17 February 1999 ~ Scarred like that...

I went home sick from work today - not that I'm really sick, but I wasn't feeling great. So I came back to my room, made some tea, wrote a 4-page paper for tomorrow's 9.30AM class, and am now sitting here recovering from the trauma of that paper...

I am trying to get everything done right now. I've been slacking a lot lately, and suddenly, everything is upon me: making up seven hours of work, writing to people who sent me Christmas cards, calling clinic after clinic to find out where one CAN go to get an anonymous AIDS test in this town (it's a long story, okay? The test is just to be on the safe side, because I haven't always been on the er, safe side... I'm not really scared; it's just a ritual I promised I'd do every six months...), making up my resumé to send to the local paper back in my hometown, etc... Oh, an interesting development! I emailed Alan to ask if he'd mind me using him as a reference; he wrote back and was really nice. That just thrilled me, because I have a lot of respect for him, even if he is weird, and, of course, someday, I'll have his job... (*grin!*)

Well, none of that makes for a very interesting journal entry, so I turned on the radio a few minutes ago to inspire myself. The song was "What's Up," by the Four-Non-Blondes, which has plenty of powerful associations for me.

A few days after my high school graduation, I had a fight with my family. I felt underappreciated, misunderstood, and ignored. Oh, I know: all teenagers feel that way all the time, but in general, I've had decent relationships with my family members, and the animosity was new to me. I wrote a four-page letter telling them I needed a break from everything for a few days, left it on my bed, packed, walked downtown, and got myself some coffee. It was the first time I'd ever gone out of my way to be wild and crazy...

I had the first - and only - one night stand that day; his name was Andrew, and we'd met before, but never really talked. Nonetheless, there was this amazingly strong attraction between us, and, when he offered to show me his apartment and his new guitar, I knew that wasn't all I was going to see... He did end up showing me his guitar, and playing me Marcy Playground's "Sex and Candy," as we fooled around and shared a grape lollipop, so never fear: the guitar wasn't just an excuse...

I left his apartment late in the day, realized I had nowhere to stay, and walked to Peter's apartment. No one was home. Andrew had said he was going out that night or some such thing, so I was stranded... I walked to a few other houses where I had friends, to no avail. Finally, as rain began pummeling my nose and the silk shirt Andrew had given me ("It's just way too gay for me... do I seem gay to you?" "Er, um, NOOOO, not after THAT!"), I went back to the coffeehouse, hoping I could find SOMEONE who would take me in for the night... It was either that or an alley, because I was NOT going back to my parents' houses. I needed to find something in myself, to loosen the strings, to make them understand their dependency on me to keep things sane.

I recognized a few people at the coffeehouse, which wasn't surprising, since I know ALL of the regulars. I explained my dilemma, but only one person seemed truly sympathetic. I'd seen him around, but didn't know his name. He introduced himself as Brian Andrews, [name not changed due to the fact that I don't feel like protecting his identity] and we clicked immediately. I wasn't physically attracted to him, at least not in the conventional sense, but I was intrigued by his eyes. They were jet-black, and seemed to hold fire in them. They reminded me of Neil's eyes. His speech reminded me of Neil's speech. His gait reminded me of Neil's gait. I was not surprised in the least to learn that he and Neil had been room-mates.

He offered to let me stay the night. I was hesitant. I barely knew the guy. All I knew was his name and that he'd been Neil's room-mate. He saw me hesitate and asked if I'd just like to talk for awhile. Well, there's no harm in talking, right? We talked about everything: near-death experiences, Neil, love, drugs, palm-readings, you name it... And as the night passed, the fire in his eyes grew more and more insistent, as did my curiousity.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked me.
"Yes. Yes, I do," I replied, smiling, thinking of Peter.
"I think I do too," he said. "I think I love you."
"I hope you'll understand if I can't say that back," I said quietly. "I don't even say the words unless I'm absolutely sure. I've made mistakes before, and I don't want to do that now."
"I understand. Since the coffeehouse is closed, do you wanna go to an all-night diner and get some coffee?"

We'd been sitting together in darkness and light from street-lamps for several hours. A few random druggies had passed, one called Stoner Joe, whom we harassed for a little while, giggling and telling him not to worry about the bugs crawling all over him... I agreed to go get coffee with him. He was intriguing. He was interesting. He seemed so REAL.

We talked over coffee for another hour or two, and I realized how late it was. NO ONE was going to open their doors to a random runaway at 3 in the morning, even my friends. "Does your offer still stand?" I asked. "Can I stay over?"
"Of course," he assured me, smiling.

He lived 22 miles from town. He shoved a tape into the tape deck as we drove, and we both sang out "What's Up," along with the tape. "An' I said, hey-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah, hey, yeah-yeah, I said, hey, what's goin' on?"

Once there, he spread out a blanket on the floor. "Normally, I sleep on the couch," he said. "But it's broken and I don't really fit. Is it okay if I sleep here with you? Just sleeping, of course..." I nodded. I was a little worried. I'd acted like enough of a slut that day, and I wasn't attracted to Brian at ALL; I didn't want him to touch me and I didn't want to touch him. It was as foreign and revolting a thought as screwing your brother or something... But I nodded anyway. There wasn't much I could do in the ways of arguing when he;d been kind enough to take me in. I said, "yeah... just sleeping."

As I was drifting off, I felt his arm creep around my shoulders. Instinctively, my muscles wanted to tighten and I wanted to pull away from him, but a deeper, wiser instinct told me not to. His hands slid up my shirt, and, now wide awake, I clenched my eyes closed and gritted my teeth. I don't have to take this, I thought. Oh come on, whore, another part of me thought, it doesn't matter anymore after what happened with Andrew - face it, you're just as much a slut as those women down on Carroll Street in the high heels. Tramp. So I lay there, praying for him to stop. He didn't. He must have wondered why I wasn't waking up, but what was I supposed to do? Open my eyes and accuse him of molestation? When I was 22 miles from home and he was my only way back at 4 in the morning? When he might have a weapon? What was I supposed to do? Open my eyes and go with it when he might have any disease at all and would likely give it to me? I knew what that fire in his eyes meant now: it meant that he could be brutal if he wanted to: he could beat me, he could hurt me in any way he wanted to... The only option was to fake sleep. I concentrated on biting my lip so I wouldn't scream for help. I thought about coma patients on TV, trying to pretend I was one.

It didn't work. His hands crept over my body, across my chest, across my stomach, and then... well... just trust me: his hands were everywhere. PLEASE god, don't let him rape me, I prayed. Somehow, some way, my prayers must have worked, because he rolled over and went to sleep, apparently bored of playing with such a cold fish as a girl pretending to be in a coma. I slept for about half an hour that night, and it was out of pure exhaustion. The next day, he asked what I wanted fo breakfast. I couldn't keep the coldness out of my voice: "I want to go back downtown," I said. "Take me back."
"What's wrong?"
YOU WERE GOING TO RAPE ME... YOU WERE GOING TO TRY TO RAPE ME, AND YOU WOULD HAVE - I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU DIDN'T, BUT YOU WERE GOING TO... AND I HATE YOU, AND I WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE...

Of course, I couldn't say that. I just made up some dumb excuse about needing to meet someone. He drove me back to the coffeehouse. I noticed that I was missing a ring as his car drove away, and I've never been able to find some of my clothes since that night when I left my bag of clothes open on his floor.

Since then, another friend of mine said he attempted to rape her, too. This was the friend I'd warned about him; she'd said, "nah, he's just a sweet guy... just talk to him for a few hours and you'll know..."

Love,
Helena*

"I've willed, I've walked, I've read, I've talked, I know, I KNOW, I've been here before... Hey, now we won't be raped. Hey, now we won't be scarred like that..." --Live, "Selling The Drama"