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Revised Narrative September 10, 2009

Thomas Dugas was his name. I remember peering out my window and seeing moving trucks up the street. This always brought on a ton of curiosity between me and my sisters. I had grown up always running around with the guys but none of them were “my type,” my type meaning hot. As couches were being brought in three guys popped out from behind the moving trucks. My heart jumped “he’s cute!” I told my sisters who were standing next to me staring out the window scoping for hot guys too.
The next day I was hanging around outside watching a bunch of my guy friends playing football. Thomas came up and asked to play too. I watched the first play; he ran down the field, jumped way up in the air, caught the ball and ran it in for a touchdown. No one could catch him. The summer sun was blazing down on the field and all the guys were sweating like crazy; a few of them decided to take off their shirts. Thomas took off his and I could see a sexy glisten of sweat that just helped to outline his chiseled chest and abs. After the game we all hung out and talked about a bunch of stuff. In my head I knew I had to act like he was nothing special. I was banking on him coming up and talking to me. Of course, my plan worked, and we both started talking. I had butterflies in my stomach but they soon subsided and we seemed to immediately hit it off. We began to spend more and more time together; I would go home happy and talk to him all night, neither one of us wanting to hang up the phone. Our friendship had become unbelievably close. One night he wanted to go on a walk with me; he grabbed my hand and a flurry of butterflies shot through my body. I was so excited; we were laughing, joking, and it seemed to just be me and him walking down that road together, no one else and nothing else mattered. We were almost back to my house and he stopped, so I stopped too. Then he faced me and took my hands and finally asked me if I would be his girlfriend. That was one of the happiest moments in my life. I said, “Yes” and were had now become a couple. We walked up to my doorstep, and he gave me a kiss before I went inside.
Our first month seemed perfect; we spent every moment of our free time hanging out with each other. We became inseparable and never went anywhere without the other. One night we had been watching a movie while cuddling in his room; at the end of the movie, he turned off the TV, and we sat there for a minute. The only light in the room was from the streetlights shining in through his window. Thomas turned to me and said, “Hey Candice, I just wanted to tell you that you are beautiful and I love you.” Now I had never told a guy that I loved him, but I felt like I loved him. He was the first guy that ever made me feel special; feel loved, and ever told me I was beautiful. Sitting in that dark room, cuddled up with his strong arms around me, I told him I loved him too.
As time passed things began to change between the two of us. Thomas began to treat me differently. He never told me I was beautiful anymore; instead he would tell me that I was fat or call me ugly. He would always ask me to do stuff for him, and I trying to be the best girlfriend would get right up and do it and he began to take advantage of me. Thomas started constantly calling me hurtful names and would put me down like I meant absolutely nothing. Day after day the comments seemed to get worse and my self confidence had sunk through the floor. I took all of what he said in and tried to brush it away, but the things he said kept building and hit me hard to the point of a break down. Tears would stream down my face, and he would tilt my head up, wipe away my tears and say softy to me, “Don’t worry Candice, I love you and everything is fine.” Hearing this somehow drew me right back in like everything was fine. This happened a lot, but I never did anything about the situation.
The whole situation got worse when he wanted to play fight. He would punch me really hard causing my arm to go completely dead and would tell me to punch him back. I told him that I was not going to punch my boyfriend and asked why would I hit someone I loved. This progressed further and turned into if I didn’t do something for him he would threaten to hit me and then ended up hitting me anyways. He hit me so much I had bruises all over my body. Dark spots of purple, green, and black seemed to be stamped all over my arms and legs. My wardrobe quickly changed to wearing jeans and sweatshirts every day. I was never able to wear any cute clothes anywhere because I did not want people asking me any questions.
In my culinary class we were forced to wear our uniforms while we were in the kitchen, so I would change when no one was around or even go into the bathrooms. Rolling up my sleeves revealed my dark secrets that I had been trying to hide from the world. There was only so much I could do to conceal them, to try to make sure no one would see. Occasionally someone would notice and ask “Oh my gosh! How did you get that?” and I would have to make up some story like how I was playing football with some guys. In the back of my head I just wished they wouldn’t ask so I wouldn’t have to keep thinking to myself that I was lying to my friends; I wanted them all to think I was in a perfect relationship and be somewhat envious of me.
I do not know what was going through my head at the time. It could be the fact that I was scared to be alone again, scared to let people know that my relationship failed, or I thought maybe if I keep doing things for him, he would care about me more. On the contrary, he took advantage of the thoughtful things I did for him, and he continued to abuse me. My problem was that I was too nice to do anything about it; I didn’t want to hurt him. The one time that I did stand up for myself, I slapped him in the face. I hit him hard, and it really stunned him. I had never struck back against him before. I took all my built up frustration and let it out on his face. Then the retaliation occurred, and I got hit back and knocked to the ground. He continued to pummel me, pains and stings of his kicks and punches to my sides felt like daggers.
The tears began to flow from my eyes; I could not hold it in any longer. I kicked the back of his knees and made him fall to the ground in pain. He came back after me again and beat me to the point where I was screaming, crying, and throwing up. Curled up in the grass there was no one around to help me, and no one heard my screams of pain, and cries for help. It hurt to yell out, piercing pain shot through my ribs and chest. He walked away, leaving me on the ground curled up in a ball dry heaving and balling my eyes out. In my head all I could think about was that I should never try to challenge him ever again. For some reason I wanted him to forgive me; I wanted him to still like me. He came back over to see what was wrong with me, and I apologized for hitting him and cowered back to him hoping that he would not be mad at me.
Everything escalated from that point; I was completely vulnerable, I did whatever he said because I was scared not too. I was his little puppet that did whatever he wanted. Whatever he wanted was the key word; I did things that I regret; I was under a spell and couldn’t break from it. He forced me to let him put his dick in my mouth. I didn’t know what I was doing; I knew this was called a blow job, but I was forced into doing this for him. He had to sneak this because if his parents saw we would get in trouble. He would lead me outside behind the townhouses when it was really late and say “get on your knees”. Kneeling down the cold wet grass soaked my jeans; he would undo his zipper, and then I would do what he told me too; I felt dirty. I had always seen scenes in movies of whores giving blow jobs in dark damp alleyways and that’s how I felt, that I was just like them; a whore. After he got what he wanted, it was magically time for me to go home. I would walk home by myself, ashamed, always telling myself I would never ever do that again… but I did.
Thomas’s brother, Chad, somehow found out what Thomas and I had been doing every night, and this seemed to excite him. Chad was always pushing for both of us to have sex, like it was some sick pleasure of his and he wanted to watch. Chad was a really big guy and extremely strong. Their family had just moved out of his house in my neighborhood and back into their old house. Thomas invited me over and Chad and Thomas came and picked me up. They brought me back to their house and no one was home. Chad thought it would be a great idea for me and Thomas to have sex, and he agreed to keep watch so that if someone came home we wouldn’t get caught. I said no, I was a virgin and I didn’t want to have sex with anyone yet, but Chad insisted on it. He picked me up and carried me into a spare bedroom and held me down. He told Thomas that he could whatever he wanted with me.
With both of them holding me down, my squirms and efforts to escape their grasps were futile. Thomas ran and got some rope and I was tied to the bedposts, by my hands and feet, completely defenseless. My clothes were lifted and tugged at till I was laying there in a bra and thong. I felt cold, cold and embarrassed. No one but me had ever seen this much my body and I didn’t know how to respond to what was going on. I had already been self conscious about myself because Thomas was always calling me fat.
Strapped to a bed with my boyfriend and his brother there, they began to lift up on my bra each sticking their hands up and grabbing a hold of my boobs. Chad began pulling down on my thong trying to take it off of me. I squirmed and cried out to stop, but I couldn’t do anything, I was trapped. Thoughts began to race through my mind, “what if people find out about this? What will they think of me?” I thought even more of myself as a disgusting dirty whore who was having two guys grope her body. I had never been touched like this before, and I thought that you were supposed to like it, but I certainly was not enjoying any part of this.
Thomas left the room for some reason and it was just me and his brother. His brother walks over to the door and locks it. He tells me, “Thomas is not good to you, but I can make you feel the best you ever felt in the world.” I yelled no and to leave me alone, but he didn’t seem to care. He had this look in his eyes I had never seen before; he was staring at my body excitedly and completely ignored what I was feeling and was saying. He kept telling me, “this is going to feel so good, relax you will really like it.” I remember him lifting me up although my arms still tied to the bed posts. Kicking my legs, he clenched them and kept them from moving. I began to feel his hand move up my inner thigh, I was crying, “please stop, please stop!” His hand kept moving to where I didn’t want them to. I felt his fingers inside me, and this did not feel good; it just made me more and more upset. I continued to scream stop it stop it and kept crying. I finally locked eyes with him; I knew he could see my bloodshot watery eyes looking back at him, sad and disgusted. Not the same cheery bright eyes I used to have. One last “stop!” and the look in his eyes changed. He moved his hands and stepped back from me. My almost completely naked body was laying there crying, curled up balling my eyes out. I had never been so vulnerable, so emotionally scarred; I had never lost this much control, and I couldn’t stand to look at him. He told me he was sorry, and he didn’t know what he was thinking. But I continued to look away; I couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes after what had just happened. He told me not to say anything to anyone. I didn’t want to.. I didn’t want anyone to know what had just happened. It didn’t fully hit me till I was untied and got dressed.
For some reason something clicked in my head that day, and I called my mom. Crying, I told her to pick me up as soon as possible. I knew she knew something had been going on because it had been awhile since I had truly been happy at home. She came and picked me up, and I never said goodbye to Thomas, and never looked his brother in the eyes; I just left. Staring silently out my window the whole way home, I realized that I should be treated better. My mom told me that I would be okay; I never told her anything but she knew something was wrong. This situation left me disgusted with trust, I couldn’t trust anyone but my family any more. All that night I thought to myself why did I stay with him for so long?

 

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