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One Rape Victim's Desperation

Updated on March 30, 2010

The Aftermath

      The darkest cover of stormy night does not compare to the depth of darkness brooding in my broken heart.  Confusion is an understatement but no other word comes closer.  My head is swirling and spinning too fast.  Explosions of obnoxiously bright color interrupt random bursts of memories from that dreadful night.  I am grateful only that i have the weekend to wallow in my pain and self-pity.

     My dried out bloodshot eyes are shut tight against the offending cheery sunbeams sneaking in my dismal room via the gaps in my cheap blackout brown curtains.  I can hear them outside.  They think these walls are thicker than they are.  It also helps that my phone is off as is my radio.  The unfamiliar silence echoes and allows me to hear everything.  I would rather not.  Instead I focus on the irritating tick-tock of the second hand marking the agonizingly slow minutes and hours reminding me that time does not stop for me.

     The sun has come back twice more.  They have not stopped talking.  Nor have they knocked on my door.  Clearly they have ignorantly made up their minds based not on what makes sense, but on what he has told them.  Their easy betrayal has taken a damaging toll on me.  So many options sprint through my head kicking up a tornado of emotions the likes of which have never been experienced, by me, before.

     They knew me first, longer.  My reputation has been free of scandal.  How could on blonde muscle bound neanderthal in jeans so tight as to ensure no future generations convince them in less than seventy two hours that I am no better than a two dollar hoar working the slimy underbelly of some dirty city?  How can they not see him for what he is? 

     Monday is here.  Already.  I have not even slept yet.  Damn.  I have to go to work.  I do not want to, but I do have to.  My best effort to feign normalcy is a bigger failure than the Bush Administration.  My boss asks me what is wrong before I even take two full steps into the office.  I tell her it was a rough weekend and say no more.  I do not know that I can.  She raises a doubtful eyebrow at me, she know that I am not giving it to her straight, but she lets it be.  My supervisor does the same.

     The rest of the week they discreetly redistribute the workload so that I can focus on the paperwork more.  They seem to sense that if I talk, I will break.  I think they are right.  Truly I am grateful for their sensitive intuition.


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