Cracked Roots & Roses 5: A Dark New World

**trigger warning**

Things got better between us. School was finally going smoothly, and I settled into a routine with him. I would go to his house every other weekend and stay home during the week. I did my schoolwork while at school and talked on the phone at night. One weekend, I decided to wear the leather jacket and some of the jewelry to his house. I finally had a nice jacket that wasn’t a hand me down, so I wanted to wear it. Before this jacket, I had an old, used leather bomber with the lining all torn up. I was initially scared to wear this new jacket because getting robbed was a very real part of life in the hood.

My last-period class had a substitute teacher, so I skipped it to get to his house sooner. I couldn’t wait to see him because by this time, he had stopped coming to school altogether. I think he got permanently expelled, but I never asked. He would sleep during the day to stay out all night. I left school and went to the bus stop because I wouldn’t dare walk around with a $600 jacket on. While I was waiting, a light blue, older-model car pulled up. I had seen this car before but wasn’t sure where. The guy leaned over and said, “Aren’t you Gino’s girlfriend?”

I nodded.

He said, “Get in. I’ll run you to his house.”

He reached over and unlocked the door. I looked again to see if the bus was coming, and it wasn’t anywhere in sight. There was also a group of boys coming my way, and that wasn’t good either. I could either get in the car or take my chances at the bus stop alone with the group coming. So I reluctantly got in the car.

He pulled off and said he had to stop by his mom’s house first and pulled into an alley. I felt a nervous tension but didn’t know the feeling because I didn’t know Jesus at the time. It was like alarms going off from the time I sat in the car. He pulled behind an abandoned garage, reached in the backseat, and pulled up the head of an axe. Before I could react, he had his hand around my throat and slammed my head into the passenger window.

He said, “Don’t say a word. Take off the jacket, the shoes, and all the jewelry and throw everything in the backseat.” I threw everything in the backseat. He then said, “Now take your pants off.” I started crying. I remember nodding my head no and saying, “Please don’t, please just let me go.” He grabbed my hair and pressed the axe head against my neck.

I did as he said, and he raped me.

When it was over, he was zipping his pants up and said, “Do you wanna be left in a garbage can or in this garage?” I was in a state of shock. I was hurrying to get my pants up before I realized what happened. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. I had just been marked and scarred for life. I was a part of an ugly club that I didn’t ask to join. This club would cause me shame and embarrassment my whole life because the stigma surrounding this violent crime is misunderstood. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. It was as if I was also shielded from the reality of what had just happened. I was mechanical in my movements and trying my best not to cry too hard. He laughed, pushed my shoulder, and said, “Girl, I’m just playing, l’m going to let you out at the corner. You walk straight and don’t turn around.”

I got out of the car when he said to get out and walked out into the 40-degree day in a short-sleeve shirt, no coat, and no shoes. I can still feel the cold ground and the leaves being crushed underfoot as I ran for the first bus I saw coming. The driver, an older black man, opened the door and stared at me. He looked concerned but didn’t say anything. I got on and sat down across from him without paying and stared out the window, choking back tears. The bus was more than half empty, so I didn’t get too many stares.

When I got off at my boyfriend’s house, I rang the doorbell. His sister answered, she stood there screaming “what happened?! Where’s your coat?!” Then she started calling Gino to come upstairs now. He came upstairs and saw me sitting there with dirty socks on, no jacket, and no jewelry. His face looked like he wanted to kill someone. I had never seen that look. He tilted his head and kinda stared at me, like he was choking back tears. I was suddenly more embarrassed than I was sitting on the bus. His eyes watered, and his ears and nose got red. He softly said, “What happened to you?” 

I whispered, “I was raped.” 

He said, “Who did it?” 

I said, “I don’t know, but he knew you.” His eyes widened, then he said,

“Describe him.” I told him what happened, I described the car and how the guy looked, then had to stop talking. Something very bad had just happened to me, and I was sitting there talking like everything was fine. I was anything but fine. I just wanted to go home. This was all a mistake. I had no business with him or anyone.

He and his nephew went downstairs, changed clothes, and ran out the front door. His sister didn’t call the police until Gino told her to do so. She called the police after he was gone. His sister gave me another jacket and shoes to wear while we waited for the police to come. The police took a report and took me to the hospital to get a rape kit done. That was another shameful assault. I was asked horrible questions like how many partners, etc. I had no partners but one. I didn’t want to answer any questions or do anything else, especially not put my legs in stirrups or have an AIDS and STD test done every few months.

The nurse told me to call my mother and brought an old rotary phone into the treatment room. I didn’t want to call her. I wasn’t sure if she would come or what she would say. I couldn’t take a lecture right then. The nurse said, “I’m not releasing you to anyone but your mother.” So I called. My mom got to the hospital about 20 minutes later. Her new boyfriend drove her, he sat outside and waited. She saw me sitting on a bench with my head down, clenching my paperwork. She stood me up and gave me a hug. That was the first hug I think she had ever given me. I broke down right in the waiting room.

I couldn’t be brave anymore. 

I was emotionally damaged. 

I had endured physical hurt but not anything like this.

My mother’s new boyfriend drove us home. I was scared to be in the car with him, even though my mom was in the front seat. The world was suddenly a very scary place for me. I was now deathly afraid of men — all of them, of every age. That night, I didn’t sleep. I had night terrors and flashbacks of the stained axe head. I could still feel his hand around my neck, cutting off my air. I could still feel the cold rocks and dead leaves under my socked feet when I ran to the bus. I turned my thoughts to the bus driver and wondered why he didn’t say anything. I stayed home from school for the next two days. I couldn’t bring myself to venture out into the world. Gino didn’t call me; he had his sister call to check on me instead. I don’t think he knew what to say, and a small part of him thought I blamed him.

I had to go back to school eventually, so l wrote a sick note and had my mom sign it. I would’ve much rather she went to the school, but she had to work and had the new boyfriend to attend to. All of my teachers signed the note to excuse my two-day absence, except my art teacher. I KNEW he would not just let it go. He said, “Miss Blakes, see me after class.” I froze and felt real panic wash over me. I could not be in that class alone with him under ANY circumstance. I was different now. I was distrusting, I was nervous, I was ashamed. I now wore big, long sweaters over my clothes. I didn’t want anyone looking at me for any reason, so I didn’t make eye contact or laugh anymore. I went to his desk before everyone was out of the class, and the door was closed. I said, “I really have to go to the bathroom, is there something wrong with my note?” He said, “Why haven’t you been in school? Does this have anything to do with Gino?” I said, “No, it’s not him. I’ve really been sick.” My voice cracked, and my eyes started to well with tears. He stared at me and said, “You can tell me what happened.” I couldn’t, though. I would not allow this man I respected to look at me with reproach. I said, “I can’t, please let me go.” He said, “OK, Ms. Blakes. I’ll sign your fake note this time, but the next time your mom will need to come up for a conference.” I grabbed my note and ran out of the class before anyone could enter. I felt like he knew. I wanted to tell him because I liked him as a teacher, and I knew he would probably get me help or counseling, but I could not speak of it ever again, and I knew I would have to if he got involved. 

After it happened, my mother told people. I don’t know why she would do that. It was nobody’s business. I had to deal with those looks, whispers, and questions. It was like they blamed me or wanted to know what I did to deserve it. I did nothing, and I know that now but I didn’t then. 

I still remember when my sister and I got into an argument a few months later, and she said, “That’s why you got r_ped, you deserved it and probably liked it.”

Those words cut me to my core. She could’ve said anything; she could’ve fought me or anything, that would’ve hurt less, but she said something that heinous to me because she wanted to hurt me deeply. That was the beginning of the rift. That statement tore a hole in the fragile relationship we already had. I forgave her later in life, but at the time I hated her. She didn’t know what she said or how my life was changed forever.

This is the first time I’ve ever forcefully recalled the incident or spoke of what happened to me a few months after my father’s death at the age of 15. I have tried my best to put you there without changing your view of me or putting a scar on your heart to match mine. This was a plan of the devil to cause as much damage to me as possible to stop me from encountering Jesus, but he didn’t win! 

**Please take this as it is. I cannot read this again or do another pass. I cannot talk about this or address it even. If you feel an urge to say something just pray. This is a part I tried to leave out, but I couldn’t because it ties into everything else. Thank you for your support & prayers.