Kendall

I sit on my boyfriend of more than two years lap, trembling under his touch. Every time his fingers connect with my bare skin, I think of that boy's hands. Cold, clammy, large. Touching, rubbing, groping. This is my boyfriend, the boy I've loved since the first day of lacrosse practice in Freshman year, and I can't stand the thought of him touching me. I can touch him, but once he touches me, the nightmare begins once again.

Wouldn't it be nice if that's all that this was? A nightmare. I could just wake up back at Josh's house and look over to see him sleeping there, his breathing deep and steady. This day would have never happened. I would have never been pulled in to this room. I would have never been raped.

But it's not a nightmare. It's a reality. An awful, veritable truth.

"Let's get you dressed," Josh whispers, lifting me off of him and placing me on my feet. "Then I'll tell Amanda that you got sick and were throwing up so you couldn't play."

I can't bring myself to reply, so I simply nod my head as Josh hands me my clothes.

I slip the bright yellow spandex sliders over my thighs, pulling them so they cover my underwear. The yellow is too bright, too happy for this day. I slide the navy blue skirt over the spandex, recalling the feeling of his hands slithering underneath it. The shirt is next, and I yank the smooth, navy blue material over my ponytail, letting the loose fabric hang over my torso.

I cringe as Josh puts his arm around my waist, and he can feel it. He pulls his arm away and we just walk, side by side, not touching, to the bleachers.

Andrew and Todd have returned to their seats in the upper row of the stands, not chattering happily with the rest of their teammates, but staring solemnly off into the abyss.

I look over to the field, where my friends are fighting to defeat our rivals without my help. We are losing twelve to four, a meager two minutes remaining in the second half, yet we are still fighting. They are still trying to win, despite the fact that everyone in the stadium knows that it's not possible.

"I'm going to go tell Amanda. You can take my seat next to Andrew," Josh says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. I climb the metal stairs in what seems like slow motion to me, but is in reality quite fast, for I am at the top of the bleachers, in the corner seat in no time. I look down and see Josh on the field, talking to my coach near the bench. She is understanding, I can tell from her body language, and Josh exits the field.

The final buzzer of the game rings. The Pittsburgh Hills fans go crazy. They holler the school war call. They jump around as if they just won the Third World War. But it's just a game. It's not even a game in that matter. It's a scrimmage. It's just a stupid scrimmage in a stupid sport for stupid people who don't even know what lacrosse is.

They just come because they know they're supposed to. They come to look cool, to fit in. They don't care. Nobody truly cares. In twenty years, we won't remember this scrimmage. We will not remember the outcome. We'll remember playing it maybe, but not the details. It is just a two hour long event, but it takes over our lives. We revolve our world around it, and for what? For college scholarships? For friends? It's all so trivial. It's all so replaceable, forgettable.

But what happened to me in that equipment room is not. I will never forget it. I will always remember his voice, telling me that we should do this again. I will always remember his fingers, tugging at my clothes. His hands, stroking my body. It will always be with me. It will never go away. I will never be the same.

We play a lacrosse game and are the same people we were before. Maybe we get a few cuts or bruises, but it's nothing life changing. Yet people are willing to ruin other people's lives to win. To have a victory under their belt. To brag.

Coach Scott calls his team down to the field, and the boys sitting to my left file out of the row, down the bleachers, and are replaced by my team. By my friends. By the girls I spend nearly every second of the day with.

"You feeling better?" Destiny asks sliding in to the seat next to me.

"What?"

"Your stomach? Is it feeling better? Coach told us you got sick," Destiny clarifies and I finally snap out of my daze. I finally leave the old equipment room and enter the outside world, the present.

"A little bit," I reply, yanking my hair out of it's once perfect, but now a sloppy mess, ponytail. I retie my long, brown hair in to a messy bun on the top of my head, feeling the springtime breeze tickle my neck.

Rachel whistles quietly. "Damn, Kendall. Most boyfriends hold their girl's hair when they throw up, but yours gives you a hickey!"

I reach my fingers to the side of my neck, feeling around for a bump of some sort.

Destiny pulls out her green iPhone 5c and opens the camera to front view, handing it to me. I point it in the direction of my neck and see the bruise-like mark on my pale skin. A small whimper escapes my throat, knowing what the twins don't know. This is not from Josh, it's from a monster.

I lean my head against the side of the metal bleachers, feeling the coolness seep in to my forehead. I close my eyes gently, willing it all to go away. Praying that somehow, I can be taken back to this morning. Hoping that I can cause myself to take back the decision to go to the bathroom before my game, but I can't. My eyes shoot open quickly as images appear in my mind of the attack. The darkness. The hands.

Those hands.

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Sorry the delay! I was at writing camp and then in California! But I'm back now so here's some more.
Xoxo,
Sydney