Her Story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

This story centres on a nameless character depicts her rape and goes back in time to the point where it all began. I deal with the horror and degradation of rape, And leave the reader with the essential question if something is shattered can it be fixed.


Her Story


Dulled she lies among the rumpled sheets her hair spread out across a yellowing pillow its golden richness a deep contrast against the seediness of the room. Something once pure and untouched, unshattered. She lays awkwardly her slim body tense and in pain, her eyes stare to the crack of light glimmering through the dark curtains, she sees nothing. She's frozen in time unwilling to move, knowing that while she denies and pretends reality will hide from her and the terrifying truth of the small patch of blood will remain unknown. She senses him more than sees him just beyond her range of sight he stands puffing at a cigarette. The smoke curls and rises filling the air with the nauseating smell of nicotine. Yet still she lays unmoving, the shadow beside her smiles cruelly takes one last look at her and walks out of the room. As one solitary tear falls from a cold blue eye to run down an ashen cheek and fall with silent finality to the pillow where her head rests she hears the roar of a car engine and the screech of tyres. Her rapist drives away.


In that single tear the past rushes in and she remembers all that lead her to this point, the point of no return.


She remembers the first time she saw him, the moment of connection, the sudden intake of breathe, the fearful exhilaration of seeing something wild and untamed completely at ease. He was leaning against a beat up mustang a cigarette hanging from his beautifully curved lips, his black hair hung untidily sexy, so that he would have to flick it out of his eyes with a careless toss of his head. His eyes were a steel grey hard and glinting in the morning sunlight. He wore a black shirt with scruffy tight fitting jeans and hard black leather shoes. He was danger, he was raw he was sex, he was completely irresistible.


She sees herself leaning against the tree that framed the school, holding her books close, chewing on her lip (a nervous habit of hers) and watching him. He fascinated her, he didn't fit into her perfect sheltered life, he defied every rule she held dear. He wasn't sophisticated or elegant he had no coolness, no charm. He was earthy, he was fire and perhaps because of this she felt the connection, the connection of taming what cannot be tamed. She watched as a cheap looking girl walked up to him entwined herself around him and rubbed up to him like a satisfied cat, as he bent his head to kiss the girl his eyes caught hers. A flicker of interest and something more showed in them. As he kissed the other girl his eyes never left hers the suggestion in them clear. Aware of the danger he held she remembers lifting her head arrogantly, smiling cruelly and with a slight toss of her head walking away but not before she caught his expression. A slight flaring of the nostrils and a keen interest in his eyes, she'd seen that look before; she had seen it in a cat before it moved in on its prey.


She remembers seeing him a lot after that initial connection; he seemed to always be outside the school just as she came out. Sometimes she imagined he was watching her sometimes she wasn't so sure. Either way she was drawn to him like a moth to a candle light. Like the moth completely unaware of the intensity of the heat from that flame until it burned her. It was a cool day when fantasy became reality. She remembers how the wind tugged at her looking back it seemed a sign for the winds ferocity seemed to be pushing her away. It was as she was walking out of school a multitude of books and papers filling her arms. Her heart raced as she spotted him as always leaning against the mustang absently smoking. At this point the pivotal point of all that was to happen, a great gust of wind caught her off guard books and papers flew in all directions. Scrambling she hurried to pick up all she had dropped but it was a hopeless task all had scattered never to be regained. She remembers standing up dejected and hearing a deep throaty chuckle. Whirling around she spots him leaning against the tree she had first spied at him from. She remembers the tone of her voice nervous but defensive from the effect he had on her. "Thanks a lot for your help really appreciate it" the sarcastic echo of the past wells up. His husky voice always so sexy and dangerous replied "it was a pointless to help it wouldn't have gotten you any further." "Well the effort would have nice" she bit back "Why bother if its pointless, if you break something and it shatters into a million little pieces it cant be fixed so why try." His harsh reasoning shocked her and somehow tore at all she believed to be true. Then he smiled at her and uttered three words she couldn't resist. "Come on Babe"


Oh how she remembered that first thrilling date he was like nothing she had known yet something she had always wanted. To her he became freedom escape and above all expression. He didn't shelter her he didn't play nice and protect. At times he was harsh and cruel but the more she saw of him the deeper she fell. Not into love it wasn't that feeling, she fell into the reality of him. He represented all she could never have. Like people who cut themselves she went back to him and the release the pain of him brought her. He became her obsession and then later her addiction.


She remembers driving with him on a bright afternoon stopping for a coffee and finding her self exceptionally sleepy. She remembers waking up in a musky motel room her head groggy and filled with a dull pounding. She remembers him sitting at the end of the bed smoking and watching her closely. She remembers asking what they were doing in such a place. She remembers him not replying. She remembers him standing up and shrugging off his leather jacket. She remembers him walking towards her. She remembers him slowly unbuttoning his shirt. She remembers screaming at him demanding to know what the hell was going on. She remembers his cruel laugh. She remembers the ripping of her clothes. She remembers her clawing and biting. She remembers his backhanded slap. She remembers the suffocating weight of his body. She remembers the degradation. She remembers the pain. She remembers his release. She remembers her imprisonment. She remembers her rape.


As another tear falls from the same eye to make a twin river down the ashen cheek and fall to the yellowing pillow, reality returns to her, time resumes and she faces the impossible truth of that small patch of blood. Getting up she walks to the small bathroom and pears at her self in the mirror. The person staring back is a stranger. Once there was a cool sophisticate beauty all that is left is a young girl haunted. In an eruption of pain and anger she lifts the small stool and brings it crashing down on the mirror, glass shatters. Slowly she sinks to the floor her naked body pricked by the glass. She lifts a piece of the reflective material and once more catches a glimpse of the stranger. Running her finger along the edge she holds it poised. As it slivers across the pale skin leaving a river of red she remembers something he once said. "If it's in a million little pieces it can't be fixed, so why try?"






Submitted: April 08, 2007

© Copyright 2021 PaintersPen. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Wow, very good. I rarely read short stories, but for some reason this one called to me to read it. Perhaps because I always seem to be drawn to similarly destructive guys, though thankfully no rapists. This is a truly poetic piece of writing, well done.

Sun, April 8th, 2007 9:11pm


Thank you so much for your comment its truly apprecaited.

Sun, April 8th, 2007 2:30pm

Bitter Irony

You have an incredibly powerful writing style, very poetic. The character in this story feels very real, and it's impossible not to sympathize with her. Your ending leaves the reader with a very difficult question. Excellent job!

~Bitter Irony

P.S. I love the image you selected for this story, as well. Selina Fenech is one of my favorite fantasy artists, and her work has inspired quite a few of my own stories.

Sun, April 8th, 2007 9:25pm


Thank you such I'm glad my story had the desired effect.

I love her artwork too the images she uses are so powerful. I'll be sure to read your work

Sun, April 8th, 2007 2:34pm

Rabbid Rabbit


Its rare to humble one like myself. But here I stand in awe. Cold, gritty, intrusive, raw, angering. A terrifyingly emotional account.

The second last paragraph is in m opinion your best. the emphasis on the "remembering" is well hammered home.

Congrats to the best piece I have seen here yet.

Wed, July 4th, 2007 2:01pm


Wow thank you so much. Its always so rewarding recieving feedback from someone talented

Wed, July 4th, 2007 9:44am


This is very spot on. I haven't read anything else you wrote, but I will visit your page now. I have to LIKE IT; nothing else would do. Your writing is great!~rain

Mon, June 9th, 2008 5:46am


Thank you I hope you enjoy my other pieces to :)

Mon, June 9th, 2008 1:42pm


wow... one word. NICE. cant really describe how i felt but its realyrealy nice ^^~!

Fri, June 27th, 2008 7:43am


Thank you glad you enjoyed it :)

Wed, August 13th, 2008 10:16am

Nita Eads

There is a lot of power in this piece and I you really captured how things can go so wrong for a person.

Wed, December 24th, 2008 8:58am


Strong emotions.
Very descriptive.
I though you wrote this piece brilliantly.
Great job!!!

Tue, April 14th, 2009 3:07pm


I once had a boyfriend like him.
So bad that he was good.
So addictive that he was like a drug.
Anyway, you are an incredible writer. Well done!

Fri, October 21st, 2011 11:02pm


WOW! This is an incredible piece great descriptions.

Wed, March 27th, 2013 10:39pm

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