Who doesn’t know that the best thing which is not only the best thing but also the only thing to do during a period like this was to turn yourself in.
Ask for help.
But there was no way in hell I was asking for help. And even if I did, do you imagine I would get it.
Every part of my body hurt like hell, but I didn’t for once shed a tear. Crying would only do more damage than the rape had already done- if there could possibly be more damage. You’d probably think there couldn’t possibly be more damage, but then how do I expect you to know? You have never been gang raped by five fully grown men and can I say assaulted by a teenage boy who had no idea what he was doing.
Crying would only make things worse. Crying would bring guilt and emotional pains on levels you couldn’t possibly imagine and embarrassment. Crying would only make sure you never forgot what had happened last night and this morning. Crying would make you think of committing suicide and God knows, God really knows I shouldn’t even havebeen alive but somehow I was. Maybe only partly alive in truth, but I was still breathing and I wasn’t crying or feeling bad for myself, so I didn’t think of suicide. I didn’t even think at all.
What I was experiencing wasn’t in any way strange or bizarre, it’s called denial. I snaked my way into the bathroom, trailing blood and semen behind me. This was the beginning of hell for me. The very beginning.