Somebody Love Me (Journeys) (5 page)

It wasn't until I got on the bus and it headed back to my neighborhood that I finally felt safe enough to let myself cry. One thing I knew for certain, though, was after that experience I never wanted to speak to Jenny again. I'd quit the choir and avoid her forever. I didn't know what else to do.

At least her rapist boyfriend had made sure he wouldn't get me pregnant when he'd used half a box of condoms with me, or so it seemed. As I rode the bus home, I realized he probably didn't care about whether or not he got me pregnant. He just didn't want any physical evidence inside me that would prove what he'd done.

The selfish bastard.
I hoped he'd rot in hell.

I sat on the picnic table by the back door and waited for my dad to leave the house for work. The moment my dad stepped outside, I sobbed in relief. I needed a hug from my daddy and reassurance that I'd be okay. My father looked genuinely surprised when he saw me sitting there. "Are you okay, honey?"

That had to be the stupidest question my dad had ever asked me. My eyes had to be red and swollen, not to mention I could feel the dried snot sticking to my face. I had to look horrible and didn't need a mirror to figure that out.

"Oh, I'm just great," was my sarcastic response.

He stared at me a few moments. I couldn't help glaring back at him. How could he not see my misery? Or maybe he didn't want to see it. When he nodded and walked past me to the garage so he could get into his car and head to work, anguish rose in my throat again and I wanted to throw something. Or scream after him and chase him down the road as he drove off.

I remember when my dad used to stay at home on the weekends and we would actually talk to each other. It had been over a year since that last happened. Didn't he miss me at all? I was his daughter.
His only child. And I was hurting more than I'd ever hurt in my life. But did he stop long enough to find out the truth about what happened? No, relief had covered his face when he heard my sarcastic response, though I had obviously lied.

Maybe my mom would care. My dad clearly didn't want to deal with me.

Storming into my house, I found my mother lying in bed sobbing again. She didn't even look up when I touched her arm to ask what was wrong. It was like she had withdrawn into her own world again and she didn't want anyone to disturb her. Disgusted, I walked away and headed up to my room to be alone.

Deciding to shower and change my clothes, I stripped down and studied myself in the mirror. The inside of my thighs were bruised and so were my wrists. The temptation to be overcome with depression and crawl into my bed pulled at me. But I didn't want to be like my mom. I wanted to be stronger than she was.

Mom cried just about every day now, and it usually started right after my father left the house for work. I knew my dad felt helpless when she did that, so he tuned her out. But that wasn't what I needed, nor was it doing my mom any good. We needed emotional support. We needed someone to care enough to stop what they were doing and really listen. But my dad would rather go to work. At least at his job he was safe from the crazy, emotional women in his house.

Anger welled in my chest all over again. Nobody cared about my pain.
Nobody.

Truth
be told, even if my dad had dropped everything to talk to me, I wouldn't have been able to put into words the horror of what happened to me last night. When I allowed myself to think about what Dirk had done for even a moment, I couldn't believe it myself. My friend's boyfriend had raped me. Repeatedly. No doubt she wouldn't believe me either. Not the way she talked about that sick-o lover of hers and how she worshipped him.

My mind tried to convince me that it was just a bad dream, but the searing pain between my legs and the ugly bruises on my skin were proof that I hadn't imagined any of it. After quickly showering and changing my clothes, I decided to go to Mary and Cathy's house. If nothing else, they might have a little pot to smoke to help me numb the pain in my heart. Better yet, maybe they'd know where I could find a party tonight. I needed a distraction from the ache in my soul. I needed somebody to love me.

Right now I'd do just about anything to kill the pain. Drugs helped other people forget the past, so if it helped even a little bit, I'd be tempted to give it a shot. Maybe I'd get a chance to experiment tonight with more than just beer and pot. In fact, I wanted to get totally wasted.

And that scared me more than I cared to think about. I barely recognized myself anymore. Somehow Melissa had ceased to exist, and lately Missy left a path of destruction everywhere she went. If I didn't get some relief from the overwhelming pain soon, I didn't want to live anymore.

Chapter Six

Mary and Cathy were still at home when I arrived, thank God. They planned to go to a party tonight on the north side and asked me if I wanted to come with them. It wasn't the part of town where Fish lived. This time the party was off of Lodi Street, about three miles from my house. Too far to walk for me, but at least it was on a bus route. I didn't know anyone on the north side of the city.

Maybe I'd meet a whole new group of friends, right? I had never looked more forward to anything in my life. I wanted to numb the hurt, and though I wanted to tell my friends what happened, I couldn't bring myself to do it. They would probably blame me like I already blamed myself.

The party required a costume, and since I didn't have anything to wear, my friends got into their mother's closet and found some flashy clothing. We all dressed up like prostitutes. Oh, the irony. Now I felt like a fallen woman, so why not dress like one?

The crazy thing was my friends thought it was cool to dress like whores. That should've told me something about their values, right? Now I felt more like them than I ever had before. Not that I'd ever say that out loud.

As we rode the bus together, Cathy talked about Dave like she always did, and Mary kept tugging on the hem of her slinky black number, which showed off her shapely legs. The dress I wore made me feel a bit plain beside her, which was funny, because even I knew that I was prettier than she was. Not to sound stuck up, but it was obvious.

Mary had no problem getting dates, though. Maybe the fact that she said yes to random propositions from guys had something to do with it. Or her nice body attracted them. Then again, most guys didn't look at your face when they wanted your body, right? I'd heard once that getting drunk made everyone at the party better looking. That had certainly worked in my friend's favor.

That night after we had a few drinks, I started to perk up again and acted like my usual self before the nightmare of meeting Dirk happened. I met a guy at the party named James. He had long dark blond hair and stood about four inches taller than me. He said he was nineteen, and since the beer ball was in his apartment, I had no reason to doubt him.

For every girl there were two guys. I liked those kinds of parties because then I could take my pick. I had a thing for blond guys who looked like they played in a rock band, and this party had a smorgasbord. Not that I planned to have sex for a long time.

After my painful experience with Dirk the dick, I would put that off as long as I could. He'd ruined me for any future boyfriends because I knew trust wouldn't come easily now. And the sad truth was Dirk had been my friend's boyfriend, not mine.

Another cute guy I met that night, Thomas Phillips, was even better-looking than James, but he seemed a bit distracted by whatever was going on in the corner of the room. I kept trying to catch his eye by sliding into his line of vision, but he looked beyond me as if I wasn't standing in front of him.

My guess was the guys sharing the bong interested him more, which didn't bode well for a future relationship. I wanted to be more important than the drugs in the room. Depending on the guy, that might be asking for more than they'd be willing to give.

The sickeningly-sweet scent of marijuana wafted through the room and I sighed. James kept stepping in front of me like I'd been doing to Thomas with my gaze. From what I could tell that meant James wanted me more than the weed, so I sent my full attention his way and sat next to him on the couch. Thomas Phillips could have his pot.

"You got a boyfriend?" James asked.

"Not at the moment," I said with a smile, blocking out the memories of the previous night before I started bawling all over again. I didn't want to scare the new guy away and I needed a distraction from my pain, not a reminder of it.

"Cool." He studied me a moment, then dragged his gaze from my eyes down to my lips, and back up again.

Leaning in for a moment, he dipped his head and his lips met mine. A second later it was over. We went back to partying as if nothing had happened between us. Though for me, partying was limited to a few beers a day, and by the time James had kissed me I had downed two and was working on my third cup. I hadn't advanced beyond that yet. Not after that horrible night with Dirk.

I figured I couldn't handle pot with more than a few cups of beer or I would've protected myself better when I was at Dirk's place. Better to avoid smoking the stuff.

A few minutes later James looked over at me and grinned. I could swear his cheeks had tinged pink as he slipped away from me and into the crowd. A little while later he sat beside me again. With an endearing gaze, he asked if I wanted a new boyfriend. So far he'd been a sweetheart with me, so I said, "Sure."

I liked the fact he seemed unsure of himself even with a few beers in him. No man would manipulate me again if I could help it, and since he seemed innocent enough, I decided to trust him with something very fragile…my heart. I just hoped I wouldn't regret it later. The fact I'd gotten a good buzz-on made me braver, I guess.

We got together a number of times after that night, just the two of us. Sometimes we'd sit in back of the bowling alley and make out while we watched random people as they bowled. We never played the game ourselves, though. We preferred kissing in dark corners. He was a great boyfriend and we talked about a lot of neutral things. But I wouldn't talk to him about that night. I was too scared to bring it up.

After two months of seeing each other, I decided to tell him. It was on a weekend in early October and I was thinking I might let James do more than kiss me. He seemed eager to oblige when I hinted that I might want to have sex. In fact, he smiled like he was glad I was finally ready to mess around, so I took off my coat and made myself comfortable.

We were alone in his apartment, or so I'd thought until the flashbacks hit me hard. I enjoyed his tender caresses at first, but something set me off. Maybe fear, or the ghost of Dirk that seemed to follow me around these days. I'm not sure what happened to make me snap, but it could have been his hand touching the zipper of my jeans that did it. Anyway, I started crying and couldn't stop.

James hesitated and seemed genuinely concerned for me. Glancing deep into my eyes, he asked me what was wrong and if he could help. I couldn't look at him when I blurted out, "Someone raped me."

He pulled me close, and I cried on his shoulder. I don't know what he was thinking while he hugged me. I was too busy trembling and trying not to fall completely apart. When I finally got control of myself, he waited until I looked at him.

Neither of us spoke. He had distanced himself from me, though. I could sense it. It wasn't like I told him I had a venereal disease, but the result was the same. After a gentle hug, he said he wasn't ready to be serious with me anyway. And that really hurt.

After trying to get him to talk to me and having him stare at the TV for a good ten minutes, I finally got up to leave. But as I walked through the kitchen, I got this crazy idea and grabbed a knife from a drawer. I locked myself in his bathroom and started sobbing all over again. This time it sounded more like a keening wail.

As I fell to the floor, I noticed the knife was pretty dull. I started running it along my wrist anyway.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Until finally a trickle of blood sprang from my skin and dripped down my arm.

Someone pounded on the door. James yelled, "What are you doing in there?"

James wanted to know what I was doing? Well I'd ignore him like he ignored me and see how he liked it. I couldn't stop myself anyway. My mind had started to unravel.

"Dammit! Open this door before I call the police."

I didn't want to be arrested or taken to the nut house, so I forced myself to stand and opened the door. There wasn't a lot of blood, but there was enough sliding down my wrist that it had him freaked out.

"What are you,
frickin' crazy or something?" His gaze flicked between my bloody wrist and the knife. No doubt he tried to assess whether I would turn the weapon on him.

Grabbing my other wrist -- the one that wasn't bleeding -- he confiscated the knife from me and shoved me down so I sat on the toilet. "Don't move."

He tossed the knife across the kitchen -- probably aiming for the sink -- and grabbed a box from the mirrored medicine cabinet. He proceeded to dab the cut with toilet paper, then rubbed a bit of antibiotic ointment on the wound before putting a Band-Aid on it.

I didn't know what to say as I watched him finish. He acted angry and his voice was firm, but he wasn't rough with me. I couldn't have handled that. Once my wound was dressed, he said in a calm voice, "I don't think we should see each other anymore. Whatever is going on with you is more than I want to deal with. I'm not worth cutting yourself over, so go on home."