So Tired

I was an early bloomer. I had breasts blooming by the time that I was ten years old. It was no surprise to anyone that I looked five or six years older then I was. What ten year old has breasts, let alone a size B? It has been a curse my whole life. The following story may be convoluted, as I am trying to drag up memories long buried.

The first time I went to Horizon House was before Western Academy. I don't know how I got to Horizon House the first time. Maybe it was because I had run away from the foster home. It was after all a home for runaways. I don't remember who took me there, or any of the staff that was there, I recall, nothing except for what took place one night.

The only thing I can remember of the building itself was that when you first went in, you were in a living room that had a winding staircase. If you went farther you came into the kitchen. Up the winding staircase were the bedrooms. I know from experiences farther in the future that there had to have been at least two bathrooms and a staff office somewhere, but damned if I can remember where they were now.

I don't remember any of the routines, or any of the staff. I don"t even remember any of the other kids, except for one.

I do remember it was dark. I was on a small bed, alone in a room. I curled myself up into a ball and hugged my teddy bear to my waist. I was so tired, so afraid of what was going to happen to me. My eyes drifting shut as I felt the familiar pull of sleep. Sleep had always been my friend. Always taking me in, soothing me whenever things got bad.

I fought against the nightmare, the ties that were holding me down fast. I felt confusion lance through me, something was wrong. This time the monsters from my dreams were really going to win. I couldn't move. I couldn't wake up. I couldn't scream. My tongue felt thick and my head felt odd, but I finally managed to drag my eyes open.

I was staring straight into the face of boy named John. His face was the only thing I could see in the darkness. I tried to move, but I found his weight on top of me too much for my small frame to dislodge. He had laid his full weight on top of me. I found myself fighting, a sixteen year old boy on top of a ten year old girl. Physically I was no match.

I stared at him blankly before I asked in a very cold and detached voice "What are you doing?"

He replied "It's so hard. You looked so pretty at dinner."

Now, despite the fact that I had been molested, I had no clue what he meant by "It's so hard" and I do believe my expression mirrored that, if not, certainly my next words should have alerted him that something was wrong.

"Are you sick John?"

He grinned wickedly at me and pushed himself up, I let out the breathe I didn't even know I had been holding and felt relief flood through me. He was going to get off of me and go back to his room, or maybe find a staff member.

The fear flooded back in when the blankets were ripped from between us and I felt him struggling to get my night shirt up. A t-shirt and panties is all I had to wear to bed and it was not much covering for me.

His cold sweaty hands made me feel sick to my stomach and I started protesting. I was begging him to stop. I could barely focus. All I could think of was how it was going to happen all over again.

My body went still. I couldn't fight. What if he beat me up for fighting him? What if he hurt me? Maybe if I did what he wanted he would go away and leave me alone.

He ordered me to spread my legs. I continued to lay prone. I may not be able to fight, but I sure as hell wasn't going to help him.

I felt his nasty hands struggle with my panties, giving up when they reached my mid thighs. He was already naked and I could feel him pressing against me. Despite my resolve not to, tears began to leak out of the corners of my eyes.

He continued to whisper against my ear, talking about how hard it was, how bad it hurt, how he had to do this, how he was sorry.

I wanted to fight, to claw his eyes out, but instead, I simply laid there. I had played this game before and knew I wouldn't win. I had seen what happens on television when the girl fights back. My mind began to shut down.

I can tell you that he didn't penetrate me. He did rub himself against me until he left a sticky mess, then calmly stood up, told me if I ever told anyone that he would kill me.

I am sure at some point he walked out of my room. I don't remember him leaving. I never told anyone, until today. I wish I could say that I never saw him again but that would be a lie.

The day I walked into Western Academy, he walked back into my life.

On a side note, it was shortly after this that I began to experience night terrors. Even during all of my counseling I could never bring myself to tell anyone. It is something that I have not even told Chris. I guess there is never a good time to simply say "Oh yeah by the way when I was ten, an older boy sort of forced himself on me while I laid there."

The question becomes, if I didn't protest, is it still a violation? Does someone have to say no for it to be wrong, or is it a basic principal?

In the back of my mind I know it wasn't my fault. I know I didn't do anything wrong. Or did I? Is it my fault for not fighting back? Is it my fault for not screaming? Surely someone would have come to save me. I now know that there is a staff member 24 hours a day at Horizon House, surely I knew it then.

Ever been in one of those dreams where your mouth just opens up to scream and nothing comes out? Or maybe just a squeaking noise? I was always afraid of that. Afraid I would open my mouth to scream and nothing would come out, or I would squeak and then he would be furious and I would suffer for it.

To this day I carry a hatred for John. I wish him all the hell he inflicted on me, for this was the first time, but not the last.

I am so very tired though. I am not sleeping well. It's been weeks since I first got sick and I'm still fighting a rather nasty fever that seems to come on stronger at night. I have woken up sweating for several days now. I am groggy and disorientated. The night terrors have been back ever since I started wearing the nicotine patch.

I am tired of having to fight with life.