The Fourth Time

Dear Diary,

I guess it’s time that I get back down to business. I think we both know that I’ve played around enough, and avoided telling the rest of my story for a little while now. Memories and thoughts keep running through my head, and I can no longer stop them. They are so vivid, so real. The words that I am supposed to be writing about my shitty past sit at the back of my throat making me gag. They want out. They want me to vomit them up. To spit them out onto these pages in my diary. And I can’t take it any longer…so I will.

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The fourth time that it happened, or the fourth time that I began to be molested again when I was eight years old. Strangely enough I actually thought that this time was the first, because I hadn’t remembered anything yet about the previous times. I guess that I had blocked it out, pushed those memories to an arms length. Anyway, my mother had these friends that she was really close too. Don’t ask me how they met, or what their story was, or what they had in common, because I know of this shit. All I know is that they were friends, and that their mothers too had been friends back in the day.

Anyway, these people were pretty close to us… I would even go as far as to say that they were like family. Our families were inseparable, and we did everything together. We went to the pool, and supported each other at events, and stayed over at each others houses, and attended birthdays, and went to some of the same schools, etc. For a little while one of the families even lived across the street from us in another set of the same apartments, and that is where it happened.

We were over at their house having a get together… it was somebodies birthday I think. We laughed, and played, and chased each other around the yard, and ate, and just ended up having a lot of fun in general. Any who, the day wore on and on, and before we knew it it was afternoon. The heat of the day had begun to die down just a tad, the sky was a peachy golden color, and most of the kids were tuckered out. I think the boys went off to themselves to play with trucks or video games or something of the sort, and that left us girls all alone down in the living room with the adults with nothing to do as they planned their night of clubbing, and drinking, and things that we were too young to know anything about.

So… the main girl… the one that I was closest to… the one that was almost like a cousin… I’ll call her T turned to me and this other girl who we were playing with and asked if we wanted to go upstairs. The other girl, S, was deaf by the way but she wasn’t at all stupid. She could understand what you were saying and read lips, and and all of that. Anyway, I nodded, and shrugged. I usually pretty much went along with whatever they wanted, because they were the “cool” girls. Their parents didn’t really have rules, and let them do whatever they wanted. They bought them things, and took them places that I wanted to go, etc. They were basically like child adults.

So, the girls get up and I follow them up the stairs, where we go into one of the toddler’s rooms. There was a lot of toys and books in there, and even though we were a little too old to be playing with most of it I figured that we would go ahead and make the best of it. But no…I thought wrong. When we got into the room they didn’t turn the lights on or anything. They just made a hard turn to left, and opened up the closet door. The deaf one got in, and disappeared into the black rectangular void gaping before us. The second one stopped, and turned around to look at me. She asked me if I was coming, and I nodded.

I remember feeling weird at that moment. You know how your gut starts telling you shit, but you just ignore it, because you figure that it just can’t be right. It doesn’t make any absolute sense to your brain. Well, that is exactly what I did. I ignored the best thing that I had going for me in that moment, as well as this sick feeling, and the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. These girls couldn’t possibly want to cause me harm. They were my friends, and I trusted them.

I walked into the closet. If there is any moment that I hate in this story it’s this one. Most kids would have run, or tried to fight back, or asked questions… but not me. I walked blindly into the most disgusting experience of my life. The girls closed the door and then it was on. They stripped my clothes off, and had their way. Touching and rubbing, and squeezing, and grinding on me. It was like a sandwich. The deaf girl was in the front, the other girl in the back, and me in the middle. They were the bread, and I was the meat in between. I remember the deaf girl’s hot breath on my face, and the sounds that she made as she had her way with me. I had never heard anything like it before. So raw, so animalistic, so unearthly. This attack was just the first of many from the girl that was like a cousin to me. It last for about maybe twenty minutes of so, but gawd did it seem so much longer than that.

After it was over we all three simply walked out of the closet like nothing had ever happened. We walked out of the room, and down the hall. At the top of the stair they turned around and looked at me. The one that was like a cousin asked me if I was coming back downstairs with them. I told her that I was, but to give me a second because I had to use the bathroom. They nodded and left. I remember ducking into the bathroom, barely able to contain the tears that were streaming down my face. I hate to pee really bad, but I remember that I didn’t want to go. So I sat on the side of the toilet seat and held it until my bladder felt as if it were going to freaking burst.

I remember that the window was open, and there was a little blackbird sitting on the branch outside near the sill. He seemed to know and understand my pain well, and so he sang me a song. The most beautiful song that I had ever heard, and he stayed on the branch just as long as I sat there and cried. He chattered, and sang, and chattered, and sang, and even pecked the screen a few times. I think he was a sign. That pretty little blackbird.

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