Dear Ana,
I’ve never had a boyfriend.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this as if it’s not painfully obvious. If I can’t even get a female to love me platonically, how the fuck can I get a boy to love me romantically? There is no answer because it can never be done, which is okay because I hate men anyway. And don’t start with all the ‘not all men’ bullshit. Yes, I know not all men, but just one man can ruin it for you, Ana. Not all bees will sting, but you still keep your distance anyway right? Besides, any man would run in the opposite direction once he saw the suitcase of damage permanently attached to my hip. And if he didn’t run? Well, now I’m even more concerned.
There’s another reason apart from not believing that anyone could ever love me, though. A new reason. A worse reason.
I was home alone. My parents and Mikhail were out, and it was nice. I could leave my room without checking corners and holding my breath. I could use the bathroom without being terrified of someone banging so hard that the door might snap in half. I could make myself a sandwich in the kitchen without my head being thrust into a pile of cutlery. It’s the little things that mean the most.
I heard someone at the door, and after seeing the driveway empty of my parent’s and Mikhail’s car, I didn’t hesitate before opening it.
I should’ve hesitated, Ana.
Three men were standing on my porch. They were all impeccably dressed––freshly ironed khakis, crisp cut button-ups, shiny loafers––and reeked of old money.
“Can I help you?” I asked with a smile on my face.
I shouldn’t have smiled, Ana.
“Does Mikhail live here?” one of them asked, smiling back.
“Yes, but he’s not home right now.”
I should’ve lied, Ana.
They all looked at each other and then looked back at me. “Tell us the truth, sweetheart,” the one in the middle said.
That’s when I noticed how big and bulky they were.
The baseball bat in the left one’s hand.
The way the right one was looking at me everywhere but my face.
I took a step back, but I should have stayed still, Ana, because they noticed and took a step closer.
The middle one leaned down to get to my eye level. “Tell him we want our money, sweetheart. Tell him that if he doesn’t get his ass outside with our money right now, we’re going to come inside and take it.”
I was noticeably uncomfortable but they seemed to enjoy that. The right one licked his lips.
“He’s not here. I’ll tell him what you said when he comes home––”
I tried to slam the door shut but the middle one immediately stopped it with his large hand, and forced it back open and right into my face. I stumbled backward and before I could make a move, they all barged into my house. I didn’t bother trying to stop them. They were twice my size and could squash me like an ant under their shoe if I tried to get in their way. Besides, I wasn’t lying. Mikhail wasn’t home, and if they needed to see that for themselves to leave me alone then fine.
I waited by the door for them to check every room in the house, but I should have just gotten the fuck out of there, Ana.
We lived in a mid-sized duplex so it didn’t take them very long to do a thorough search before coming back.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” I snapped.
“No,” the middle one replied. “Which makes things more complicated.”
“Whatever complication you’re referring to can get dealt with out of my house,” I said, tapping the door as a signal that they needed to leave.
They didn’t leave, Ana.
“You’re feisty, but we still need to get paid, sweetheart.”
“Take it up with my brother,” I insisted, and they all shared another look.
It wasn’t a nice look, Ana.
“We can settle our payment differently,” the right one said suggestively, looking me up and down.
I scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not interested.”
“Who said I was asking permission?”
Before my brain could fully process what he said, the one holding the bat roughly thrust it into my abdomen and shoved me backwards. The middle one shut the door, while the right one stalked over to me. I ran for the stairs but one of them grabbed my hair and pulled me back. I shrieked as multiple strings of my hair got ripped out of their follicles, but whoever it was clamped his other hand over my mouth and silenced the noise.
He turned me around, and I came face to face with the one on the right. The one who kept looking at me. He was ugly, despite his perfect clothes. It was always the ugly ones who felt the need to prove their fragile masculinity in such a demeaning and loathsome way.
He didn’t hesitate before pushing me against the staircase. Pain sprung up through my spinal cord, but I was too focused on the three men standing over me to pay attention to my injuries. He let go of my hair and I immediately tried to push past them, but the middle one smacked me across the face which momentarily halted my movements. He took advantage of that and grabbed both my hands, locking them in his grip above my head. He leaned his face close to mine and pressed his body against me, letting his free hand wander. I squirmed and protested, but he just smirked at my discomfort and kneaded my breasts painfully.
“Hey, me first,” the right one protested.
Me first, he said.
Me fucking first.
The middle one reluctantly pulled away from me, and I raised my free leg and kicked him in the knees. His legs buckled, but he didn’t release his iron grasp on my hands. My movement just made him smile. The fight thrilled him.
He popped the button of my jeans open.
I screamed, but he just shoved his fist into my mouth so hard I tasted blood.
His other hand was suddenly in my pants, gripping me tightly.
I fought and thrashed against him.
He thrust two fingers inside me, tearing through my barrier of innocence with a silent pop.
I cried out in pain.
“Since your hand’s already down there, take her jeans and underwear off, will you? And you,” the third one looked at the one holding the bat, “hold her legs down. Whack her in the fucking head with that thing if you need to. I’m not going to last long and I don’t want any pushback from this bitch. Once I’m done with her, you guys can get your turn.” He looked back at me and smiled smugly. “If you’re a good girl, then maybe I’ll let you please me more than once.”
Bile bubbled in my stomach.
I shouted and I fought and I begged myself to wake up because obviously, I was having a nightmare.
But as I watched the third one fumbling with his belt, I knew.
I knew, Ana. I fucking knew what was going to happen and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I just hoped my mind would shut down, and I would wake up and not know if it really happened.
But just before my life changed for the worst, I heard a car door slam.
They heard it too because they all froze. A second passed, and then we heard the car beep. It sounded close, Ana, and I prayed that it was my parents or even Mikhail––
The men moved. The third one pulled up his pants from where they were wrapped around his ankles. The middle one let go of my hands and stepped away from me. The one with the bat pointed to the back door and they all rushed toward it. Seconds later I heard Mikhail yelling after them, and then he came rushing inside, stopping abruptly when he saw me.
He looked at my flushed cheeks.
He looked at my shirt that had risen mid-way, exposing my stomach.
He looked at my unzipped jeans.
His eyes flickered back up to my face, and he slowly walked over to me and leaned down.
“Whore,” he spat, saliva hitting me square in the face.
And then he stepped over me and walked up the stairs to his room.
I was in shock. A million thoughts were flying around in my mind but I heard a second car pull up to the house, and I knew it was my parents. I forced myself to push through the throbbing in-between my legs and stood up, heading straight for the bathroom. I turned on the shower and stripped out of my clothes before going in. The water was scalding, but I couldn’t bring myself to adjust it. I couldn’t even bring myself to stand, so I just sat down. I curled up in the tub, letting the water fry my skin one cell at a time, and pretended not to notice the stream turning red beneath me.
I felt gross, Ana. I felt violated and rotten, but I didn’t have the right to feel that way because . . . nothing happened. They never saw anything. Any fondling and touching was above my clothes . . . for the most part, so it doesn’t even count as . . . right? I felt gross, Ana, which only made me feel guilty because I should have felt relieved. Relieved that the thing I thought was going to happen didn’t end up happening after all.
That wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that I couldn’t even let myself process the fact that three men were on top of me, because all I could think about was what happened after. When Mikhail chased them away, and for a split second I thought he was coming to help me. The humiliation was searing, Ana. And then he called me a whore because he thought I . . . what? Offered myself up to them one by one in exchange for the money he owed them? The only reason they were there in the first place was because of him. I was put in that horrific situation because of him. Every terrible thing that has ever happened to me was linked to him, him, HIM.
I want to find the despicable human who decided that ‘all siblings fight’ was an acceptable explanation, and tell them to shut the fuck up. They say blood is thicker than water until your blood is quickly surging out of you from wounds that your blood created. They say blood is thicker than water until you’re pinned down and about to get assaulted by three strangers––coincidentally three men––because of something that your blood did. Fuck all siblings fight. How long could that stand as a valid excuse? How many things could that statement justify? When does it cross the line? I couldn’t even see the line anymore, Ana. It wasn’t blurred, it simply didn’t exist. This shit wasn’t normal. He wasn’t normal. Why was everyone acting like I was being dramatic? Why was everyone making me feel so fucking insane? Why was I the only one who could see him for who he was? Why was I the only one getting hurt? Why didn’t anyone believe me?
Why?
WHY?
WHY!
