Groomed

2

The months following the incident was quiet and uneventful as far as I can remember. Finneas avoided our house for a time but eventually came around again like nothing had happened.

A few years passed with nothing of that sorts happening again. I didn't think much of it by the time I turned 11. My brother's social circle kept growing and by this time he had three friends that visited us on the regular. By regular I mean most weekends and school holidays.

Finneas was still around, still nauseatingly charming and more handsome than ever. He had dark hair styled to perfection every time he came around, wet look was all the rage back then. He strutted like he owned the place, he definitely owned my heart by this time.

He was my first crush. I guess you could say my first love, even though 11 year old me had no idea what love was - and boy did everyone keep reminding me of that fact - I can confidently say now that I definitely loved him as much as my inexperienced little heart allowed me to.

And everything in me wanted him to love me back, which, thinking about it now I can't say I care much for whether he loved me at the time or even liked me... I just wish he'd cared enough to not treat me like he had.

We were texting via a free online social media platform that you still had to log on and off from, and he'd give me a missed call when he wanted me to go online to chat and vice versa.

See on text he was mostly sweet and we had so many inside jokes and shared all our secrets and gave each other advice on everything.

He was my friend before he was my crush.

And I use the term friend lightly, mostly because some times he would be the complete opposite. Put me down. Subtle jabs to my ego and nasty comments. Like asking for Jackie's number the day he met her.

I watched in horror as my best friend showed me some of the texts they'd exchanged, feigning exitement and helping her formulate a reply as if my heart wasn't shattering in my chest.

Meanwhile, he would make my stomach flip and my heart hammer dangerously in my chest everytime our skin met. I wish I could explain in more detail the small things he did or said to me that would send my mind spiraling into a jumbled mess of thoughts, but it was so long ago I hardly remember.

I just know everytime we were alone... everytime no one was in earshot, when no one was around to observe, he'd make an effort to be nice, sweet and kind with his words. Whether it was genuine... your guess would be as good as mine.

And when the rest of the group were around, it was a constant loop of roast battles that played on all my insecurities, not-so-subtle jabs at my ego and inside jokes I didn't know the context of.

The worst it got was when he started being nice to me infront of the group. I was apprehensive at first, but ecstatic nonetheless. I naively thought it was sincere, that he was falling in love with me and didn't care what the rest of the friend group thought. He would defend me against the onslaught of the so-called roast battles, call me babe out loud and even call me instead of texting, we would talk late into the nights and I didn't care that I had to get up for school less than 4 hours later. It went on for some time, enough for me to become used to it, comfortable with it.

Then one evening he suddenly texted me saying it was all a joke, the lovey-dovey façade was merely a dare from the group, or a bet. I can't remember. Either way, I've never felt more humiliated - cheated - if you will, in my 23 years of existance.

One evening we're a few spin the bottle games in. The rules were as follows. Whoever the bottle lands on has to go into a room with the one who spun the bottle with the exception of course that when my brother spins and it lands on me, he spins again. And also when it lands on a guy and the one who is spinning the bottle is a guy, you can spin again.

Hypocritical enough though, if you're female and it lands on a female, you do not get that same courtesy extended to you.

We were a bunch of kids messing around, my brother and his three closest friends were there that night - Finneas, Jason and Harry - along with me and my 2 closest friends - Jackie and Casey.

Jason and Harry were brothers with literally a year's age difference.

Jason was tall, blonde and with teeth straight out of a toothpaste commercial. He was always sweet to me though, and hadn't contributed to my childhood trauma nearly as much as Fin and Harry, who was the complete opposite to his brother; shorter, darker hair and cheeks that were always a shade of bright pink.

Don't get it twisted though, all of them were vulgar and inappropriate towards me and my friends who were all extremely underaged still. Me and Casey were the youngest at 11 and Jackie had 2 years on us but 13 is hardly grown either.

Which is why I didn't really know what I got myself into when Harry spun the bottle and it landed on me.

From what I remember there was no limit on the amount of time you had to spend in the room together, so when we emerged 45 minutes later, no one batted an eye and by this time they were bored with the game and had moved on to playing console.

During the 45 minutes we spent in that room not a lot happened which may come as a surprise.

I mean... that is if you count making out with a 15 year old boy for 30 minutes or so before giving your first ever blowjob at 11 as 'not much'. I guess once you've been exposed to such extremes at such a young age not a lot surprises you after the fact.

I sometimes wonder if they look at their own kids and cringe when they think back to those times in that four bedroom house with the pool we sometimes went skinny dipping in.

I sometimes think of Fin and whether or not he remembers our late night conversations where we talked about stuff that's no longer important. I wonder if he remembers that day in the lounge on the mattress when he violated me, or years later when he looked me in the eyes and told me to kiss him.

I wonder if he remembers that kiss. The one that sent me over the edge.

There was no going back for me after that kiss.

Our first kiss.

I think about the moments where he absolutely destroyed my self esteem with back handed compliments and sometimes straight up insults and I wonder why it still plagues my mind even though looking back I feel nothing but pity for the brown eyed girl who wore her heart on her sleeve.

I think of the good moments we had when we were alone in a room and he'd invade my personal space with his stupid gelled mohawk and his stupidly delicious smelling deoderant and caressed my cheek and called me babe... and at the time that was enough to undo all the ache he caused, and the tears.

And for a brief amount of time I would forget the amount of hate I had for myself.

He would look into my eyes, as if he's really looking... seeing me.

By my 12th birthday he had taken my virginity.

It went on like this for months, the private conversations we shared throughout the weeks being raw, honest, understanding. Then he would visit on the weekends and comment on my childishness, my baggy clothes, my weight.

Only to sneak into my room at night to fuck me, and when word got out to my brother's friends they started taking turns, passing me and my friends around like a blunt.

Of course I was always second choice... after Jackie.

Why I allowed this behaviour I couldn't tell you. Maybe because I was underage and needed guidance and support and a safe haven somewhere where I won't be judged.

Even when the school found out about it we were shamed and asked how we could allow this instead of, I don't know... being offered counseling.

The school system failed us.

It failed me.

But I thought we were having fun. I though 'isn't this what adults do anyway?'

It's certainly what my mom did.

Besides cheating on my dad for 10 years with a guy fresh out of high school at the time, she also fucked the guy I was in love with...

Finneas.