Somebody Love Me (Journeys)

by Michelle Sutton

  I remember when my dad used to stay at home on the weekends and we would actually talk to each other. It had been over a year since that last happened. Didn't he miss me at all? I was his daughter. His only child. And I was hurting more than I'd ever hurt in my life. But did he stop long enough to find out the truth about what happened? No, relief had covered his face when he heard my sarcastic response, though I had obviously lied.

  Maybe my mom would care. My dad clearly didn't want to deal with me.

  Storming into my house, I found my mother lying in bed sobbing again. She didn't even look up when I touched her arm to ask what was wrong. It was like she had withdrawn into her own world again and she didn't want anyone to disturb her. Disgusted, I walked away and headed up to my room to be alone.

  Deciding to shower and change my clothes, I stripped down and studied myself in the mirror. The inside of my thighs were bruised and so were my wrists. The temptation to be overcome with depression and crawl into my bed pulled at me. But I didn't want to be like my mom. I wanted to be stronger than she was.

  Mom cried just about every day now, and it usually started right after my father left the house for work. I knew my dad felt helpless when she did that, so he tuned her out. But that wasn't what I needed, nor was it doing my mom any good. We needed emotional support. We needed someone to care enough to stop what they were doing and really listen. But my dad would rather go to work. At least at his job he was safe from the crazy, emotional women in his house.

  Anger welled in my chest all over again. Nobody cared about my pain. Nobody.

  Truth be told, even if my dad had dropped everything to talk to me, I wouldn't have been able to put into words the horror of what happened to me last night. When I allowed myself to think about what Dirk had done for even a moment, I couldn't believe it myself. My friend's boyfriend had raped me. Repeatedly. No doubt she wouldn't believe me either. Not the way she talked about that sick-o lover of hers and how she worshipped him.

  My mind tried to convince me that it was just a bad dream, but the searing pain between my legs and the ugly bruises on my skin were proof that I hadn't imagined any of it. After quickly showering and changing my clothes, I decided to go to Mary and Cathy's house. If nothing else, they might have a little pot to smoke to help me numb the pain in my heart. Better yet, maybe they'd know where I could find a party tonight. I needed a distraction from the ache in my soul. I needed somebody to love me.

  Right now I'd do just about anything to kill the pain. Drugs helped other people forget the past, so if it helped even a little bit, I'd be tempted to give it a shot. Maybe I'd get a chance to experiment tonight with more than just beer and pot. In fact, I wanted to get totally wasted.

  And that scared me more than I cared to think about. I barely recognized myself anymore. Somehow Melissa had ceased to exist, and lately Missy left a path of destruction everywhere she went. If I didn't get some relief from the overwhelming pain soon, I didn't want to live anymore.

  Chapter Six

  Mary and Cathy were still at home when I arrived, thank God. They planned to go to a party tonight on the north side and asked me if I wanted to come with them. It wasn't the part of town where Fish lived. This time the party was off of Lodi Street, about three miles from my house. Too far to walk for me, but at least it was on a bus route. I didn't know anyone on the north side of the city.

  Maybe I'd meet a whole new group of friends, right? I had never looked more forward to anything in my life. I wanted to numb the hurt, and though I wanted to tell my friends what happened, I couldn't bring myself to do it. They would probably blame me like I already blamed myself.

  The party required a costume, and since I didn't have anything to wear, my friends got into their mother's closet and found some flashy clothing. We all dressed up like prostitutes. Oh, the irony. Now I felt like a fallen woman, so why not dress like one?

  The crazy thing was my friends thought it was cool to dress like whores. That should've told me something about their values, right? Now I felt more like them than I ever had before. Not that I'd ever say that out loud.

  As we rode the bus together, Cathy talked about Dave like she always did, and Mary kept tugging on the hem of her slinky black number, which showed off her shapely legs. The dress I wore made me feel a bit plain beside her, which was funny, because even I knew that I was prettier than she was. Not to sound stuck up, but it was obvious.

  Mary had no problem getting dates, though. Maybe the fact that she said yes to random propositions from guys had something to do with it. Or her nice body attracted them. Then again, most guys didn't look at your face when they wanted your body, right? I'd heard once that getting drunk made everyone at the party better looking. That had certainly worked in my friend's favor.

  That night after we had a few drinks, I started to perk up again and acted like my usual self before the nightmare of meeting Dirk happened. I met a guy at the party named James. He had long dark blond hair and stood about four inches taller than me. He said he was nineteen, and since the beer ball was in his apartment, I had no reason to doubt him.

  For every girl there were two guys. I liked those kinds of parties because then I could take my pick. I had a thing for blond guys who looked like they played in a rock band, and this party had a smorgasbord. Not that I planned to have sex for a long time.

  After my painful experience with Dirk the dick, I would put that off as long as I could. He'd ruined me for any future boyfriends because I knew trust wouldn't come easily now. And the sad truth was Dirk had been my friend's boyfriend, not mine.

  Another cute guy I met that night, Thomas Phillips, was even better-looking than James, but he seemed a bit distracted by whatever was going on in the corner of the room. I kept trying to catch his eye by sliding into his line of vision, but he looked beyond me as if I wasn't standing in front of him.

  My guess was the guys sharing the bong interested him more, which didn't bode well for a future relationship. I wanted to be more important than the drugs in the room. Depending on the guy, that might be asking for more than they'd be willing to give.

  The sickeningly-sweet scent of marijuana wafted through the room and I sighed. James kept stepping in front of me like I'd been doing to Thomas with my gaze. From what I could tell that meant James wanted me more than the weed, so I sent my full attention his way and sat next to him on the couch. Thomas Phillips could have his pot.

  "You got a boyfriend?" James asked.

  "Not at the moment," I said with a smile, blocking out the memories of the previous night before I started bawling all over again. I didn't want to scare the new guy away and I needed a distraction from my pain, not a reminder of it.

  "Cool." He studied me a moment, then dragged his gaze from my eyes down to my lips, and back up again.

  Leaning in for a moment, he dipped his head and his lips met mine. A second later it was over. We went back to partying as if nothing had happened between us. Though for me, partying was limited to a few beers a day, and by the time James had kissed me I had downed two and was working on my third cup. I hadn't advanced beyond that yet. Not after that horrible night with Dirk.

  I figured I couldn't handle pot with more than a few cups of beer or I would've protected myself better when I was at Dirk's place. Better to avoid smoking the stuff.

  A few minutes later James looked over at me and grinned. I could swear his cheeks had tinged pink as he slipped away from me and into the crowd. A little while later he sat beside me again. With an endearing gaze, he asked if I wanted a new boyfriend. So far he'd been a sweetheart with me, so I said, "Sure."

  I liked the fact he seemed unsure of himself even with a few beers in him. No man would manipulate me again if I could help it, and since he seemed innocent enough, I decided to trust him with something very fragile…my heart. I just hoped I wouldn't regret it later. The fact I'd gotten a good buzz-on made me braver, I guess.

  We got together a number of times after that night, just the tw
o of us. Sometimes we'd sit in back of the bowling alley and make out while we watched random people as they bowled. We never played the game ourselves, though. We preferred kissing in dark corners. He was a great boyfriend and we talked about a lot of neutral things. But I wouldn't talk to him about that night. I was too scared to bring it up.

  After two months of seeing each other, I decided to tell him. It was on a weekend in early October and I was thinking I might let James do more than kiss me. He seemed eager to oblige when I hinted that I might want to have sex. In fact, he smiled like he was glad I was finally ready to mess around, so I took off my coat and made myself comfortable.

  We were alone in his apartment, or so I'd thought until the flashbacks hit me hard. I enjoyed his tender caresses at first, but something set me off. Maybe fear, or the ghost of Dirk that seemed to follow me around these days. I'm not sure what happened to make me snap, but it could have been his hand touching the zipper of my jeans that did it. Anyway, I started crying and couldn't stop.

  James hesitated and seemed genuinely concerned for me. Glancing deep into my eyes, he asked me what was wrong and if he could help. I couldn't look at him when I blurted out, "Someone raped me."

  He pulled me close, and I cried on his shoulder. I don't know what he was thinking while he hugged me. I was too busy trembling and trying not to fall completely apart. When I finally got control of myself, he waited until I looked at him.

  Neither of us spoke. He had distanced himself from me, though. I could sense it. It wasn't like I told him I had a venereal disease, but the result was the same. After a gentle hug, he said he wasn't ready to be serious with me anyway. And that really hurt.

  After trying to get him to talk to me and having him stare at the TV for a good ten minutes, I finally got up to leave. But as I walked through the kitchen, I got this crazy idea and grabbed a knife from a drawer. I locked myself in his bathroom and started sobbing all over again. This time it sounded more like a keening wail.

  As I fell to the floor, I noticed the knife was pretty dull. I started running it along my wrist anyway. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until finally a trickle of blood sprang from my skin and dripped down my arm.

  Someone pounded on the door. James yelled, "What are you doing in there?"

  James wanted to know what I was doing? Well I'd ignore him like he ignored me and see how he liked it. I couldn't stop myself anyway. My mind had started to unravel.

  "Dammit! Open this door before I call the police."

  I didn't want to be arrested or taken to the nut house, so I forced myself to stand and opened the door. There wasn't a lot of blood, but there was enough sliding down my wrist that it had him freaked out.

  "What are you, frickin' crazy or something?" His gaze flicked between my bloody wrist and the knife. No doubt he tried to assess whether I would turn the weapon on him.

  Grabbing my other wrist -- the one that wasn't bleeding -- he confiscated the knife from me and shoved me down so I sat on the toilet. "Don't move."

  He tossed the knife across the kitchen -- probably aiming for the sink -- and grabbed a box from the mirrored medicine cabinet. He proceeded to dab the cut with toilet paper, then rubbed a bit of antibiotic ointment on the wound before putting a Band-Aid on it.

  I didn't know what to say as I watched him finish. He acted angry and his voice was firm, but he wasn't rough with me. I couldn't have handled that. Once my wound was dressed, he said in a calm voice, "I don't think we should see each other anymore. Whatever is going on with you is more than I want to deal with. I'm not worth cutting yourself over, so go on home."

  Though his tone was soft, I could tell he meant what he said. He helped me put on my leather jacket and glanced away from my eyes before giving me a brief, impersonal hug. He then turned like he wanted to give me space, and his posture implied our conversation was over as he walked away.

  My mind in a fog once the reality of what I'd just done sank in, I grabbed my purse from the floor and walked out, slamming the door behind me. As I headed for the bus stop, I vowed to stay away from the North Side. At least until my heart had healed a bit more from my latest drama.

  The odd thing when I returned home that afternoon was that my mother wasn't in bed but waited for me at the back door when I arrived. It was like she sensed something was seriously wrong with me. I tried getting past her as I entered my house, but she blocked my way. "I was praying for you. I sensed something was upsetting you."

  For some reason her comment made me livid. Maybe because I needed prayers the night Dirk raped me and she hadn't prayed for me then. Now it was too late. I was ruined for life. I decided to give my mom a brief glimpse into my pain. I pulled up my sleeve far enough for her to see my bandaged wrist.

  She put her hand over her mouth and gasped. "I felt God telling me you would hurt yourself. I didn't believe it. Oh my God. How did I not notice this before, Missy? Why didn't you tell me you were hurting?"

  I just looked at my mother with irritation. I know her words were meant to comfort me, but they didn't at all. The stuff she said just reminded me of how much pain had bubbled up inside from my parents' lack of concern for me at the beginning of the summer. It was too late to comfort me now.

  "I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep," I said, as I pushed past her and stalked down the hallway to my bedroom.

  She didn't follow me, just like I'd expected.

  She never followed me.

  And that hurt most of all.

  Chapter Seven

  After waking from a long nap, I decided to contact Mary and Cathy again. Maybe they would know of a party the following weekend that I could gear up for. Mary's two half-sisters lived on the east side near the university, and I heard they'd thought about having a big move-in party next weekend.

  They didn't drink, though, so I didn't know how exciting that would be. If there weren't any boys at the party, then I had no reason to check it out. I only thought about going because they said their brother Clay, a college student, would be there. Supposedly he'd seen a picture of me and thought I was pretty hot. I remember Margie mentioning it before and Mary confirmed he had made that comment about me.

  Not that I was ready to have sex yet, but I was definitely curious about him. Of course, that party was not for two more weeks. Right now I needed a diversion and Mary said she'd heard about this party on the hill near Westcott Street. She didn't know the hosts very well, but that didn't surprise me. These girls had a lot of acquaintances.

  I'd rather be anywhere else on the planet than at home right now, so I agreed to go. Thankfully my leather jacket covered up the evidence of my recent angst and I was able to hide the fact that I'd cut my wrist earlier that day. Shame kept me from telling my friends about James and what I'd done, and to my relief they didn't ask about him.

  While riding the bus with my friends to the other side of town, Cathy started chatting about Dave the Drummer and how excited she was when she'd heard he would be at the party. As I watched her talk animatedly about him again, I started to get annoyed. Finally, I interrupted her.

  "What if Dave decides he doesn't like you?"

  Cathy paused and blinked like it hadn't occurred to her before. Then she said, "He won't reject me. He thinks I'm sixteen and the last time I saw him he couldn't take his eyes off me."

  Mary laughed, "That's because you took your shirt off."

  "So he liked my chest." Cathy grinned. "But I'm thinking he'll want more. I just need to get him alone. He's always with his brother when I see him."

  "You took your shirt off in front of him?"

  "I'd taken a hit of acid, so it made me out of my mind for a bit. They thought it was funny." Cathy giggled and pulled a tube of lip balm out of her purse.

  Mary snorted, "That's because you acted like an idiot."

  "At least I had an excuse. What was yours?" Cathy glared at her sister.

  Mary shrugged, but her eyes filled with tears. I didn't want to ask why she looked like she was on the verge
of crying, but I suspected it had to do with her being used by some guy again. While Cathy swore she was holding out for Dave, Mary would do it with anyone and I'd seen how guys treated her. I couldn't help but believe the rumors.

  "What about you? If you find a cute guy tonight are you finally getting laid?" Cathy twisted her mouth like she was trying not to laugh at what she thought would be a "no way, Jose" comment.

  "Maybe. I've been thinking it's about time. I'd have to really like him though." I cleared my throat and decided not to elaborate any more than I had to.

  Cathy's eyes rounded and her mouth gaped. "You're thinking about it?"

  "I thought you were waiting to have sex?" Mary gazed at me, confusion filling her eyes. And I could swear I heard a hint of disappointment in her tone.

  "I am…sort of. It's complicated." I sighed and hoped they wouldn't ask for details.

  Cathy clutched her hands together and smiled. "Well, I'm waiting for Dave. No one else is good enough for me."

  "But you're only fourteen. How realistic is that?" I asked.

  "I did it with a few guys my age and they don't know what they're doing. I want a real man, and he's worth waiting for."

  Mary rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything.

  "Don't do that. You're just jealous that he likes me and not you." Cathy frowned.

  "I couldn't care less." Mary sighed and crossed her arms.

  Cathy leaned toward me and said, "I heard she offered him a BJ and he turned her down. She's still mad about that."

  "Gross! That's not true." Mary slapped her sister and her face flamed red.

  I didn't know who to believe, so I let the conversation lapse. I didn't want to stoke the animosity between them. At least Mary wouldn't be jail bait if she hooked up with Dave. I had to admit I was more than a little excited about meeting him myself. He had to be one hot guy for Cathy to be so obsessed with him. Now I wanted to know what he looked like.