• Masacre McOwie

    by  • August 2, 2010 • Abuse, Grief • 0 Comments

    I was fifteen years old when I stumbled into that O’Charley’s. I was wearing shredded jeans, no shoes, and a sex pistol’s tank top. You should have known I was immature just by my outfit, but you weren’t concerned with that. I’m sure you were just interested in fucking me. You were twenty two. I remember thinking it was cool talking to you and getting so excited to go smoke with you. I was just planning on smoking a joint watching a movie and then leaving. I was sadly mistaken. I couldn’t drive past your street without wanting to vomit for a year. The months after that night are a blurr now. All I remember is trying to forget, crying, smoking more pot and drinking then I’d ever done before. I was bleeding when I got into the shower. I couldn’t stop crying I huddled on the floor in the shower and cried until the hot water ran out. My relationship with my brother was ruined for awhile because of you. His girlfriend didn’t believe me and I couldn’t handle that. I felt ostrasized from the world. I felt like I had nothing to offer anymore. Thank god I wasn’t a virgin when you got your hands on me. I don’t know how I would have  recovered. Sometimes I don’t know how I did. I kept saying no over and over again and that had no affect on you. I remember staring at the tree outside of your window saying no. I remember walking out of your house feeling like my body was on auto pilot. I didn’t break down til I was in the shower. I guess I was in shock until then. When I got in the shower and saw the blood I sobbed. I never went to the police, maybe I should have, but I just wanted to forget you.

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