Page 3 of Justice

I glance at my phone on the nightstand, considering calling Christopher. But what would I say? How could I possibly explain this to him when I can barely understand it myself? The thought of anyone knowing, of seeing me like this, makes me feel sick all over again.

Instead, I force myself to stand, my legs shaky beneath me. I need to shower, to wash away the physical evidence of last night. But as I take a step toward my bathroom, a chilling thought stops me in my tracks. What if I'm destroying evidence? What if I need proof of what happened?

I sink back onto my bed, overwhelmed by the weight of decisions I never thought I'd have to make. The world outside my window continues as if nothing has changed, but in here, in this room, everything has shattered. And I have no idea how to begin picking up the pieces.

My phone is shattered with no way for me to get ahold of anyone. I make my way to the shower again to clean up. The only thing I feel right now is the hot water burning my skin as I scrub myself raw.

Weeks Later

Elle

Fear grips me, its icy tendrils wrapping around my chest and squeezing tight. My shattered phone lies silent on my nightstand, a constant reminder of the messages I can't bring myself to read. I can almost hear the concerned voices of my friends, their worry seeping through the cracks in the screen.

Christopher's face flashes in my mind, his warm smile now a source of guilt and shame. What would he think if he knew? The thought makes my stomach churn.

I curl up tighter on my bed, pulling the blankets over my head as if they could shield me from the world. The darkness is a small comfort, but it can't keep the memories at bay. Flashes of that night assault my senses—the acrid taste of alcohol, the dizzying spin of the woods, the searing pain between my legs.

My breath catches in my throat, threatening to turn into a sob. I swallow hard, forcing it back down. I can't let anyone hear, can't let them know how broken I feel inside.

The word 'rape' echoes in my mind, each instance like a knife twisting in my gut. It doesn't feel real, like it happened to someone else. But the pain, the fear, the constant feeling of being dirty no matter how much I scrub my skin raw in the shower, it's all too real.

I peek out from under the covers, my eyes landing on the calendar on my wall. The unmarked days mock me, each one a reminder of what I'm desperately trying to ignore. My period is late. The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through me, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure it'll burst from my chest.

A soft knock on my door makes me jump. "Elle? Honey, are you okay in there?" My mom's voice is laced with concern.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat. What could I possibly say? That her little girl was violated in the worst way imaginable? That I might be…

No. I can't even think it.

"I'm fine, Mom," I manage to croak out, wincing at how unconvincing I sound. "Just tired."

There's a pause, and for a terrifying moment, I think she might come in. But then I hear her sigh. "Okay, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything."

Her footsteps fade away, and I'm left alone with my thoughts again. My eyes drift to my closet, where I know the clothes from that fateful night are hidden away. The evidence of my assault, preserved just in case. Just in case of what? I'm not sure I'll ever be brave enough to come forward.

I close my eyes, willing sleep to come and give me a brief respite from this nightmare. But even in my dreams, I can't escape. The faceless boys from the party haunt me, their laughter echoing in my ears as I try to run away.

As consciousness creeps back in, a new day dawns. But for me, it's just another day of pretending, of forcing smiles and mumbling excuses. How long can I keep this up? How long before someone sees through the cracks in my carefully constructed facade?

The weight of my secret presses down on me, threatening to crush me entirely. But what choice do I have? To speak out would be to make it real, to admit that my life has been irreversibly changed. And I'm not ready for that, but I have to.

I made sure to get tested for all possible diseases, even though I was pretty sure of the outcome. The confirmation that I was clean and free of any illnesses was a relief after what had happened.

I don’t remember anything from the person who hurt me, but I do get a random flash of a tattoo of an anchor on someone’sforearm; it’s a cheesy sailor design that someone in the military would have if they were in the navy.

I have to tell my parents that I’m pregnant, or I think I am.

What if they are disappointed in me? I was so stupid to let my guard down and be hurt in this way.

One person, no matter what, makes me feel safe and has held my hand and kissed all of my boo-boos away.

I need my daddy.

It’s one o’clock in the morning and I just peed on the pregnancy test, not able to wait any longer, but I don’t want to be alone during this.

I slip into my parents’ bedroom—my dad always lies closest to the door—and I softly split the distance between us, just wanting to crawl into bed between the two of them to feel safe, to hug away all of the shit going through my mind.

My hand is trembling as I touch his arm, holding my breath as I wait for him to wake up. His eyes snap open, startled to find me at his side. He glances at the clock, puzzled by my presence this late.

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