was. He had raped me, he was older than I was- 28 and I was 16. I had thought, in my apparent ignorance, that I was in control; that he couldn't make me do anything that I didn't want to. But he did. Now there was blood on my sheets, my virginity was decimated, my thighs and shoulders bruised. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. But he had said that he loved me. Nobody had ever said that to me before, and I couldn't tell whether or not it was sincere, but it felt that way at the time.

I was such an idiot—how could this have possibly happened to me? I need to talk to someone. I need to get this monster out of my bedroom. As if on cue, he woke up at that moment, hastily threw on his clothes, and climbed out my window discretely, though I doubted that it really mattered since my parents weren't due home for another couple hours, as both of them worked ridiculously late. It wasn't like they cared about me anyway. I'd smoked pot, drank, and as of tonight, had sex in their house, and they didn't even care. This crazy maniac could've murdered me and they wouldn't care. My father would just find a way to work my tragic death into his campaign in order to make more people vote for him in the next election. I quickly threw my dirty sheets in the fireplace and lit them up, wanting to do away with them completely, but didn't bother to put clean ones on the bed.

I wracked my brain, trying to think of somebody that I could call…somebody to talk to, but it occurred to me that my only friend was Roger. He wouldn't care. He was too crude and too much of a Neanderthal. I loved him as a friend, when I was going out, to have fun with, but I certainly did not want to tell him that I had "finally had my cherry popped", as he would so tastefully put it. But I didn't want to be alone—couldn't be alone, it was too painful. If I were with someone else, I would be able to act happy, be my usual self, the drama queen that I was meant to be. I didn't want to smoke either. I wanted to escape in come capacity, but right at this moment, I felt numb and hollow, only with a dull soreness throughout my body. I went up to the fire, retrieving the lighter, telling myself that it was just to make sure that my little brother didn't find it, and ran back up to my room, into the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the mirror—I looked horrible, and I smelled of the vile man. I put the lighter down beside the sink, and filled the tub with water. I soaked, lost in my thoughts, until I suddenly realized how incredibly cold the water had become. I drained the tub, and dried myself off, but then realized I hadn't washed myself. Sighing, I turned on the shower, and the head spat out scalding hot water, which scalded my skin.

"FUCK! Does the world really hate me this much?" I exclaimed, to the overwhelming mass of nobody that was looming over me. I guess so. I was shaving my legs when there was a knock at the door, and startled I sliced my ankle very deeply. SHIT! I tried to make it stop bleeding, but it didn't work so I gave up, grabbing my towel as the knocking became more intense, and unlocked my door quickly.

"Shit Maureen! What's going on around here?" It was Roger. Shocked, I almost fell over the various piles of crap lying on the floor.

"Huh?"

"Maureen! Your fucking house was on fire!"

"WHAT?"

"Well, okay, only the kitchen, but poor Benji freaked out and called me. I don't know why me…"

"Oh my God is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine, I put the fire out, there wasn't much damage—thank God I only live two doors down from you! He's next door now, playing with Johnny, because he was freaked. Maureen, this isn't like you—Benji's the most important thing in your life! You love him more than any of those drugs and shit that you do! What the fuck is going on?" By this point I was sobbing, and still frantically trying to get my ankle to stop bleeding, but avoiding his eyes at all costs. He lifted my chins so that I had nowhere else to look, and I dropped my towel accidentally, forgetting it was there. He looked me over, seeing my bruises, and the cut on my ankle, which I was swiping at frantically, and his eyes filled with concern.

"Maureen…"

"WHAT? What the fuck do you want from me?"

"He raped you." My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe that he could see right through me, that he knew what had happened. I fell to the floor, naked, sobbing.

He closed and locked the door, and came to join me on the floor, holding me. He was consoling me, but being the teenage boy that he was, his hands eventually landed on my breasts, which had "blossomed", so to speak, only very recently. He looked cautiously into my eyes, not wanting to hurt me. I moved in closer to him, and covered his mouth with my own, pressing down hard on him, kissing him passionately. He responded, and pulled me closer, if that was at all possible. I felt him go hard between my legs, which excited and scared me at the same time, but hungrily I pulled his pants off as he pulled his black t-shirt off hastily. We moved together, and it felt so natural. I moaned and wailed with passion, actually enjoying it, and I climaxed. I hadn't even known something such as that was possible, but now saw why people loved sex so much. We lay there, cuddling, for hours, every now and again he would pull me closer or kiss me, he was so sensitive yet passionate—a Roger that I hadn't seen in a long time, and would never likely see in public again.

I used to be so close to Roger, we were, after all, best friends, but he didn't used to be ashamed of being seen with me before high school. But when his band became really popular at school, and he earned his crude reputation, he never wanted to be seen with me. Until recently, I had been very awkward looking, without many friends, and a little bit too over the top for him. I was loud and opinionated, but I had no other friends. I was a social creature, but I was an outcast because of how open I was, and was actually despised by most people in our school. He even tortured me at school, but would always come over late at night to make sure I was okay, and to talk. We had had many heart-to-hearts over the years, which I didn't tell anyone else (because he told me he would kill me), though I highly doubted that anybody would believe me—they would just think that I was delusional.

The reason that Roger spent the night so frequently was that his mother was an alcoholic, and his father abusive, which I knew contributed to his hard, cold exterior. Reading people's body language and emotions had always been one of my talents, and I loved to people watch, which I always thought explained my talent as an actress, and the reason that I was usually the star of the school plays and musicals. We both hated our families, and I always felt that it was my duty to take care of him, to make sure he was okay and wouldn't go kill them or something stupid like that. He loved his mother, but his father was awful and had almost killed Roger a couple of times. My parents hadn't ever approved of me hanging out with Roger because of this, but when they realized that I didn't have any other friends, and that they didn't like anything else about my life, they just sort of gave up. I was always worried about Roger, and even though he was so cruel to me, I forgave him because he needed me so much. He didn't mean to be so mean and rough around the edges, but I didn't think that he had ever known what it was like to be loved.

The town that we lived in wasn't affluent, but I lived in what was basically a mansion, I only lived here because my father was, as I already mentioned, trying to win more votes. Drug use, violence, rape, sex, and alcoholism were something that every one of us encountered every day, and my parents were some of the very few in the town who strongly disapproved, but their judgments of the rest of the people in the town made me disagree with them and protest everything having to do with my father's corrupt point of view, and thus politics. They should have lived in a perfect neighborhood out of the Stepford Wives or something—because they were just that kind of people. Well, except for the fact that my mom had a job.

We had had very dysfunctional childhoods, and I tried so hard to make that better for my brother, though he resented me for it. He really didn't like me, especially since I hated Mommy so much. He didn't understand what was wrong with the superior air that my parents had towards everyone, even people who had higher status than they did. Still, I didn't give up on him, and I was determined that I never would.

When I woke up the next morning, I was still unclothed, as was Roger, who was still holding me close, and my mother was threatening to break the door down, so I freaked.

"Roger get the fuck out of here—she's gonna explode!"

"Mo—are you gonna be okay?"

"Probably not. We'll talk about it later. Wait for me under the bleachers—we'll cut, okay? I'm going to need you. Now get the fuck out before the door opens!" He quickly threw his clothes on, as did I, and he jumped out the window skillfully, as he had done so many times before. I made sure he made it down okay, and unlocked the door.

"MAUREEN! What happened to the kitchen? How could you let that happen? I told you not burn the house down! What are you doing? You were supposed to watch your brother, not almost make him burn to death, then give him over to the neighbors! I thought you knew better than that! Are you listening me? This is not…" I tuned my mother out, as I always did, although I basically heard everything that she said, not because I was directly listening, but because I had heard similar things so frequently in the past. When I used to try to be the good girl, I got the same sort of response. I never understood why they bothered to have me in the first place. My little brother was ten years younger than I was, so I couldn't help but feel that I was a mistake, and my parents didn't believe in putting kids up for adoption because it seemed "too irresponsible".

When she left, I got ready to go to school, fussing with makeup to try to make my bruises, et cetera look less offensive. It didn't really work, but I was sort of glowing anyway, because of the glorious experience that I had following the nightmare. I ran quickly out the door, so that my mother wouldn't make me sit down to another painful breakfast, and caught up to Roger about halfway to the school.

"Hey babe."

"The Almighty Roger Davis is speaking to me in public now?" I asked, partly joking, but honestly curious.

"You wanna be my girl, Mo?" There we go, the crude terminology again. But it was kinda hot…

"Hell yeah."

"Cool."

"Cool." We walked for a couple of blocks in silence, but holding hands and smiling every now and again.

After a few minutes, when we were almost to the school, I stopped.

"Hey Rog?"

"Yeah babe?" I blushed a little, but then got serious.

"Uh…I think I oughta go to the hospital. You know, make sure I'm not pregnant or anything…you know…from that creep." He looked into my eyes, with a kind, caring, concerned expression, and then kissed me tenderly.

"Anything you want, baby."

"Thanks Rog."

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

"Hey honey, I'm home!" I snapped back into reality. Mark was looking very afraid in his nudity, and very guilty in having just had sex with a "lesbian", though I kept telling him that I was bi.

"Hey Joanne!" I had established with Joanne that Mark was coming over to talk that day, because we hadn't spent much time together since I broke up with him, and I missed him. Plus I wanted to straighten some things out with him. I hadn't intended to fuck him, but I knew that I would probably end up at least making out with him. He was, after all, my Marky.

"Mark still here?"

"Yes, Joanne, I'm still here." Mark was uncomfortable struggling into his clothes as he responded. I got my clothes on with ease, and smiled at him. He was so cute. Joanne, perhaps out of fear, didn't come anywhere near the bedroom, instead she called back,

"I'm going to get some dinner for the three of us. Yes, Mark, you are staying for dinner."

"Thanks, Joanne. Peanut butter and Cap'n Crunch get old after a while." I could almost feel her cringe from the other room, and laughed. Mark stared at me, "What?"

"Nothing. It just occurred to me that it isn't entirely impossible to hear somebody cringe." He looked puzzled.

"That doesn't make sense." Joanne announced that she was leaving, and we indicated that we had heard her, and we would see her when she returned. Mark continued to stare at my pictures, which there were many of in the huge shoebox that my knee-high leather boots had come in…

"So Maureen, what were you like in high school?"

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

We walked the rest of the way to school, because it would have been really hard to walk to the hospital. Even though Roger had his license, he didn't have a car, which wasn't surprising because his parents rarely had jobs, although sometimes his mom prostituted herself, she usually used the money for drugs and booze, and sometimes to pay the bills. Electricity wasn't ever taken for granted in his house.

"Yo! Tommy!" I spotted the older black boy, who Roger was addressing. He looked scholarly, like he belonged in college, which, as it turned out, was true. He was a student teacher, who had formerly lived in this town before I moved in, when he went to college. He seemed sweet enough, and Roger had informed me that he was gay, and one of the kindest people that you would ever be lucky enough to meet.

"Hey Rog. What's up? Got a new girl, I see?"

"Yeah. Not some bimbo this time, though—don't give me that face—this girl's amazing. Tom Collins, this is Maureen Johnson, my best friend and girlfriend. Maureen? This is Tom Collins, teacher extraordinaire—or on his way to being there, anyway. He's gonna change the world." We exchanged greetings, and Roger got down to the point.

"Tom? Mo got raped last night, and we need to use your car so that I can take her to the hospital. Can we borrow it?"

"You guys are gonna cut school?"

"Collins…a guy who is 12 years older than her, and a real creep raped her. We really need to get to the hospital." Tom seemed to suddenly comprehend what Roger was saying, and immediately handed over the keys.

"Lemme know how it goes okay? Catch you two later! I gotta get to teaching these couch potatoes." We said our goodbyes, and quickly got into the car, and Roger drove to the hospital.

"Baby?"

"Yeah, Maureen?"

"I'm fucking scared. What the hell am I gonna do if this guy got me knocked up?"

"Maureen, I'm sure you'll be fine. Even if you are pregnant, the doctors will take care of it—you got raped. They can give you that pill or something. I don't think that it's really considered an abortion if you got raped…"

"Can you stop saying that word?" I shuddered at his mention of what had happened to me, couldn't bring myself to say the word "rape", and then I started to cry as the magnitude of what had happened the night before finally began to take effect. Roger looked scared at the intensity of my sobbing, and pulled over on the side of the road.

"Oh fuck. Look at me I'm a mess! You must hate me. You probably just want to get out of here. You didn't know what the fuck you got yourself into. Surprise! I'm a joy to have around. I get fucked by creeps, get stoned and drunk, almost kill my brother without fucking noticing it." He tried to soothe me, held me as close as the car would allow.

"Hey, sweetie, it's gonna be okay. I'm not going anywhere, Mo, so don't even think like that! I love you more than I have ever loved anybody in my life. Granted, that scares me a little, but I'm not going to leave you-- especially not at a time like this. I'm worried about you." I tried to breathe deeply, and calm myself down. It took a couple of minutes, but I was in control again, so he continued to drive. Five minutes later he announced that we had arrived, and I froze.

"Babe, are you okay?" I didn't hear him the first several times that he inquired, but eventually I snapped back to reality.

"As okay as I'm ever gonna be…but that's him!" I indicated a rather smashing looking doctor who was entering the building, "FUCK! I can't go in there!"

"Mo, it's okay. We'll go to a different hospital. It's only like thirty minutes from here. Calm down." I sighed and submitted to his requests.

"Let's go Rog."

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

"Maureen! Mark! I'm back!"

"Hey Joanne! We'll be there in a minute!" Mark turned to address me, "Maureen? You in there? You okay?" I was crying, but I hadn't noticed at the time because I was lost in the past.

"Oh yeah. I'm fine. The past haunts me. Let's eat!"

"You're gonna tell me about this stuff right? The ghosts from your past?"

"I'm working on it. There's just one person I have to talk to first. Let's go eat. Then I'll come by the loft tomorrow. I need to talk to Roger."

"Roger?"

"Like I said, I have to talk to him. Then I'll tell you everything. We'll all probably have to discuss this stuff. But don't jump to any conclusions."

"Are you guys coming or what?"

"Coming, Pookie!" I yelled, as I put on a happy face and bounced off the bed to the kitchen, leaving a very confused Marky in the dust.

Later that night, after Mark had left, I couldn't be intimate with Joanne. I tried to kiss her, I tried, but I was too lost in my horrible past. I had done my best to keep these nightmares out of my mind ever since they happened, which was hard given that Roger ended up being Mark's best friend and now pretty much despised me, but I had succeeded in doing it—until today, when Mark opened that box of everything Roger had ever given me…and the pictures…we were so happy…

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

We got to the hospital about 45 minutes later, because Roger had gotten a little bit lost, but I didn't mind spending extra time with him, as he was the only person that I really cared about in the world other than my brother. I was grateful for this relationship, more than I could ever possibly express to anyone, including Roger. But somehow I got the impression that he understood and felt similarly.

The hospital was scary, cold, too bright, too clean. I had never seen a gynecologist before, and didn't like the idea of people sticking Q-tips and metal instruments in my vagina. I sent one of the cold metal objects flying across the floor because my muscles were so tensed up and I was freaking out. Roger held my hand the whole time, and I probably did some permanent damage to his hand, but I was so scared. I never wanted to see that building again. When it was all over, I found out that I didn't have any gross diseases, nor was I pregnant, and rejoiced. Later that day, for the only time in my life, I was happy to feel the warm, disgusting red liquid between my legs. Yay! My period! Roger was less pleased, but understanding. That and we had sex in one of the janitor's closets once we got back to school, before my Auntie Flo came to visit, so it wasn't such a big deal.

Later, we took my brother out for ice cream, since I felt bad about almost burning him to death, and also for leaving him alone after school, because we were fucking in the janitors' closet. But it was great sex.

As soon as I was seen at school making out with Roger, I immediately became the most envied girl in school. It was nice. For the most part I was very loyal to Roger, because he deserved it. Until one night, I was at this party after one of Roger's gigs, and I wanted to go home, but Rog told me to wait for him and we would go home together. By this point, we had been together for about a year and a half. The guy was probably almost seven feet tall and a football player, and probably both drunk and stoned. I didn't want to do it, and I hated football players—I was even protesting the stupidity of the jocks this week. Apparently he found that hot. I couldn't find Roger anywhere, and I was trying to get him to take me home, to tell him about this guy who was harassing me, but I was powerless and he was huge. He carried me upstairs into one of the rooms in the house that the party was at, and he fucked me. I wasn't exactly submissive, but I felt like Roger had abandoned me, so I didn't really object. Somehow he made me climax, even though I was trying not to enjoy it, trying to get away. This guy was violent. He hit me, bit me, even bruised and ripped up my vagina, so it was miraculous that I did climax, because the overall experience was so painful. I was bleeding when he finished with me, and I couldn't move. I found myself sobbing on the floor, feeling even more violated than when that creepy doctor had stolen my virginity from me. I thought that I would die there, bleeding on the floor. Roger never came for me. I felt betrayed, I felt as though he didn't care for me. It was unfair. I ran back to my house, distraught. When I got to my room, I sobbed for hours. I couldn't sleep, and then by the time I was supposed to be at school, I couldn't bring myself to go.

I glanced down at the massive scar on my ankle from when Roger had almost given me a heart attack. Roger. I absently liberated a fresh razor blade from my medicine cabinet. Roger made me cut myself. Roger made me hurt. Roger made me cut. Roger made me hurt myself. My thoughts were fuzzy. I had a miserable hangover, though I still felt drunk and mildly high. It didn't occur to me what I was doing. I saw a lot of red…then everything went black.

I woke up in my own bed, not knowing how I had gotten there. I felt a warm hand on my hair, and my eyes fluttered open.

"ROGER! What the fuck are you doing here? Where were you? You abandoned me and he…he…argh! GET OUT!"

"Shh…honey. Look at yourself. You're a mess." I looked down to see the bruises that the jock had left, and various gashes in my arms and abdomen, but none of them were deep enough that I would have died. Just enough to hurt like a bitch. I started sobbing, apologizing, but suddenly pushed him away.

"Roger! He fucked me and you don't fucking care do you? DO YOU?"

"Who fucked you? Did you fucking cheat on me? What the fuck Maureen?"

"No you dipshit he raped me! Dennis! You know big, muscular jock, SEVEN FUCKING FEET TALL he fucking raped me."

"You slut. You're such a drama queen. You think just because you can show me cuts and bruises I should feel sorry for you. I fucking tended your wounds, I made them stop bleeding so you wouldn't fucking bleed out and you don't give a shit. You just fucked some football player because I wouldn't take you home." My entire body tensed, and my stomach flipped over. I was afraid he would hit me, that he was high, or worse, that he would dump me, that he wouldn't be me friend…he was the only one that mattered. Sure I had become great friends with Collins, but only because Roger loved him. I still had no other friends, and if he dumped me, nobody else would be nice to me.

"Don't you dare call me a slut! You of all people should understand! You're my best friend! My boyfriend! You are supposed to love me!"

"I'm gone, Mo. Don't you dare even try to talk to me again! Do you understand?"

"Fine. I don't need you anyway. You're worthless. You're band doesn't even need you. Only reason they don't kick you out is your fucking pretty face! Get the fuck out of my room, pretty boy!" I was hurt.

Nobody had ever broken my heart like that before. He was the only guy that I had ever truly wanted to be with—the only person I had ever loved and cherished. This was senior year in high school. He ran away before school ended, and I mourned my loss. I missed him. Now I had nobody, and I turned back to shooting up and drinking all of my father's love, otherwise known as money. And I continued to slice myself open, especially thinking about him. I never got the chance to tell him. I feared that I would never see him again…I was a cheap, worthless whore, but at the same time a rich bitch. And all the fucking I did brought in a pretty steady flow, though it was all managed very discreetly, of course. I never got arrested for it, even though the principal knew about it. He was a pretty lousy fuck, but it ensured my secrecy.

Collins, who was also mourning Roger's disappearance, turned to me, and basically worried about me instead of thinking about Roger. He didn't know what to do about me, but he was scared. He saw through my carefree prostitution, he noticed the bags beneath my eyes, the blood stains on my clothes, my weight loss. At lunch he would lecture me about how I needed to eat, and I would blow him off. He came over to my house every day to try to make me stop abusing myself, and it always ended in screaming. He would toss my razors and my drugs and booze. He would try to force feed me, but I always puked it back up anyway. He was desperate. He tried to make me go to a hospital, but I ran away. I was eighteen. I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. After graduation, I ran away to New York. I needed to get away, and I thought that I might have a chance at getting an acting job. I kept in touch with Collins, though I saw him very rarely because I never went home. He started teaching at various universities, which was exciting…