Shadowed Secrets

Awake

Quick author's note:
This is a true story, a memoir that I am working on, and I tried to stay vague without shying away from the events that occurred. This particular chapter is about as bad as it gets and though the rest of whatever else I write will be just as "dark", I will try to not be too vulgar.

His rough hands rolled me onto my back gently. The sky was still dark and the house was asleep. I was supposed to be too, except I woke up to his body standing over me. He carefully pulled my pajama shorts down, trying not to wake me. I stayed still, pretending to be asleep scared of what was next and too cowardly to push him away. I knew what would happen, it wasn't the first time I lived this nightmare.

His fingers ran over my panties, tugging them down and placing them asidebefore slowly spreading my adolescent legs. I felt a tear slide down my cheek and I rolled over onto my side, trying to squeeze my legs together, hoping and praying he'd stop and go away. He didn't, though. No, instead he laid me on my back once more, kneeling between my legs and resumed his activity, sliding a finger in roughly, me being entirely dry. His other hand slid my shirt up, revealing my thin stomach where he pressed kisses to my naval and slid his filthy tongue down. It was as if a snail was in his tongue's place with the trail of wet saliva he left behind.

I bit back a sob, not once opening my eyes and trying to keep my breathing steady so I appeared to be asleep. The thought of what he'd do if he knew I was awake frightened me. Would he stop or would he press to go further? I stayed there in Hell, enduring every moment of his taking advantage of my young body. He'd shove another finger in, not even caring to be gentle anymore. As if he wanted me to wake up. He would thrust his fingers inside me and pulling them out again, over and over and over and over and over again. Sometimes he'd find himself carefully spreading them apart inside of me as he licked up whatever dripped down. I never understood how I could hate something so much but it still feel good.

Forever passed, and I couldn't stop the feeling in my stomach that made it clench and seize. I was so confused as to what was happening. Why couldn't I control the spasm? He didn't stop though, he continued until my body rested again. He continued on for another forever until finally the alarm clock in his room went off. He stopped, removed himself, and quickly and hurriedly reclothed me before tossing me onto my side and leaving my room. He hadn't even bothered fixing my shirt.

The sun was just starting to kiss the horizon, and the clocks were barely reading eight. I fixed my eyes on the wall my bed rested against. The white paint was still clean and surprisingly not wearing away.

My stepdad returned from his room, flipping on my light switch and knocking on the door. As if he hadn't just violated me, he softly told me, "wake up and get ready for school." Once his back turned and he knocked on my younger brother's door next to mine and told him the same, I let the tears fall and sat up.

It was just another day, another week. I would put on the school uniform and walk with my brother to the bus stop in front of the apartment complex's office. My jeans would be a hair to short and my shirt slightly baggy. It wasn't even because we couldn't afford new clothes, I was just too thin. Today, was no different. I grabbed my book-bag and the Safe-link phone that my mom was letting me use as my own now. My brother, only nine, had already stained his light blue polo shirt with his cereal milk and was doing his best to annoy me.

"Knock it off. I'm not in the mood for your shit," I scolded quietly to keep our mom from hearing. I still felt dirty, not having time to shower, and I didn't even understand what happened this morning, or the morning before, or last week, and the week before that.

"Sheesh, no need to be so grumpy. It's Friday, be happy for once." He crossed his arms and stopped, waiting for me to join him at the front door. I quickly knocked on my mom's bedroom door. She would be getting ready for work soon herself. "Bye Mom, we love you," I called through the closed door. It wasn't until I heard her reply that I nodded at my brother to open the apartment door.

"Did you grab your keys, sis?" Anthony (Reminder: all names, mine excluded, have been changed) asked me for the third day in a row as I closed the door. Like clockwork, I cussed and went back inside. My keys were in my room, the same place I dreaded being in lately. Hastily I ran to my desk and grabbed them, glancing at my bed. I fought the urge to cry and rushed back to my brother. He took the keys from me and locked up the apartment before following me out of our hall and putting the key-chain in my bag.

"Hurry the hell up. We're gonna be late again," I hissed. We had made it to the hill that lead to the office and Anthony insisted on cutting through the grass, as he rolled his eyes. "You're the idiot that took forever getting her keys."

Without even thinking my fist collided with his side and I continued walking. "Worry about your own damned business." I heard his rushed footsteps as he ran up behind me and kicked me in the back of the knee. Glancing up as I gained my balance, I ran after him and threw my bag down by the green box every one sat on as we waited for the yellow monster.

"Could you guys not? It's too early for this." One of the other kids said, they were only a year older than me and in the eighth grade. I was taller though, only in seventh. Anthony nodded his head, seemingly to agree but I bit my lip in annoyance as I hit him again. "One day you're gonna learn to not kick me from behind you asshole." I yelled, as we started to fight.

It was another morning and nothing changed. Anthony and I were fighting yet again. His dad had made me hate myself again. Our mom was still asleep, clueless to the extremity of our sibling quarrels yet again. Every other student at the bus stop hated me for taking my anger out on my brother and hating him from egging me on. I was 12, and turning into a monster.

None of our punches drew blood, neither of us pinched or pulled hair, and both of us were dead serious. We finally stopped when one of the older kids yanked us apart and stared at me. Anthony was seen as victim to them, and looking back, he was. He was a victim to a side of me I wish never existed. They didn't understand that I was a victim too, a victim to someone who had everyone else under his spell.

The bus came and we sat on opposite sides, but still close. The other kids may have hated me for my abuse towards my brother, but they didn't treat him any better. I'd threaten them all the minute they started taunting him and punch his shoulder if he let them. I rationalized that I was helping him get tougher. I knew that if he could handle me and defend himself, I wouldn't ever have to worry about him being in my position.

I blame myself now, for his emotional damage that I would notice later.