Sta.sh
Cynthia's POV
.:.:.:.
I always felt like I was supposed to be apart of something wild; something dangerous like a gang like Jesse James' or old medieval legendary war between the supernatural monsters like vampires and werewolves. But the more I think I about it, I realize that the less dangerous I seem. Like my strength was slowly depriving itself from my body and escaping into a more. . . exciting life. I feel weak, weaker than I have about three years ago. You know how people try to erase the evil in their lives; try to seem normal in order to fit in? I laugh at these people, because clearly they don't know the strength and wisdom they possess after tragedies and, well, they don't deserve the praise if they can't stop and reflect on their life. That's what my A.P. World History teacher taught me in 9th grade as we studied Aristotle. Life is trial and error, as well as constant reflection. I wish I remembered his words the night I got raped.
I never thought that rape would sound foreign on my tongue, I never really processed that word into my brain because I thought that the ones I loved did love me. I was wrong though but it taught me something; trust no one. You cannot trust anyone, even your own parents because you don't know the day that people are going to break from their daily lifestyles and walk into town with a rifle or whatever the hell they use nowadays and kill everyone off. I wish I was so fucking smart three years ago when I actually was able to stop and think about what I was doing. I wish I noticed the signs, I . . . I really wish I did.
Rodney was so. . . normal. Clean, organized, neat, but no, I would have never guessed psychotic. His eyes were like oozing honey, so warm, so comforting, so trusting. . . That was my fault. My next fault I believe was when I met his older brother, he was into that gore and erotica crap but Rodney seemed so different so that never transferred itself into my brain. His parents were so normal that I was intimidated to sit and talk to them. They seemed to have no flaw to show me they were indifferent like every family was. The sense of kindness that I felt in his house was my next fault I do believe. But my worse fault was letting him stay at my house for the night while my parents were away.
I thought I could trust him, I thought he was a gallant gentleman, some guy I could cry on and comfort me and care for me. He only cared about sex. If I had to classify him, I'd call him a sex addict. He. . . he pinned me to the bed for the first time he destroyed me, binding my wrists to the headboard and tying my ankles to the foot of the bed, duct taping my mouth shut and destroying me throughout the night. I cried and screamed, muffled by my gag and he untied me. He warned me to never speak about it, or "my pretty little neck would be mutilated off." I was so scared that I didn't, my next mistake
Turns out that after that night, I was pregnant with his child. I couldn't go outside anymore and I stayed in my room. I wore my brother's clothes to keep the baby concealed. I'm surprised I was able to get away with the baby, since I still did have to go to class. But other than leaving for school, my life for the next 9 months was solitude. My parents were on a stupid business trip and brought my sister Liliana with them, leaving me with my brother, Derrick. I sought for solace in everything. I listened to my brother's CDs and learned how to scream like his favorite metal bands. I couldn't take drugs because of the baby but, like the pussy I was back then, I mutilated myself at my lower belly since my baby bump covered it.
The day I delivered the child was probably the worst day of my life. I can still remember vividly. I pushed and pushed, never had pushed so hard in my life until the doctor pulled the baby out. But, the baby wasn't crying or breathing. The baby died inside me due to the cord wrapping around its neck and suffocating it to death. I have never cried so hard in my life. After my delivery I felt that I could finally continue to live a life, to restart from my mistakes. But, of course, God had other plans for me. A year and a half later, I woke up, covered in dried blood. I had no idea what happened the night before but I saw my brother sitting next to my bed, crying. When he saw me awake he cried even harder and smashed his fist into the wall. He broke through the plaster and I winced, feeling that my whole body was as numb as it would be as if I was on narcotics. In a broken voice, he said:
"He came in last night and raped you. He popped a vessel in your vagina and it bled heavily out. You screamed and he beat you until you bled from different spots. I heard you so I rushed in and.... before I could kill him, he was gone."
It all came back to me, the screaming, crying, the fighting. I remember I fought, I punched his jaw, I clawed, hit, bit, everything I could until I couldn't do anything. I had never felt so weak in my life. I was ashamed of myself and how I was able to let this happen again. I cried into Derrick for hours. He told me that I needed to move out, that I was in grave danger if I stayed in New York any longer. So I packed my bags, bought I ticket to the next flight to the farthest place in my budget and was gone in about 4 hours. Once I settled in Tulsa, I attended school there, meeting Sodapop Curtis and Two-Bit Matthews, the first people I was able to call my "friends." Then I met Darry, Pony and Johnny. Then Steve and finally, Dally. I thought I never was able to love until I met Dally. I immediately fell for him. I felt he was the exact opposite of Rodney, disorganized, rude, cold, and arrogant. And I felt that I was able to trust him because he wasn't like Rodney; I don't want to sound sappy but when I first saw him, I saw all his good instead of the bad everyone else saw.
I still will NEVER be the same, no matter what happens. I will be still Cynthia Roy Fischer, the woman who was raped twice by the same man and lived to tell her story. I will still live on and on, but instead of living in fear and denial, I shall carry on with pride and strength, setting and leading an example for the future generations stuck in the same challenges I was. I want to make sure every single person that was like me achieves the solace I have and is deemed justice for their wrongs, something I still yearn for. No problem can be resolved with violence, it proves to make it worse than it was, you need to seek help from anyone you can trust but, like I said, trust is as rare as common sense, so good luck with that conquest. . .
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