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“I knew you would enjoy it,” he grunted. “You feel the way your cunt grips me? That means you’re enjoying it.”
Enjoying it? No, it couldn’t mean that. Could it? I had no clue. The Catholic school version of sex-ed was don’t have sex until you’re married or hell, fire and damnation await.
“No,” I insisted, more to myself and maybe God, than to Owen.
“Yeah,” he growled and pulled me closer, his hips moving impossibly fast until a long, keening wail sounded.
From me. My body flooded with pleasure. I froze and then my body convulsed hard as waves of heat went through me and out of my fingers and toes. “No,” I cried.
“Oh yeah,” he moaned and bucked his hips a few more times. Hard. Eventually, Owen pulled back until my pussy was cold against the night air, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Another virgin pussy for my trophy case.” He gave my pussy a smack before he stood and zipped up his manhood, staring down at me with a smile that could have been a sneer.
I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. While he high-fived his friends, I stood and pressed my knees together before I took off at a full run. I ran and ran through the soccer field and several newly-built subdivisions until I reached the blue ranch house I called home.
Home.
I stopped and stared at the house, Owen’s come dripping down my thigh, knowing what waited for me on the other side of the door. Mom would be reading the bible, a rosary clutched in her hands while Dad knocked back his fifth or sixth beer of the night. I knew instantly what I had to do.
Keep my mouth shut. Dad, if he was coherent, might kill Owen. But Mom, she might make me marry the rapist or worse, send me away in shame. It was bad enough I was probably looking at a lifetime’s worth of Hail Mary’s for letting him touch me, but this? This was eternal condemnation.
No, I had to keep this a secret from them.
And I did. I never told a soul, not even Emily.
Keeping that secret ate away at me. At my soul, at the very core of my being. The school year went on, but word of the rape had reached far and wide, only I was branded a slut instead of a victim, and that stripped away the last bit of the old Sadie Rose that remained.
I stopped talking to Emily, who was happy to be rid of her slutty friend if for no other reason than to avoid being painted with the same brush. I thought about telling her the truth, but I knew it would do no good. She believed the words of the gossips at school because I had gone with Owen willingly because there were boys watching who vouched for his version of events.
So I left my last friend behind and kept my head down, studying hard for the rest of the year, taking classes during my lunch period as a plan started to take shape.
When school was over, I attended summer classes during the day and spent afternoons with my Uncle Seamus, who taught me how to fight. He used to be a boxer for the Army and often made extra cash in what he called ‘off-book fights.’ I learned how to protect myself, to make sure no one ever made me feel the way Owen had. When I came home from school late for dinner with disheveled hair and flushed cheeks, dad was too drunk to notice. But Mom, she was worried. Always worried.
“Sadie, where have you been?” She would pat my hair down and swipe the dirt from my cheeks. “Are you all right?”
I nodded and shied away from her touch because I didn’t like to be touched anymore. “I was at church, Mom. Helping at-risk teens who need the guidance of a good Catholic girl.”
As expected, she smiled and reached out to me, frowning when I stepped away from her. “You’re such a good girl, Sadie Rose.”
“Thanks, Mom. I need to go wash up for dinner.” I would flash a broad smile at Mom, and that appeased her enough to keep her off my back for the whole summer.
As I ducked and dodged Seamus’ fists as he trained me in the back room of his favorite bar, all I thought about was revenge. Getting back at Owen and the other assholes who watched and laughed as he took something he had no right to take, those thoughts consumed me.
“Whoa, lass, who ya fightin’?”
It was about a month before the school year was due to start up again when Uncle Seamus finally got around to asking that question, and I still didn’t have a good answer.
“My demons,” I told him in lieu of the truth.
