I knew I needed medical attention. God knows I knew I needed it but there was no way I could get it without presenting myself before someone and having to narrate what had happen to me.
The warm bath water stung every single cut and blister on my body but it was only my body that felt the pain, I was numb. I spent as long as it took me to scrub off every thing that was stuck to my body, including the makeup and when I was done, wore a sanitary pad to absorb the still flowing blood and a black summer dress, wiped the floor clean with the dress I had just taken off and then I laid on the floor and allowed myself to get lost in thought.
The pain that I felt between my legs should have killed me. I’ve always been puzzled by the cause of death of rape victims. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would die just because they had sex. It wasn’t until this day that I fully understood why. I should have died. I should be dead. I wasn’t special in anyway or anything, I should have died but somehow, I wasn’t.
It was already morning and bright outside and I could hear the shuffling of feet and the sounds of ongoing activities outside of my room. No one knocked on my door, no one usually did. I waited for hours till the house had emptied and only then did I crawl out of my room into the kitchen for some pain killers.
I could have lain down all day and allow the life to seep out of me but that would mean wallowing in my grief and thinking about what had been done to me which was exactly what I didn’t want to remember. I had to be strong. To be strong for myself because I was the only person I had, and I had to be strong for me.
The painkillers didn’t do that much to the pain, but once again it was only my body that felt the pain. Some part of my spirit had been ripped apart alongside with my girl parts and that part of my spirit was the part that could have felt the pain.
Since I wasn’t dead, all I had to do was find a way to stop the bleeding and continue to ignore the pain till it was finally gone.