Young Hearts

Chapter Three

"Flowers grow back even after they are stepped on and so will I." 

Trigger Warning: Sexual assault, self-harm

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Maybe I am moving too fast.

When I moved to this small town, the town I grew up, I met two kids. Brother and sister. His sister 5, and he was 9. I was 8. I was friends with his younger sister, Rose. And this boy, his name is Ryan. When I was younger he used to hit me, and constantly make sexual advances even when he was young. He groped me before I even knew the terminology. 

I remained friends with them both.

After getting kicked out, I decided to hang out with 19 year old Ryan. It was November 5. 

He lived in a group home, so his staff brought him. His staff was named Mao. He brought Ryan over and asked for my phone number in case he needed to contact Ryan, due to the fact he did not have a phone.

It was the next day when Mao called me that I knew he didn't just want my number because he was Ryan's staff. He told me he was at my apartment, that he wanted to hang out. I was setting up direct deposit at my work, three or four hours before I was supposed to be in.

I awkwardly told him I would meet him back halfway. It was a rainy night, seems like a perfect setting for something bad to happen, doesn't it? He just walked me the long way home. As it started raining harder, I took off my glasses because the wetness on them were prohibiting my ability to see. He then took this opportunity to try and guide me by putting his hand on my lower back, and I automatically moved away from him but he was persistent.

Should have been a red flag. Maybe this was just some naive teenage girl being stupid, but I have finally learned to not blame myself for things that happen; things out of my control.

He guided me up to his friend's apartment that night, where we hung out for maybe twenty minutes before I went back down to my apartment. Number 213. I ate some pasta, then worked a 7:00-11:00 shift. I closed that night, telling my shift leader some of what happened and how it made me kind of uncomfortable. She told me to avoid him.

But he was nice. And it had only been a month and a half since Dylan had left.

I wanted to impress somebody, to start gaining self confidence.

Maybe I gained too much.

Maybe I should have taken a different approach.

Maybe, just maybe, it would have gone different.

We hung out around 1:00 the next afternoon. It was a nice day, I got my paycheck and I was on my way home. I wore two crystal necklaces. A long sleeve I got in a New York, my Hard Rock cafe shirt. I had my hair brushed nicely down and I had skinny jeans and boots. My black bra straps showing on my shoulders.

Maybe I was dressed like I wanted something.

But I didn't.

A broken girl, naive and vulnerable.

A broken girl he started kissing and pushed me onto my back. I moved my head away. I told him I didn't think we should do anything. He got between my legs and undid my jeans. I grabbed my belt loops and asked him what he was doing.

He pulled them down to my knees, beforehand I was just telling him I wasn't sure and that I didn't think it was a good idea. I thought these negative statements would give him the hint that I didn't want to. I had never been put in such a situation that when I wanted something to stop so desperately and it didn't.

 When my jeans got to my knees, I finally started saying "no". 

He just continued. Told me he wanted to feel like a man. He hadn't done 'it' in so long. He wanted to feel like a man. He kept repeating that statement. I remember he moved my underwear to the side as I shoved on his shoulders.

Then he penetrated me.

I stopped. I stopped fighting and I froze. He started thrusting. I don't know how long I laid there for to be honest, but I finally started comprehending everything that was happening.

I started hitting his left side, my right hand balled into a fist. He moved to the side a bit when I started and I got off the bed. I immediately grabbed my jeans and slipped them on. He blocked the door and asked me what I was doing. I got on my phone and texted my best friend's step dad, who was already worried. He knew that Mao gave me bad vibes the night before, and he also knew that I was hanging out with him.

He had texted me four times and was ready to go looking for me.

All I messaged him was two texts.

"308"

"hurry"

And then Mao asked me once again what I was doing and I grabbed the doorknob and ran out of the apartment. Boots in hand towards the elevator. I looked back and he wasn't following me. I hadn't even started crying yet.

It didn't kick in until I got to the hall and Peter was walking out of our apartment when I ran in. I fell to my knees on the floor, completely incapable of explaining what just happened.

Thankfully in this city, in this new apartment building, there was a small police station. Peter brought me downstairs when I hyperventilated, trying to explain what happened. By that time, they went to bring me to the hospital. When I left, I see Mao drive off in his car. I pointed and I screamed.

Four months later, I broke down once again.

There was no DNA.

There was no case.

Mao got away.

My detective said she would submit it for review but she said it was too circumstantial to go to court with. I was told that false accusations were illegal. But my others, I was given numbers for support.

On November 8, the day after, I got a tattoo on my right arm. "Flowers grow back even after they are stepped on and so will I." 

It was after that event that the small cuts, that the cuts I had done for years before, changed. They became deep. They hit veins, arteries, they needed stitches. They got infected. The skin around them died. 

Maybe I gave him the wrong impression, or maybe sometimes bad things happen. 

I should have listened to my instincts, right? 

But I can't anymore. December 22, the next thing that made me fall apart. I met a boy. His name was Kane.

Kane worked at a competitor grocery store, but we bonded over swearing in sign language and P.L.U codes. He called me a 4166, which is a sweet onion. 

Kane accepted the fact I had scars. He accepted that I was raped. He accepted I was broken, and he loved me for it anyway.

Until those loving remarks, the kind words, turned into me crying. Me being scared whenever he got angry, cowering to the ground in fear he would hurt me. It turned into him being manipulative and possessive. Everyone in his life telling me I was toxic for him, and people in mine telling me what he was doing was abuse.

I backed him up. He wasn't abusive - he just cared. Right?

I fell madly in love with Kane. I feel like Kane deserves his own story. He deserves some kind of defense. Maybe he didn't know he was hurting me. Maybe he thought it was for the better that he scared me into trying to be clean from cutting.

But all he did was make me stop talking to people. To not have any guy friends unless they were gay. He needed to know my whereabouts, when I was going to be home, etc. Then accused me of cheating or doing this or that when I still had a couple of guy friends.

Even when I cut off communication, he didn't care. Those I love you's, those I'll never leave you's, turned into a restraining order and extreme pain. He made me distrust. He made me hurt. And I think he was happy that he had that power over me. He wanted that power.

And dammit, he got it.

- Hazel