Trigger warning for a description of sexual assault
He is thirteen and beautiful. Older and beautiful. Hair like that surfer on MTV, body like the models on those shopping bags. The school bus is bouncing and his teeth close on my lip. I bleed. He wipes the blood on his thumb and trails his fingers down my prepubescent chest; lower. No more kissing, then, he says. He is the first boy who
He is cleaning up my vomit. Hand in my hair, hand on my back. I cannot feel where my dress ends; is it possible my ass is out? Possible, I slur, probable. Sh, he says. He hands me a breath mint and pulls the trashcan closer to my side of the bed. Just in case, he says. Hand in my hair, hand on my
He is putting on his pants when I wake up. Did we…? I ask. His eyes and back are cold. He says, Did we what? He says, You don’t know? He says
He is telling me what to drink. You don’t like beer, he says. I’m good, I reply. I like it fine today. Drink something else, he says. I’m good, I say. I’m good. It is our first date; we are going to the baseball game. That girl is way hotter than you, he says, pointing. I drink more beer and learn to like the way it froths at my lips. He takes it from me. He kisses my closed mouth and says I’ve never been so happy, wedges his tongue between my stony lips. He says, the things I’m gonna do to you later, the things I’m gonna do
He is pouting. I gave you a place to stay, he says and he is right. San Francisco is expensive, even for the weekend. Why won’t you sleep with me? He says. You slept with that other guy during orientation. I didn’t, but he doesn’t know that, because I didn’t tell him, because why would I tell him? He is trying to roll on top of me again and my hand is on his chest. He is whining, are you serious? I offer to sleep somewhere else tonight and he is grabbing my wrist in an effort he thinks is romantic. I just want to be your boyfriend for the weekend, he says. He has not yet asked what I want. I am trying to stand, but he is grabbing my
He isn’t listening. I don’t want to, I say, I can’t, I say, your brother, I say. I am crying, he is crying. Don’t say anything, okay? He says. I roll over but I do not leave. I don’t say anything. He is begging, he is crying, he thinks he’s just a boy who made a mistake but he isn’t listening; he is a boy who
Annie Kuster did not provide us with a bio, but we are grateful for Annie’s contribution to our mission and we greatly appreciate her sharing her story. Thank you for helping to break the silence, Annie.