It wasn’t until I could feel my elbows rubbing against the dusty hardwood floor that I realized I had been flipped onto my stomach. I tried to turn my head around to see what he was doing, but he had climbed up onto my back and the weight of his body made it impossible to move until frustration mixed with fear and the uncertainty of disbelief made me stop trying.
I heard him unzip his pants and that’s when I began to claw at the floor, struggling in vain to get away. I knew what was coming next, I fucking knew it and in those few moments that it took until he had his disgusting thing rubbing and forcefully trying to break its way inside of me, I was five years old again. I was that same helpless child who didn’t know right from wrong, who didn’t know that Hector wasn’t supposed to touch me, who didn’t know the difference between a good touch and a bad touch because mommy hadn’t explained it to me yet. She was too busy trying to score on the streets to bother with me.
I could feel his dick press up against me. The burning tingle throbbed until it exploded with a searing heat as he pushed inside of me. It hurt worse than his fingers. I almost felt like I would shit myself and I wanted to. I wanted to do something so vile that he would be too disgusted to continue. I wanted to do something--anything that would make him stop, only he was going in so fast that I couldn’t even think to breathe.
His thrusts were sharp and so hard that he snatched the breath right up out of me. I closed my eyes, my bare knees scraped against the hardwood floor underneath me.
I could feel him, God, I could feel him, but it was almost like I couldn’t. It was like I was numb inside, but I could feel every prod and poke and pull and pinch.
My head was like a dizzied, disarrayed and jumbled tangle of confusing thoughts. I couldn’t believe what was happening, it was like some fucked up dream where you show up to school naked and you can’t believe it, but then by the grace of an alarm clock ringing, you wake up. It was like that, so surreal only I didn‘t have any alarm clock saviors.
All I could do was feel him… feel him.
He was wide and fat and he tore up inside me. With each thrust it was like a bolt of lightening burned up into my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth as he grunted into my ear, the sound rolling into my eardrum like thunder. I felt so fucking helpless, so fucking helpless as heat flushed my face.
“You like that, huh? You like that don’t you?” He whispered. I groaned and wanted to tell him to eat shit and die, but no words came. My lips were dry and I could feel tears of frustration pooling at the corners of my eyes. I was afraid to let them spill because if I did, it would be the last straw to make everything real. It would be the defining moment that would prevent me from slipping back into a dreamlike state where I could pretend away the burning.
He was speaking into my ear again. He was moaning and saying words that I closed my eyes to block out. I was ignoring him and this made him angry because he kept slamming into me, each time harder and harder than the last until I swore that I would break apart from the inside out.
“Please--”. The word was so strangled inside of my throat that it was almost inaudible. I didn’t want to beg that fool for shit. I didn’t want to reduce myself down anymore than he already had reduced me down to. But it was hurting so fucking bad that I thought my spine would slip out. I imagined that I could see it fall down to the floor beneath me. Nate would probably step on it, crushing each and every ivory colored bone until they lay crushed underneath one tan colored Timberland boot into ten million little grains of disintegrated ashes.
“You like this, don’t you? Ha! Yeah nigga, you fucking like dis shit! Ya’ll always do! Tell me how much you like it?” He hissed. I kept my mouth shut trying to escape back to that place where I didn’t have to be with him anymore.
He repeated his words again in one long venomous whisper. When I still didn’t respond he slammed up inside of me harder again. He made me feel raw like cowhide, open like fresh wounds and closed like battle scars.
“Tell me you like it!” He yelled it this time. He was so angry, psychotic in every being of his manner with an immoral disposition of hatred. Yes, I do believe on some level he hated me, that’s why he wanted to hurt me.
“Yes…” I stated. It was a one worded lie that made my heart stop beating. My mouth had betrayed my heart. But I had to, I had to say it. I just wanted him to fucking stop.
“Yes what bitch?” He huffed. I could feel his dick pulsating inside of me, throbbing and expanding which only solidified my pain making it feel more intense. Never had I felt this wrong inside, never so incorrect. He brought his hand around to my stomach and held me there so he could go in harder. I couldn’t breathe after the first thrust and by the third my tongue was bleeding from having bit down on it.
“Yes…I like it.” I choked out. He slammed up inside of me again. With a guttural yelp I felt him rise up off my back, grip unto my hip with one hand as his other stretched up to my shoulder blade. He stopped moving, but held me down against him as he came.
It was as I felt his semen spurting hot inside of me, soaking like sloppy kisses, that I realized he hadn’t used a condom. He had just raped me…without a condom and one thousand different fears on one million different levels catapulted my emotions into overdrive…
He stayed inside of me for a few more seconds just to prolong my discomfort. He did hate me, this I know now. I could feel his dick go from being hard and thick to spongy and soft before he pulled it out. He grunted as he stood. I just lay on the floor with my pants hanging off of my hips like some weak, feeble piece of nothing left to disintegrate into the air or blow against the wind like scattered ashes on the coldest day in winter.
“You hungry?” He asked. His voice was calm, almost friendly. It was a strange contrast from the moments before. He had gone from violent, angry and sadistic, to calm and friendly--fucking friendly that piece of shit!
I said nothing as I scrambled to my feet. My backside was so sore, my ass feeling like it literally was about to fall out. I had to stop short and brace my hands on the tips of my knees to ease the pain.
As I pulled my boxers and pants up, I felt all the dignity as a man I was supposed to have leave me. I was worthless, Nate had made me feel worthless, like some little faggot who couldn’t stand up for himself. I couldn’t look him in the eye as I zipped up my jeans. He just stood there, four feet away from me with his hands casually at his sides and staring at me. He hadn’t even had the decency to put his dick away, he just let it hang out from the fly of his boxers all long, brown and greasy. I looked away and grimaced with the knowledge that all of him had been inside all of me. I could feel the blaze of his glare and that kept me from making eye contact.
I wanted to leave, run out of the door, but I had this intense surge of anger running throughout my body. I had been victimized, he had victimized me. It seemed to be an ongoing pattern in my life. There seemed to always be someone out there trying to harm me, lurking around each and every corner just waiting to pounce. I wondered why was it always me? Did I have some sign above my head, a tattoo on my forehead that read ‘hurt me, easy target’? I must have because there seemed to always be someone out there trying to get the best of me, trying to show me up, trying to bring me down to low places. It takes so long to get out of them. Every time I pull myself up, there’s someone to pull me back down wanting me to drown in the trenches.
“I said are you fucking hungry son? I’m hungrier than a mutha fucker!” Nate stated. His voice was so calm and neutral that I couldn’t get over it. It was almost like he thought we were friends now. That’s how he was regarding me, like I was his buddy, his homie, his nigga or ace-boon-coon.
“No.” I replied, keeping my eyes cast down to the floor. I could see a small trail of semen smeared on the floor. It wasn’t white, but pinkish. A little bit of my blood had tainted the color. I wanted to go home and wash his filth off of me. My skin felt itchy, raw and I could taste him all over me. He was in my mouth, on my cheek, in my hair, on my clothes. I wanted to run out of there, leave as fast as I could, but I also wanted to hurt him.
I wanted to ram my fingers inside of Nate’s eye socket, pull out his eyeballs and crush them between my fingers until the sclera turned red and they exploded in my palm. I wanted to take a knife, slice it across the thick flesh of his light brown neck. I wanted to watch the crimson drip down the collar of his white t-shirt until it was stained with it. It would be the color of deep ruby that would slip to the floor as he would collapse at my feet in convulsions. I had never had such dark thoughts. I was never one to fancy such morbid fantasies, but I wanted him to hurt, man, I wanted him to hurt real badly that my fingers twitched just urging to make him feel one ounce of the hurt that I was feeling.
He turned and headed into the kitchen, leaving me to my thoughts. I looked at the front door, it was only five feet away. On one hand I could open that door, run out into the night and try to salvage what was left of my sanity. But on the other I could stay. I could stay and find something to hurt him. I wanted to kill him.
I choose to stay. I looked around the living room, searching the almost bare room for something, anything that I could hurt Nate with. I could hear him rapping to himself in the kitchen. The words were probably something he had made up, but I didn’t care to listen to see if they sounded familiar.
Like a light switch being flipped on, my senses came flooding back. I couldn’t kill him. I I wanted to, but I couldn’t. He was scum, the fucking scum of the earth but I didn’t think I could live with myself if I killed him. But I still wanted to hurt him. But I needed to get out of there. Why was I standing around and staying when I should have been running out? My head was just so befuddled with what had just happened that I didn‘t know right from left and up from down.
I was out of the door so fast that all I heard was Nate yell out for me, but I was too fast and too gone. I pounded my sneakers down the hallway and down the narrow stairwell listening to the echo that I created. The lighting was dimmer than I remembered. The scent of piss and booze was as strong as ever. On my way down I passed a couple making out against a wall. They didn’t seem fazed by me and I didn‘t give them a second look.
My heartbeats were pounding inside of my chest as I ran and ran, passing a man passed out on the last row of steps. I ran out into the night. It was cold and crisp, a bit of snow was falling from the breaking sky. I kept running and running, not stopping to notice how each flake of snow appeared like little diamonds breaking from a purple canvas that the sky had darkened into. I felt like if I stopped to catch the breath that I had lost in the apartment with Nate, he would be behind me. He would be there, just waiting for me to stop so he could take me back inside of apartment 3 D and do with me as he pleased. So I kept running and running. Down the dark streets, pass the liquor store and the crack spots where scantily clad women stood in high-heeled shoes and tight clothes underneath cheap leather jackets. I ran and I ran until five blocks later I was back at my house.
The light to my bedroom was the only light on. It shined like one bright tooth against the darkness. I fumbled around in my pocket for my keys and when I opened the door the familiar scent of home greeted me. It was the smell of fresh paint and old books. The aroma of cooked corn beef and cabbage, potpourri and freesia. That comforting warmth of the heaters with the sound of the grandfather clock ticking in the living room was my house. For the first time since my adoptive parents died, my Aunt Mickey’s--our home, felt like a home.
I locked the door behind me, leaning against it. Feeling the hardwood behind my back I was finally able to breathe, I could inhale again. I kicked off my sneakers, peeling off my coat and quietly creeping up the stairs. My bedroom door was closed, a peak of light crawling out from underneath the door. I put my ear up close and listened. I could hear Joey ‘s raspy breathing and I sighed with relief that he was still asleep. I opened the door softly. He was just as I had left him, cuddled up in a little ball, his light brown hair spread across the dark blue pillowcases. His eyes were closed, his lashes darker than the hair on his head laid gently against the ivory of his skin. I imagined the warmth that would flood into me if he opened his eyes, flashing their sapphire brilliance onto me. I smiled as I closed to door. I was in love with him.
I went to use the bathroom in Mickey and Roger’s room. I didn’t want to wake Joey with the sound of the shower running. I locked both doors, the one to their bedroom and the one to the bathroom. It wasn’t because of Joey, but I had this thought--no, this need to for security.
Inside the bathroom I peeled my t-shirt above my head. I tossed it almost carelessly to the blue and white tiled floor. I unzipped my jeans, letting them fall down my hips. I had to bend down to step out of them and when I did, the pain that followed made me grimace as I stood and braced my hands on the sink. I looked up into the mirror and as cliché as this sounds, I didn’t recognize the face staring back at me. My eyes looked sunken in, the shadows around them smudged my coloring and my face was shallow. I looked sickly. I looked away.
I made sure to bend down slow and with great care as I took my boxer shorts off. I could feel a warmth inside of my body slowly leaking out of me. I knew I was bleeding, but when I saw all the blood inside of my boxers, I almost passed out. There wasn’t very much, but enough to be noticeable. I held the boxers to my face, staring at the red blush that covered the backside in a spot the size of a closed fist. It wasn’t too much blood there, but it was enough to make me angry. I balled up my boxers and threw them in the garbage can. I hated Nate, I hated him for what he had done, how he had left me. I hated him and I was starting to wish that I had stayed in the apartment and acted on my thoughts. I could have killed him, I could have. I don’t know how, but I could have…I could have and no one would have ever known.
The water was hot as it burned against my skin. I closed my eyes and lifted my head towards the faucet. Feeling each hot bead burn down against my face it didn‘t relax me. I felt so dirty, so fucking dirty. I hoped the water would wash away the filth. But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t working. I took the bar of soap scrubbing it against my skin until my body was slick with a thick white film, but I still felt dirty, I still felt dirty. I wanted to take a steeled scrubber with bleach and scratch the dirt away because the heat from the water, the force of my hands to the soap and the wipe of the washcloth weren’t making me clean. I wasn’t clean. I couldn’t get clean. Nate had made me dirty. I was dirty from him. I slammed my fists against the wall, wanting to yell but silencing that urge as I could feel my chest growing tight. My jaw began to quiver and as the first tear broke, I felt even more shame and disgust. I was literally nauseated by my reaction. My shoulders shook as I struggled to suppress the agonizing yells and tormented moans of anguish coursing throughout my body.
I was dirty, filthy, dirty, soiled, polluted. Nate had done this to me, Nate had broken me down, reducing me to nothing but a pile of waste crying like some pansy underneath a steady stream of burning water. I hated what he had done to me, but I hated how he made me feel about myself even more. He had killed two parts of me. I felt like was I was dying, slowly dying as I turned my face away from the faucet and leaned against the wall and I broke, my body fractionalized. A myriad of crystalline teardrops fell ungracefully off of my face running down into the water one after the other and then sliding away into the blackness of the drain. I was dirty. Not the kind of dirty that washes away, but the kind of dirty that stains, taints. I was that kind of dirty. The kind that can never be cleaned away…