Fall back on me…

She slipped, or had she been tripped..?
Her knees wet and burning, she felt the liquid run down her skin where the stockings had caught on whatever had taken her down and scraped her skin.
All she knew was that she had to get up. The world around her was noisy but it felt far away, spots infront of her eyes, her heart strangely calm… The darkness felt both soothing and possesive, pushing down on her like a physical weight, like a blanket; about to smother her.
She tried to get up but the ground was sharp, like needles, something tore at her skin, she tried to yelp but her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth…
Her dress, once the shade of a pink roses petal in the morning light was now more like a dead flower and for a moment her mothers face came into mind, angry at her for ripping her tights when she was in primary school. As if that mattered now… She smiled, dizzy, as something pulled her up, then pulled back as she realised the creature had claws, not hands, ripping at the collar of her dress, trying to get to her pale skin.
But she was up now. She started to push her way through the bushes and trees, all of them tugging and tearing at her hair, her face, she could almost feel them in her mind… Scratching at what she was.
The air around her felt thick and her lungs could hardly take it in, her chest rising and falling uselessly, the oxygen refusing to cooperate.
The darkness didn’t calm her anymore, the spots took on colours, the noise became louder as something caught her, pushed her against something rough and grating and all she could imagine were those tights she ripped falling over in the playground…
“I’m so sorry mama” she whispered as something pulled at her underwear, ripped at her clothes the noise turned to music and the music turned to a loud consistent ringing noise, her eyes tried to focus on the beast that wanted to devour her… This beast that would be her end, she wanted to see it’s face, before she died.
She wasn’t sure how she knew she was about to die but she was sure of it. If she did nothing to stop it.
She tried to concentrate her eyes, but a blow to the face knocked her sideways as she felt a burning, ripping sensation deep inside her, she could feel the blood running down her legs, she could feel the blood vessels bursting and forming purple marks on her porcelain skin, she could not see anymore, her eyes useless but she could smell it. A familiar smell… This beast, she had come across it before, but how? She had never been into a forest before, this must be a dream she reasoned with herself.
Surely she was dreaming, in her apartment, in her bed, her best friend next door in the other room…
But the noise wouldn’t stop, and the claws wouldn’t give in digging, she felt it pressing into her, it’s teeth sank into her shoulder and its tongue forced itself into her mouth, denying her access to the scream that died in her throat.
They were purple and silver and black in stripes those tights… The tights she ripped when she fell down the stairs and hit her head and her knee. She grasped them to her as if they were the most cherished item in the world. When her mother came to collect her she wept; not for her knee that needed stitches, not for the headache or the scratches, she cried, her shoulders shaking, knowing her mother would be disappointed in her for breaking her new tights, specially brought from England for her as a present.
She tried to say sorry, she remembered, but her mother just smiled and hugged her, her eyes full of tears, the fright much more important than some tights she promised to fix.
They never were fixed those tights…And she missed them, she wished she had them on now… As if they’d save her.
CONCENTRATE ALEX.
Was she Alex still? She couldn’t remember but the name sounded familiar, she could imagine someone shouting it at her, in fact, they were… But it was so far away…

The beast turned her around, yanking her hair, she felt it as it came out at the root.
There was no pain anymore… Just cold. And those damn tights.

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The Crush.

Most cases of rape that can be found on the popular news channels are about strangers that randomly pick the victim, drug her, attack her and even murder her. It’s a fact that 1 out of 5 women have been sexually abused before their 20th birthday. But they don’t talk so much about all those cases of it being your best friend that does it, your husband, boyfriend, colleague…Family cases are brought up but; is it more about the shock factor, the horror factor than the actual news?
Do they publish it just to make you worry about wearing that skirt you bought last week, to make you think twice about being the independent woman that you are and walking home alone, living alone, to make you hold your child’s hand just that little bit tighter and trust a little bit less…Or do they actually give a damn?
Out of my circle of feminine friends, I admit this to be a small one as I tend to find myself more comfortable in the company of men (ironic considering…), maybe only one or two out of all the women I have had the pleasure of being close friends with have never admitted to have been violated in one way or another. Note the tiny number in that sentence and bear in mind that they could have suffered an event like the others but prefer not to tell the tale. That means, let’s say I have 12 female friends for example, 8 of them have been abused or raped, two have been victims of attempted rape or abuse and the other two we make no assumptions about what or what not has happened.

The part that makes my stomach drop, no matter how many times a similar story is told to me through tears, is that these people, the ones that have taken these women’s dignity, their privacy, their right to say no, the ones that have soiled that body that society already makes so damn hard to love “just the way we are”, making it impossible to ever see it the same way again, those people, are nearly always someone so close to them, you’d never suspect it. Why question that she’s quiet around a co-worker all of a sudden? They probably had a problem at work, what about her boyfriend? Maybe the love has fizzled… A husband? Money troubles!
There shall always be a reason she could be quiet, subdued.
But those people love her, right? They care for her, right?
She thought that too and that’s the devastation, right there.
How can you ever trust a person again when the person you’ve trusted the most is the one to crush you in the most intimate way…

 

There’s always going to be someone worse off than you but that isn’t a reason to belittle your pain or quiet down your story, you too are a survivor and that’s something to be proud of, not ashamed.

 

I am proud of you. They didn’t crush you, see? You got up again, you’re amazing.