Azariah - God Has Helped

Chapter 5

She lay still on her back as he climbed over her, every muscle in her body locked with dread. Tears streamed quietly down her temples, soaking into the thin fabric beneath her. She hated herself for agreeing. Couldn't she just run for her life and let the God she trusted this much provided all her needs according to his riches in glory. 

She hated him for asking, for forcing himself onto her for the price of something he knew she was desperate for. But her future—everything she had dreamed of—depended on this moment. And she saw no other choice.

Her spirit recoiled with every second. She wanted to shove him away, to scream in his face, to claw her way out of the moment—but she kept herself frozen. She forced herself to stay. To endure. To survive it.

She cried. She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. She begged silently for it to end, just so she could breathe again, so she could fall apart somewhere alone.

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Kiara was sixteen now—her final year of high school—and the deadline for exam payments was that very day. Eight subjects. Eight chances to change the course of her entire life. Five years of school meant nothing if she couldn't sit those exams.

But the money wasn't there.

Her mother had been jobless for years. Her father had refused her without hesitation—claiming he "couldn't afford it" while he bought lingerie for his girlfriend. That memory still cut her deeply. Her sacrifice would be enormous... and nobody at home cared.

So she called someone she trusted—a man from her church. A respected leader. Kind, admired, always smiling. She believed he would help her. He felt like her only hope.

And when he said yes, when he told her to meet him, a wave of relief washed over her. She told her mother happily, even promising she would repay him someday. For the first time in a long time, she felt God had not forgotten her.

That morning, she rose before the sun, sleep still clinging to the edges of her eyes. She stood at the bus stop long before she needed to, clutching her bag to her chest as though it could steady her shaking heart. Every passing minute tightened her nerves. She was waiting for his call. Waiting for rescue.

When she finally saw the truck pull up, her breath caught. Relief flooded her so quickly it nearly brought her to her knees. Gratitude surged through her chest—raw and overwhelming. She hurried toward him, forcing her feet to move faster than her fear, greeting him politely, her voice trembling beneath her composure. She thanked God silently. Over and over.

But then he smiled.

Not the smile she knew. Not the one that had once made her feel safe. This one lingered too long. It settled coldly at the base of her neck, tightening her skin, whispering danger where trust had lived.

She brushed the thought away in that instant, forcing it into a corner of her mind she promised herself she would never return to. Survival had a way of silencing fear, and right now, she needed to survive.

She climbed into the truck, the door closing behind her with a dull thud that echoed louder than it should have. He said he would drop her close to school, and she clung to that promise as though it were a lifeline. That smile still cling to her brain. 

As the truck pulled onto the road, she turned her face toward the window, watching the trees rush past in a blur of green and shadow. Her heart felt heavy—overwhelmed, conflicted—but beneath it all pulsed a fragile gratitude. Today, she would be able to pay for her subjects. Today, she would take one more step toward a future she had nearly lost.

She waited for the envelope. The help. The proof that she had been right to hope.

Instead, he spoke.

At first, she didn't understand. His words blurred together, melting into something unrecognizable. The world around her dissolved into ringing silence. Her ears burned. Her heart stuttered.

A church man?
A married man?
A man she had respected—trusted—with her desperation?

Her stomach twisted violently, tears pooling in her eyes as fear crept through her like poison. In that moment, she understood the cost of asking for help when you are vulnerable. Understood the weight of sacrifice—how easily it can be demanded instead of offered.

She stood there, caught between survival and self-respect, her hands trembling, her chest tight with unshed tears. And all she could think was how cruel it was that fear had found her again—this time wearing the face of help.

Her stomach twisted painfully. Her body went cold. Fear washed through her in violent waves. She begged him—quietly, desperately—not to ask that of her. But he repeated himself, firmer this time, and she suddenly understood that he was not going to help her unless she paid with herself.

And in that instant, she learned that not even the people who preached love and righteousness cared for her. Not truly.

She needed the money. She needed her future. And the world had given her no other options.

So she did as he instructed. Her frail body screaming 'No' but he didn't care. 

She lay down where he told her, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could, wishing her soul could detach from her body and float away until it was over. 

She thought of the first time she had given herself to someone—the heartbreak, the regret—and grief twisted inside her chest.

His weight pressed on her. She tried to drift somewhere far away in her mind. But reality pulled her back each time, and she felt her sadness growing into something sharp and unbearable. She prayed silently for it to stop, for God to pull her out, but nothing happened.

When he finally stilled, releasing a heavy breath, a wave of relief hit her so hard she almost sobbed. She just wanted him off her. Away from her. Out of her life.

He moved eventually. She stood up quickly, adjusting her uniform with shaking hands. She felt filthy—inside and out. Like something precious had been scraped out of her and thrown away.

He placed the money beside her, almost casually, and the sight of it made her cry harder.

She picked it up and stepped out of the truck.

"Your body feels good," he said behind her, his voice crawling over her skin. "You must get it from your mother."

She wished him death in that moment. A violent, crushing death.

She walked away with hot tears streaming down her cheeks, the money clutched painfully in her hand. She spent the next week crying every single day. Mourning more than just what happened—mourning the belief that people were good.

What shocked her most in the days that followed was the hatred that grew inside her—hatred for men, for their entitlement, for the way they took without caring what they destroyed. Everything about them repulsed her.

She realized she felt something different around women—something warm, safe, gentle. Something she wanted to explore. Something she hoped would not hurt her.

She downloaded Badoo, hesitant but desperate for a new kind of connection—a different love, a different touch. Something chosen. Something that did not hurt.

Her life was shifting, and for once, she embraced it.

The rape wasn't her choice.
The abuse wasn't her choice.
But this—this exploration, this hunger for love and safety—this was hers.

And she was ready.