When it all started *TRIGGER WARNING*

For my personal preference, all names were changed.

It all started when I moved. It was the middle of my 8th grade year, January 2010. I didn’t care about anything; life, school, family, new friends, old ones, I just didn’t care. I got molested just 2 months after I moved. In school, during science class. Ben just kept touching me and I didn’t like it but I couldn’t say anything. It was like I was frozen like ice, I couldn’t move my arms, legs. I could speak or do anything. After about a month and a half of him touching me everyday in science class, I stayed after class and told the teacher one day. She told the counselor and the counselor made both of us sign a paper saying we wouldn’t go near each other. I thought it was over. I “graduated” from 8th grade, barely, and went to high school.

People said high school would be the best years of my life. I expected it to be the “best years of my life”. Football games, dances, tons of friends, boyfriends, my social life was gonna be great.

The second week of October of 2010, was the worst day I’ve ever had to live through. It is a day that I will never forget or get over. And I hope no other person goes through what I went through.

I was on my period and wasn’t feeling my best. My back hurt and I was just achy all over. I purposely forgot my gym shoes in my moms car which means I had to sit out of gym class while everyone ran laps. There is 2 floors to this gym. The bottom floor had the basketball court and the upper floor had just the track. On one side of the upper floor there was stairs leading down to the court and on the other side there was a little room-like space where there were doors that led into the main hall way. That space was designated for the people who never participated, and for people who were not dressed in their gym clothes to sit and watch, to get a 0 for the day. I sat down with someone just like 15 feet away from me, and Sam sat beside me.

Maybe he just wanted the seat closes to the corner, maybe he wanted the seat to watch out for the teacher, i don’t know. He never spoke a word to me. I was sitting Indian style with my back up against the wall, breathing through the cramps with my eyes closed. I felt something on my lower back. It was a hand, massaging my lower back. I didn’t open my eyes and just kept breathing like I didn’t feel him. He then went under my shirt and start rubbing my back with his rough callused hands. They were warm and he needed a mani because his hands were so so rough. Me being the naive bitch that I am I thought he noticed how horrible I felt and was trying to ease the pain. I was completely wrong. *GETS GRAPHIC* He then put his hand down my gym shorts and started grabbing my butt like it was a toy, I opened my eyes realizing what was happening.

I didn’t want any of this but I could do anything. Like 8th grade I was frozen like ice. He was quiet and I was quiet and the people down the wall didn’t know what was happening. My mind raced. If I could just get sound to come out of my mouth. But who would believe me? He would take his hand out of my pants and nobody would have seen. And if people did believe he was touching me under my clothes, who’s to say anyone would think I didn’t lead him on. I just kept quiet. After what seemed like hours, he moved his hand to the front of me and started rubbing my insides felt weird and my breathing became heavier. He moved lower and push a finger inside me and I felt a shock of pain. He broke my hymen, he took my virginity, and it hurt like fucking hell. With every thrust came a shock of pain to my abdomen.

I felt my breathing get heavier and heavier with every couple thrusts and my abdomen and lower body felt weird. After every thrust he would say something different. “I know you want it” “Just tell me you love it” “Maybe we should do this more often” “Harder?” he’d ask as I shook my head no. “I love you so much baby” “I’m making you my slut, my bitch” I just sat there, like I was dead. Staring at the wall across from us, unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to breath. I felt dead. He kept going and going and suddenly I felt like a release in my body ( which I later found out that I had climaxed ). For what seemed like a day had only been 10 minutes and he heard Coach coming back to her position near us.

He quickly pulled out his finger as I was trying to catch my breath and process what just happened. He asked to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later when I could get up, still in pain I also asked to go to the bathroom. But I went to the one in the locker room. I made sure no one was in the locker room, locked the door, sat on the ground and sobbed. The bell rang, I got up, wiped my face, unlocked the door, grabbed my things without changing my clothes and ran to my Spanish class. I was in pain the entire day. More than what I was when I woke up. A pain that was not only physical , because the physical pain was unbearable, but emotional as well. Every step sent a shock of pain from my lower area up into my stomach, I could barely sit in my classroom seats without flinching in pain. When the day was finally over, I rode the bus home. When I got home at 2:30, I went straight to my bathroom and took a 5 hour shower. For 3 hours I sobbed in the shower and for 2 I scrubbed my body but could never feel clean enough to get out.

The next day I walked to my Spanish class and Gina was outside the classroom. I went to walk in and she said “I know what you did! It’s all your fault! Nobody cares about you so why don’t you just go kill yourself!” I didn’t say a word and went to my seat as tears streamed my face. She told me that everyday for my freshman year. And she was right, it was my fault. I didn’t stop him, I should have. I didn’t tell anyone and I wasn’t planning on telling anyone. I saw him everyday after that. In class and in the hallway. He always smiled at me like he owned me. Like he branded me. Everyday I heard “Just go kill yourself, Kelsey! Nobody wants you!” Little did they know that I tried killing myself, multiple times that year. I just failed.

The emotional pain was killing me. What had happened? What did I do? What did he do? What did I just let him do? Jesus, if I had only done something, spoke, moved, made some kind of noise. But if I did something would he had done something worse? But then I started blaming everyone around me. If the people down the wall would have just turned around, if coach skinner would have just walked near us, if some teachers walked through the door that was literally right beside us. But how could I blame them when I didn’t do anything? It was my fault he continued.

After that day, without telling a soul, all I kept hearing at church was “God can make something tragic and make it beautiful” or “everything happens for a reason”. To be honest I started to hate God. “That’s bullshit. How can he make what I had just been through 3 days ago good and beautiful? I’m still in pain.” I thought in the pews just 3 days after it happened. I started to hate God and the fact that people say that He is good and obviously He isn’t when He did what He did. ( obviously this isn’t how I feel now )

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