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I walk into the home that belonged to Charlie Rhodes. He was a drunk. Fostering kids for the check and easy access. he seemed nice enough but had scruffy beard that made him look like a bum. Pot belly that hung over his belt. Beefy hands that always had dirt and gunk on them. I entered the house late. He had a curfew of eight pm on weeknights. It was only twenty minutes after when I crept inside.
He was awake. Waiting. I barely made it five inches away from the door before I was pinned against the wall. His hand around my neck. Squeezing. He spat profanities through whiskey scented breath. His gold digging girlfriend no doubt listening from their bedroom. I can still remember the feeling of him throwing me to the floor. My head banging against the coffee table.
I remember the weight of his body as he crawled over top of me. I remember thinking that it couldn't be happening. That it had to of been some kind of cruel nightmare. I tried to push him off. I pushed against the pudginess of his chest. I kicked at the thickness of his legs. He overpowered me. How could he have not? I can still feel the fear. Taste the saltiness of tears. Feel his hand around my throat.
He squeezed when I tried to scream. I remember the sound of his zipper. I can hear him telling me he was going to 'teach me a lesson.' The sound of my shirt being ripped. His hand on flesh that wasn't even developed. Breaking free for only five seconds before I was pulled face first down onto his dirty carpet. His weight behind me. Crushing me down. My jeans being pulled against my skin.
The searing pain of the intrusion. It wasn't supposed to be there. I screamed. I cried. There's not much you can do being face down with three hundred pound man on top of you. He grunts about my tightness. Softness. The way it makes him feel. How could someone be so sick? I remember not feeling anything. It was like I wasn't there anymore. Screaming for him to get off me did nothing. Crying for help and no one came.
That was the first time. My first time. I was eleven. He was forty six. His twenty five year old girlfriend was only but so many feet away. She could have stopped him. He could have gotten his pleasure with her. Neither of them did the right thing. I laid there. Sniveling. Nails digging into the carpet. Muffled screams being eaten by the carpet as he pushed my face down.
It's 3:44 AM when I wake up screaming. gasping. A cold sweat clinging to skin. I inhale deep breaths while bringing a shaking hand to my forehead. My lungs were constricting. I wheeze out too many coughs at once. My hand slides down to my neck. I could feel myself being choked. It was like I was there all over again. I faintly hear shuffling from above me. A soft thud on the floor.
"No, no, no, no! Please!"
"Aaron?"
My brain wasn't processing it. It's Charlie. That has to be Charlie. A hand touches my arm. Shaking me. I scream. I feel tears falling onto my cheeks. The words I want to say get clogged in my throat. I can't breathe. I can't think. Whiskey in the air. Charlie on top of me. I grip at my hair and back myself into the wall. My knees to my chest.
