What has not killed me in my life, has defined me.
My behaviors, actions and mistakes have defined me more.
My entire life revolved around, selling, buying and cooking drugs.
I never knew I had any other choice. My name is Sky.
It isn’t hard for me to remember the first time I saw drugs. It was the very same afternoon I saw a pistol, not like the standard 10 or 12 gauge shotgun Dad had kept at home. But Dad had been gone and remarried five years by then.
There was a new kid at school. He was popular, adored by all the girls, and the son of a Federal Agent for Law Enforcement, just transferred to our city. No mother and no reasons offered as to why.
I had no clue why two weeks new to school he asked me to ditch to spend the afternoon with him at his house. No one would be home and he had some cool cop stuff to show me. Nothing felt safer than hanging with a policeman’s son.
The rebellious and fearless teenager I was at 14, confidently jumped at such an invitation. I too was very popular and desired by most of the boys. I never let on to the rumors that weren’t true, specifically of me being a slut or promiscuous. I opted to say nothing.
Truth be told, I was a virgin and had no plans in giving up my secret truth by breaking a childhood oath for reasons I prefer not to speak of.
At noon, he came and got me. His name was John. It could have been any Joe, John or Jack for that matter. The situation was a reason to get out of school. I ditched school a dozen times, never caught, but also never anything to do when I did. Today was going to be an adventure, for real. Neither of our parents were the wiser, both were working, very busy and not very strict.
It was raining. I can remember, like any teenage girl, worried that my hair would be a wreck. Maybe I could ask John to use a blow dryer. Suppose exposing my vanity this soon may not be cool. Besides I was viewed as a tomboy and I had to maintain this persona to keep my friends.
Soaking wet, I entered John’s home, a huge bungalow, inner walls lined with cut logs of wood. Surprising and shocking were the number of guns, displayed in glass cases, hanging on those wood walls. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling way out of my comfort zone.
It was a man’s home, justified by the lack of John ever mentioning his mother, or any form of a mother. This and the absence of any female belongings.
He pranced around telling me the history of his dad’s guns. I couldn’t hear him over my own self-consciousness thoughts that my hair was getting frizzy.
He couldn’t hold the excitement any longer to show me the rest of the home. Starting first with a bolt-lock door into the den. Inside there were huge bricks marked evidence and wads of cash stacked neatly in an open safe.
He said the bricks were his father’s confiscated drug evidence. Mainly heroin and cocaine. Not mentioning why they were there, I didn’t ask nor really cared to find out. He took a knife from the desk drawer, stabbed a grey wrapped brick, exposing powder. It was white, and John’s confident offering told me it was cocaine.
There it was. This was a twofold, potentially awkward situation. First, I didn’t know why he spooned it out and kept it on the knife. My expression surely gave up to admitting having never done this before. Secondly, if I demonstrated fear, he would surely ditch me at school for all the kids to know something, not knowing what he would also make up.
I played it cool; like I understood what he meant by asking me to take a toot. I said, “Right from the knife? Don’t you get more by taking it other ways?” He laughed and said “Trust me there’s lots here to play with”, then proceeded to snort some from the knife. I am pretty confident he did so knowing I had no clue what to do.
Without hesitation, the fearless and still innocent naïve girl in me snorted as much off that knife as my lungs could inhale. I figured I had nothing to lose, only new experiences to gain. I prayed it wouldn’t make me lose control, but to no avail, it did just the opposite.
The first sensation was that of numbness in my nose and down the back of my throat. My emotions for the first time in my life were controllable. My feelings were that of a super-being. I was happy. I was not thinking of anything else. I had no pain of the past, and surely not thinking of any event except that magnificent moment. Instantly I wanted more.
As John laughed at my approach to this powder, within 30 seconds of snorting it, something inside me changed. I knew this was the answer to my fears.
Within a minute I wanted to get higher, sustain this buzz to see how and where I could go within this world of ecstasy. This was a new and perfect world, where, anything felt possible. John was most generous in sharing his father’s work materials. He playfully invited me to come see his room. He had the entire basement of the bungalow. It was huge, even beneath the stairs exposed two secure bars.
Much less affected, I now noticed more gun racks in glass cases. These all held pistols. When asked, he said they were gifts from his dad. I paid no mind to them along with handcuffs, Billy clubs and a few Officer hats. He cranked Rod Stewart so loud it just enhanced my pleasure trip.
John was acting kinda strange, like he thought he was his father or something.
I only know that what transpired next started without me being aware, continued for what seemed like forever, and ended too late.
Somewhere between accepting more cocaine, feeling my anxiety, at the speed my heart was racing, the tone had instantly changed; I had been dragged and cuffed to the two poles supporting the stairs which would be my focal point for the next half hour.
I, in terror and strung out on coke, firmly told John to fuck off and release me as the cuffs were hurting my wrists. Music blaring, I couldn’t scream and with just two legs free, I tried, but could not reach to kick him in defense. His response was silent and brought much more anticipated pain.
He handcuffed each leg, to what I do not know, nor remember. I was bound for the unknown and now crying. I never believed he was going to do what he did but was in a panic imagining what he would do. I truly believed he was going to kill me once he stood in my view.
John stood to expose his cop hat, Billy club, two pistols clenched by two hands and that was all he was wearing. He knelt down resting his right forearm on his right leg, grinned in that kind of way that is a mocking, warning things are going to get ugly. All he said was:
“Sky, you act like such a lady at school, who knew you were such a whore. You stole my dad’s drugs, well, now you have to be punished. I got my Dad’s back.”
He slapped me hard across the face with the back of his hand splitting my left cheekbone open to bleed. It stung like boiling water. I stopped crying and tried focusing on anything except what was happening. Being the daughter of a manipulative genius, some survival traits kicked in. Besides, I clearly wasn’t dealing with a stable individual.
I wondered if he and his father shared this demonic hobby, or my god, what if he came home and was drawn downstairs by the blaring music.
I loved the band Bay City Rollers. I closed my eyes and chanted their lyrics in my head continuously. The coke was wearing off and I could feel my cheek swelling, what a sting. Come on Sky, you can handle this thug. He’s just a boy who needs to feel in control. “OK John, fine you got my attention, I am the slut I am known as. But Baby, this could go a lot easier and certainly more fun if you let me touch you too.”
Once in awhile, even now, I can still smell his skin, 30 years later. He had refused to un-cuff me. “Sky, you’re not getting it, I don’t want you to touch me, and frankly I don’t want to touch you either. See, it is because I have to. Pretty, popular girls like you make entertaining victims. All cool and fake, you need to be brought down to size.”
That was one of the scariest thoughts, I weighed 100 pounds, he about 150 just at 14. Size wouldn’t have mattered with his strength. His private, well-protected fetish was to torture and I was yet to find out what next. As a virgin I didn’t know what to expect of sex or rape. John announced this entire plan was about just that. His kicks and punches slowly put me in a state of a bruised and bloody catatonic detachment.
I had no strength. Fractured, weak and semi conscious, I just made sense of his words, the last I could comprehend. “Sky, Sky, Sky, this is going to hurt. Well, hurt you, but pleasure me.” He knew I was weak enough to faint, and definitely not have an ounce of energy to fight back. With that, he unlocked my ankles, now swollen, red and scraped. Still on my legs he ripped my panties off and spread my legs.
John pressed one gun to my right temple and the second pistol was the start of my life’s sexual pain. John stuck the pistol in my vagina, then up my vagina.
The first thing to ever enter my vagina was a pistol. I froze. I was already in need of medical help, and in incredible pain. I thought I could take no more, but he was just beginning.
I became lost in a moment of desire, a desire for more cocaine. I clung to this memory, that would scar me for life, and I had to numb its pain. Numb it like the cocaine did, take away the pain and take me away from reality. This combination of desire followed me my whole life. For reasons that only began with John.
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