The Jock

Peace

"There is no difference in being raped and going head first through a windshield of a car except you are not afraid of cars but of the human race."

She was in the back row, quietly drinking in the dark gloomy atmosphere. She stared at the black box that occupied the center of the room and was decorated with various flowers; the box that hid the pale boy from everyone's prying eyes and questions. After all, who wouldn't want to know more about the jock who killed himself?

She took in the way the Mother, who was seated in the front row, was bawling her eyes out. Silently accusing herself for her son's suicide, she regretted never taking much heed to his nightmares – for letting him slip away with his nothings. She saw the way the Father awkwardly avoided staring at the coffin in front of him as he recalled the times he supported his pride rather than his son; the times he told him to just grow some balls.

The way Jackson Tarly's face was blotchy with tears, and how he had forgotten about the unsaid law of boys not crying. She noticed the way he kept on murmuring about how he should have come up to him, how he could have helped him; saved him.

She saw Jake Spears and Paul Shrebatsky whispering furiously amidst their friends about why would a boy who had it all kill himself. Why would more specifically the Star Jock commit suicide? Each speculating about why he didn't go to his million friends.

The whole school had arrived to pay their respects, except the girl who was the root of everyone's suffering. The girl who had successfully been raping him for the past seven months and wouldn't be caught for her sins, for everybody was afraid of breaking the norm; of accepting that the golden boy could be raped, of acknowledging the fact that a boy can be raped.

However, the girl could still not understand why he would tell her all this. Her hand tightened on the diary she found in her locker the day he had committed his suicide. He had left her with all his secrets, a girl he had never spoken to his whole life.

She knew everything about him, yet she knew nothing. The irony was blindingly strong to her surrounded by his close friends and family who knew the boy in the coffin, yet didn't know him. Perhaps the mere thought of him being buried in the pretense of suicide when it had been a murder was what made her raise her voice when the priest asked for people who would want to pay their respects.

Standing on the podium, the girl fidgeted with her fingers while nervously avoiding the curious stares everyone was giving her. She needed to say something for him; for their sake, after all it would be for their peace rather than his.

"Hi guys," she squeaked out quickly regretting it as everyone's faces became more puzzled.

"I never knew much about Z until after he died, so for the most of my life I believed that he was your 'it boy'. I mean who couldn't you with him being a jock that title almost preceded him, and maybe because if that he is also dead today. He was put on the pedestal and he couldn't risk falling from it, but maybe he should have. He should have spoken up instead of just writing a measly diary, but then maybe he was scared after what his Father told him." Whispers burst out as people tried to get a glance of the Father in the front row.

"Because truth be told, the star jock of the school had been raped by his girlfriend."

She walked away from the podium, quietly slipping up to the Mother and giving here the diary with a muffled apology. She didn't stay back to clarify or to be attacked, all her job was to tell everyone and she did it. Nobody deserved to go what they went through. Nobody deserved to be raped.

*

Just in case you were wondering, they means Z and the girl who might have been raped.

Epilogue coming nexttt, but this has basically ended so yea first complete storyyyy.