The Scar on My Soul

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Review Chain

To me, this is a true confession. Why? I have never told anyone what happened that night. I was young, I was ashamed, and I was scared people would think that it was my fault. As the years went on, I buried it deep inside and tried to never think of it.

I will try add more of the story each day.

 Every time I begin to forget, forget that night in September when I finally broke. My soul, my mind, my heart, my body. The night he took my pride, my dignity, and my hope. The night he forced himself upon me, he bore in and left a permanent scar. Not on my body, but deep in the darkest depths of my mind and of my soul. The memory of that night hides there, lying in wait. Until it bursts through the gates, and let's me know that I'll always have that pain. The images, they will rush back. At the worst possible time they will flood my mind and claw at me, gnaw at me until I can't hold it in anymore. 

I wake up with his dirty, sweaty hand over my mouth, pressed up against my nostrils. Leaving barely enough room for me to catch a breath. His other hand is helping his legs push apart mine. I try to yell but his hand travels to my throat and it comes out as a croak. 

I shouldn't have drank so much. I shouldn't have smoked so much pot. I might be able to fight harder. 

He slams into me before I know what's happening and the wind is knocked out of me. I can't breathe. I'm nauseous. It hurts so much. I wince in pain when he loosens his grip, but he just tightens it harder this time. 

"Shut up!" He whispers in my ear.

 Where is everyone? Why isn't anyone stopping him? I can't move. I desperately try to yell NO, but it comes out as a moan. He slams my head into the floor, and I begin to sink into unconsciousness. 

 When I open my eyes the sun isn't quite up yet. At first I think that it must have been a nightmare. But then I try to move and the pain is excruciating. Where it starts and where it ends is difficult to tell. I look over, and he's asleep next to me. I don't know what to do. 

I run to the bathroom, lock the door, and get into the tub clothes and all. I sit down and turn on the hot water. I want it scalding. I flip the shower switch do that it starts to rain on my defiled body. 

I can't it hot enough. It burns my skin and soaks my clothing. I look down, why was I wearing this short skirt? I made it easy for him. This is my fault, I am ashamed. I can't tell anyone. It would break my mother's heart. My boyfriend won't want to look at me. He won't want to touch me anymore.

I begin to undress out of the sopping wet tank top and Jean skirt. I toss it in the trash bin. I barely notice the tears as they begin to flow. I have to scrub the filth off of my body. I scrub so hard it hurts. After, I sit there on the shower for floor not moving a muscle until the water turns ice cold. 

 My head is throbbing as I stand in front of the mirror and look up and down my teenage body. Bruises are already beginning to appear on my throat and between my thighs. I need to cover up. My mom's robe is hanging on the wall, so I put it on and pull the  up over my neck. I quietly walk outside to the side porch to hide until everybody leaves.


Submitted: October 13, 2016

© Copyright 2021 A.K. Campisi. All rights reserved.

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