Another Broken Eternity

a true story

"i was raped"

the words were hard to get out, much harder that what she thought. shame and embarrassment and disgust shoved its way up her throat, constricting her airway.

the suspicious glance her teacher gave her only made it worse. her throat fluttered as she forced herself not to cry.

"you were...raped?"

the teacher's voice was laced with doubt, not believing a word she said. the teacher eyed the student's low-cut shirt, which narrowly avoided being against dress-code.

she fought the urge to adjust her shirt, and looked down hard at the ground. "yes." her voice came out hoarse and soft.

"and is there any proof?"

the teacher that she was wasting time. the teacher thought she was making it up. that realization almost felt worse than admitting it ever happened in the first place.

"proof?" she parroted back, nothing more than an echo.

the teacher nodded, eyes darting to the clock mounted on the wall, red-painted fingernails tapping anxiously against the shining wooden desk. "what proof is there?"

fingerprints, she thought. but she couldn't find her voice to say the word.

his fingertips are on my arms, my stomach, my thighs. his fingertips are all over my body.

they're inside my body, too. because sometimes, touching the skin just isn't enough for them. they want more.

i have bruises. they always act like the victim never fights back, but i tried. i really did. i have purple bruises on the inside of my thighs from where he had to pry my legs open to get inside me. i have imprints of his hands on my arms and back.

he gave me scars, too, but you can't see them. they're somewhere deep inside me, in my soul. i have scars there, and they'll never heal.

all the words played in her mind, but they died on her lips. the teacher looked at her dubiously, awaiting an answer that would never come.

she stood up suddenly, shoving the chair back harshly. it scraped against the ground.

"coming here was a mistake," she muttered, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

"wait," the teacher called out after her. she paused, a tendril of hope blossoming within her chest.

the teacher held out a small pamphlet. "this is for a therapist. i recommend you make an appointment."

her heart pounded. did the teacher believe her, despite the obvious prejudice? hands shaking, she accepted the brochure.

"i don't know what's happening at home," the teacher continued, "but please leave the drama there. i don't have time to listen to your attention-seeking stories."

her heart shattered. it pierced through her rips, and stabbed her lungs. she stopped breathing.

"and if you want to spread this rumor, then stop wearing such scandalous clothes. it doesn't help your image."

she stormed out the door, face burning red, tear pricking her eyes. she hardly made it to the bathroom before she fell apart.

but the teacher's words proved to be the mildest of the day. several more followed her like haunting ghosts.

slut.

attention-seeking whore.

slag.

bitch.

fake.

but that was all okay, as she was constantly reminded that all along, she was asking for it.