It’s been more then a month since he was released. It’s such a strange feeling.
I found my court papers last night and read through my statements. I recalled my experience of sitting though the hearing. I remember shaking and wanting to vomit as I was escorted by the police to the court house.
I remember being led to a room where I read though my statements. I made a timeline of the night.
I remember the knock on the door. And the staff who told me it was my turn on the stand.
There was this sinking feeling in my stomach. My heart was racing, my hands were sweaty.
I remember walking in. The eyes of the judge, lawyers and the rest of the court.
She asked me about my religion then put a Roman Catholic Bible in my hand.
I hate you. I hope you die a painful death. I fucking hate you and those on your side. I hate you, I hate you. I hate what you did. I hate what you caused. I hate everything about you. I hope you are gone forever. I hope one day you get what you deserved. You don’t deserve to just walk away like nothing happened. I deserve to restore my dignity bitch. I lost my entire respect for you and those who protect you. Coward. Have fun hiding for the rest of your life. You know what you really happened. You can try rewriting the story. Continue lying to everyone. To your friends, your parents, your lovers, your future kids. When you make a mistake you should own up to it, asshole. You forced me to go through the entire process, humiliated me. In front of all those people. What will you tell your daughters one day? Your mother? Your sister?
You loved fucking me hard. I saw it in your eyes when you shoved me, slapped me, spit on me, peed on me, humiliated me. You loved to choke me until my eyes turned red and I was close to fainting. You pleasured in my degradation. I was your whore, stupid whore. This was how you called me. You rarely complimented me. At times, it satisfied me. At times, it was too much. But I was scared to tell you to stop. I thought I wouldn’t be enough for you. I thought you would leave me. I remember finding bruises and red marks on my body. I showed them to you. You did not react. You didn’t apologize. It happened again. I tried to view it as sexy to have be marked by you. And believed that. The pain and soreness afterwards.
I did not and still do not blame you. I thought I was helping you with your issues. I was your punching bag to release your stress, hurts, and childhood traumas. I loved you. I wanted to help you recover.
To be honest, I still do not exactly remember what happened after.
I remember the sink, lifting the faucet and rinsing my face and legs with the water. I remember wiping myself down there with toilet paper. I remember him saying that I had to hurry up because he had to go. I remember finding my underwear next to the toilet. I remember parting ways with him. I remember the pain I felt walking to the bus stop. I remember how uncomfortable I felt when I sat down. I remember lying to my parents when they questioned why I was home so late. I remember going to the toilet to pee and seeing my blood on my underwear. I remember that it was so painful to pee. I remember the pain. I remember him asking what time I finished class the next day. I remember how empty and alone I felt. I remember not being able to sleep that night.
It never occurred to me that I lost my virginity. It never occurred to me that I was at risk of getting pregnant or STDs. It never occurred to me.
I was taught that when I grow up I will someday meet my Prince Charming, we will fall in love, get married and live happily ever after. It sounded so simple.
My parents were always very particular with my relationships. They always told me to never settle for less and only expect the best, and of course, never have sex. Sex seemed like the ultimate sacrifice/gift I could give. Apparently we all start with a clean white gift when we are born. It was beautiful, pure. The gift is reserved for the person we will marry. It was of the utmost importance to remain untouched and unscarred. They often challenged me on why I would want to give my husband a torn up, broken and used gift.
My husband deserves only the best, why should he settle for less?
The toilet again. This time he was different. He was so angry at me. I also realised that his friends found out he was in a relationship with a 13 year old. He was so ashamed of me.
It was a disabled toilet. Not white anymore. Smelled like urine and shit. He pushed me against the tiles and kissed me hard. The slam hurt my back. The wall was hard. He raised by arm and held it tight. He put his fingers in my mouth and out again and again. He then looked at me and did not say anything. He traced my neck and chest. He sucked my neck hard, it was painful. He then squeezed my chest very hard. Both. Then moved down to my legs. Entered my dress and into my thighs. He put them inside me again. After a while he stopped and released my arm. He pushed my head down to his pants. He told me to unzip his pants and take it out. I did as he said. He told me to look up at him and open my mouth. I did. Then he slammed in my mouth again. It was easier to take. I no longer had such bad gag reflexes.
After a while. He took it out. He raised me up and turned me around. He placed my hands on the toilet bowl. I felt him raise my dress up and him removing my panties. He slammed himself hard inside me. The sensation was a lot worse then when it was his fingers. It was so painful. He then stopped and pushed me down to the toilet floor. And spread my legs. I remember looking down and seeing red. He then continued again.
Last Tuesday I received news that he was acquitted due to the benefit of the doubt. He is free