The Boy Who Cried Help

Chapter 11

Aiden's POV

Sorry y'all, it's been years. I've been in the mood to write and kinda wanted to finish this one. If you don't want to go back and reread the previous chapters I'll give you a brief summary of what has happened so far. So Aiden was raped by a woman and has been traumatized for three years because of it. He moved recently and is now going to a new school where he meets Scarlett who he immediately has a problem with because she has the same hair color as his rapist. He also meets Paul(who he sits with at lunch) and his little brother Matthew. He later finds out they have an abusive father.  In the previous chapter, Aiden finds out Scarlett's aunt is his rapist. Trigger warning: will mention self-harm.

I couldn't move. Hearing that voice made me want to puke, crawl into a hole and float into oblivion.

Scarlett was looking irritated that her aunt was calling her and eventually turned to me for help. She took in my expression and I could see the question in her eyes. But before she could say anything to me about it,  her mother came into view followed by her aunt. In the three years since I had last seen her, she had visibly aged. Her red hair was littered with gray, wrinkles made themselves noticeable on her face, her eyes dull and sunken in. With what she was wearing, if I hadn't known she was a hooker, I would have known then. With her bright red lipstick, short black skirt, cheetah print camisole, and 7- inch pumps, she left nothing to the imagination. When Scarlett's aunt finally looked at me, her calm demeanor turned sneaky as she smirked at me. 

Before she could say anything, I ran to their bathroom and violently puked. Anything and everything that I had consumed recently evacuated itself from my body and into the toilet. After I was sure the contents of my stomach were empty, I flushed the toilet and rinsed my face with water. I found some mouthwash so I rinsed and then looked in the mirror. I expected to see my reflection, but instead I saw the same expression I had the night I was raped. I was that weak, little boy again. Shaking my head, I tried to put that thought out of my mind. I needed to leave and I needed to leave now. I couldn't help myself deal with Scarlett's aunt much less Scarlett. Finally dragging myself out of the bathroom, I headed to the front door. With any luck, Scarlett and her family would be out of the path to the door and I could slip away surreptitiously.

 I had no suck luck.

They were all standing in the same area where I had left them. Scarlett's mom was the first to see me come back. 

"Aiden, are you alright?" she asked sounding exactly like a worried mother. 

I tried to manage a smile but failed as I said "I think I'm okay but I'm going to go lay down at home." Scarlett shot me a worried look before saying "I'll see you at school. I hope you feel better." 

I nodded in her direction and didn't even bother looking in the direction of her aunt. I just had to leave. Every second I was in the same room with her, I could feel my skin crawl, my lungs fill, and the room get smaller. I practically sprinted to my car, hopped in and drove off. I made it home and ran into my room. 

Slamming and locking the door, I slid down the wall and put my head between my legs. I could feel myself shaking and against my will, I started to cry. Crying turned into sobbing which turned into hyperventilating. I could feel the onset of a panic attack as I tried desperately to regain control of my body. I tried to control my breathing with those deep breathing tricks I'd learned but to no avail. The attack was getting worse as my mind kept going back to the fact that my rapist is Scarlett's aunt and that she is here. My rapist is a mere ten minutes away. 

I could run into her at the supermarket or anywhere really. My body started to lurch and dry heave because there was nothing left to expel from my stomach. Giving up on the deep breathing techniques, I tried counting backward from 100 aloud. I had gotten to 92 before I could feel my body slow down and my breathing even out. By 76 I was breathing normally and the tears had stopped. I felt lightheaded so I went to the bathroom to hydrate. 

My face had an unattractive red tinge so I threw water on it and rinsed. Avoiding looking in the mirror, I looked down on my counter and my razor caught my eye. I hadn't cut in over two years. Yet I picked up the razor. At first, I just inspected it. Twirling the metal object in my hand for a few minutes weighing the pros and cons of making just one little cut. Pulling up my sleeves, I stared at the faded scars that littered my upper arms. 

Most of my cuts were higher up so as to be hidden with a normal T-shirt. But there were times where I got desperate and careless resulting in visible cuts. I held the razor a breath away from my skin before I purposely dropped it in the sink where it clattered. 

Closing my eyes, I took some deep breaths and decided I need to get out of the house. I was strong enough to not relapse after two years but only just barely. Without looking at them, I pulled down my sleeves and walked out of my bathroom and to the front door. I didn't see my mom on the way in and I don't see her now so I just grabbed my keys and left. 

Not knowing where I was going, I just started driving. After twenty minutes of mindless driving, I ended up at the park. It was empty aside from an older couple going on a stroll.  I made my way to the swings and half-heartedly picked up my feet to push myself off the ground. Trying to block out recent events I started humming songs that made me feel better. 

I was in the middle of  "Avalanche" by Bring Me the Horizon when I noticed two figures walking in the park. They were walking towards me and I felt my breath hitch before I realized they were heading towards the benches near me. I let a deep breath as I continued to hum lyrics to myself. About ten minutes later I heard my name. 

Whipping my head in the direction of the voice, I saw that it was one of the people on the benches. I didn't answer back, instead squinting in the direction. I couldn't tell who it was so I left the swing and inched closer. I made out the outline of Paul and Matthew who was now sleeping on Paul's lap. I should have known it was Paul since other than Scarlett, he's the only one I really exchanged any words with here. 

I sat down next to him and said "Hey." Even to my ears, that sounded weak. I hadn't covered it up like I should have. Paul turned towards me and asked "What's wrong?" My stomach dropped and I felt sick again. But I completely ignored the question.

  Instead I asked "How are you and Matthew?" Paul grimaced but said "Okay for now. We left the house because my father was in a drunken rage. I figured it would be better to stay out of the way." 

I didn't know how to respond so I just said "Yeah." 

It was quiet for a beat before Paul said "You didn't tell me what was wrong."

 That familiar feeling of my stomach dropping came back and I wanted to tell him that I was fine. But I had been feeding my parents that lie for three years and especially after today, I am not fine. I am so far from being fine. Not telling anyone hasn't done me any favors and after I almost relapsed today, I should tell someone. It's not like Paul wasn't a good person to tell. In fact, because of his abuse, he is less likely to react negatively. But then again since he has so much going on, I don't want to burden him with my shit. 

My internal battle was interrupted when Paul said "You don't have to tell me but whatever it is, it looks like it's eating at you." 

I made eye contact with him and before I could stop it, a tear escaped from my eye. I looked away, ashamed. Paul put his hand on my shoulder in a comforting way before removing it. A few moments passed by. I slowly started to unzip my hoodie and when I finished, I took a deep breath and removed my arms. Paul looked at me and then looked down. I wasn't sure he could see my arms because of the park lighting but he eyes quickly flashed back up to mine with a look of recognition. 

I took another deep breath and said "I used to cut. I stopped two years ago and today I almost started again." Paul looked at me and continued to listen silently.  I paused, wondering if I was he was going to be the first person I told about the rape. It was quiet for a while as I was stalling. Paul was still giving me his attention yet it held no pressure or assumption that I was going to say anything more.  Then I spat out the three words I had never uttered before. "I was raped."