Consequences

Trigger Warning -- Rape, self harm, and addiction are described in this short story. Please be aware of the graphic nature of this writing before reading it.

It burns as I swallow it. I can feel the silvery liquid burning my gums and tongue and the soft parts of my mouth, all the way down my throat and into my stomach, and it sits there, burning me from the inside out. And I like the pain. I like how it makes me feel something. And I know that might sound crazy, but with each sip I feel more human. I feel less dead, less lifeless. I can’t remember when I stopped feeling. I can’t remember why. All I know is that now, this feeling is all I have left. The burning. I need it.

I cap the bottle, the liquid life, and decide that I have had enough to get me to sleep tonight. As I close my eyes I can hear the rain, and feel the splashes on my face and neck and shoulders. Suddenly, I am there again. My hair is dripping with rain, and my clothing is soaked. I am laughing, and so is he, and everything feels right and good with the world. I look up at the sky, stained pink in the night, and I wish that I could see the stars. Instead, a droplet of rain hits me in the eye, and for a moment it feels like I am crying. I stop running, and close my eyes, and stick out my tongue to catch the droplets of water. The rain water streams down my face, and my cotton shirt absorbs what it can, the rest falling into puddles at my feet. He calls back to me, telling me to hurry up, were soaking wet! He is laughing as he runs back and scoops me up into his arms. We run again, into the night.

But now I am alone. The rain is still falling, I am still wet, but this time I am walking. There is no laughter, only silence. And this time, I am crying for real. But the rain water disguises my tears, and no one can hear my silent gasps for help. I am all alone.

I lay alone in my bed, and my senses guide me back to reality. I feel numb and cold and helpless. My shivers tell me to draw my blankets closer to my skin, but I realize I am sweating. My clammy skin is warm and cold at the same time. I touch my face, and realize I am crying. Why am I crying? I need a shower…

 

* * *

“Do our actions have consequences?”

Mrs. Cecille’s words echo in my empty brain. It seems as if actions only have consequences for people who don’t matter. But what do I know. I am only a stupid 16 year old, as my mother always tells me. I know nothing about the world. But for some reason, I feel like I know a lot more than most of the people around me.

“Please take a moment to discuss this in your groups. You will have an in class writing assignment tomorrow in which you will write on this subject, using supporting literary evidence from the textbook.”

The last thing I want to do right now is talk to these people. I look around the room at the faces of my peers, laughing, joking with each other. I see people texting and browsing social media. I see the popular girls gossiping in the corner. I see some boys playing a new PC game across the room. Some of the jocks on the football team are teasing the new kid, Rodger. Mrs. Cecille seems oblivious to it all. I come to a sudden realization that I hate this place. Why? A month ago I would be doing the same exact things.

One of the boys takes Rodger’s water bottle and pitches it against the wall. The cap comes loose, spewing water everywhere. I feel a droplet hit my face, and all of a sudden, I am back. The rain pouring down my face, disguising my profuse tears. I can hear my breath and nothing else, and as I exhale, my breath forms white clouds. Like smoke. And then I think of fire, all consuming fire, and I wish that I was on fire, and that the flames licking my skin would swallow me whole. But it is only wet and rainy. There is no fire, not even a small flame left in my soul. My body is an empty shell of skin and bone and there is nothing left inside of me. And it is so cold, so cold… and there is screaming now. The sound startles me and I can feel the fear bubbling up inside me. I am desperately alone, and I am terrified. Who is screaming?

“…Mara, MARA!”

My eyes fly open and I am flung back into reality. Mrs. Cecille is yelling my name and holding one of my shoulders, the distinct look of concern is centered on her face. I realize that I was the one who was screaming, and that somehow I ended up on the cold tile floor. I try to stand, but my knees buckle, and I crumple onto the floor again.

“Perhaps Hunter should take you down to the guidance office…” Mrs. Cecille suggests, halfheartedly. I glance over at Hunter’s hulking figure, surrounded by his football buddies, holding one of Rodger’s crumpled papers in his hand. He is looking at me with confusion, clearly unsure what to do and how to react. One look at that Varsity letter jacket and I am flung back into the past. I can feel the water and hear his laughter and I look up at the pink stained sky… Suddenly I can feel the bile rising up my throat. I push away Mrs. Cecille’s well intentioned hand, and I stand, successfully this time.

“I can handle it,” I mutter, and I push past the nosy onlookers and out the door of the classroom. As I tramp down the hallway towards the office, I can hear someone following me.

“Mara… wait!”

It’s Rodger, and I pause momentarily before continuing on my way. He catches up to me, and I keep walking, without looking at or acknowledging him.

“Mara, please. I can see that you are struggling with something and I just wanted to ask if you wanted to talk about it.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I answer, uninterested.

“Okay, but let me know if you change your mind…” He responds, clearly hurt but undeterred. He stops walking and lets me continue up the hall alone. I pause momentarily in front of the door to the guidance office before deciding to abandon the useless endeavor and walk out the doors to the school instead.

* * *

He scoops me into his arms, into the most loving embrace, and we run together until we reach the park. We run past the swings, hand in hand, past the slide and the benches, until we reach the small pavilion on the other side. Every fiber of my being feels alive. Every cell in my body is buzzing there, under the roof, in the dark, as the rain falls around us forming a protective sheet. I feel safe and warm in his arms. And then he is kissing me, and everything seems so perfect, but then he is fumbling with my wet clothes, and then his, and my entire body is frozen, and the fire in my soul fades, and the deepest dread fills every crevice of my being. The laughter is gone and all that remains is the deafening sound of the rain. And then he is pushing himself into me and I feel dead and alone, and I beg him to stop but nothing comes out, and all I can hear is the rain. And my body is limp and all I can do is wait for it to stop, wait for it all to be over. And then when it is, he tries to tell me something but all I can hear is the rain, so he leaves me alone, in a crumpled pile on the floor of the pavilion, just like that Varsity letter jacket was only moments ago. And I sit there for what seems like forever, the rain forming a protective sheet around me, concealing my secret from the rest of the night. Then I limp home alone, in the night stained pink, gasping for help but no one can hear me. And it is all that I can do to keep on walking.

* * *

The warm fall sun is warm on my skin as I sit in the grass. Its radiating heat almost makes me feel alive, but I doubt anything could do that ever again. I pull out my small bottle, uncap it, and take a long draw. The warm liquid slips down my throat, warming me from the inside out. I lay back, letting the sun warm my outsides and the drink warm my insides, and I try to forget about my pain. And then all of a sudden a voice, his voice, planted like a seed in my brain, grows. A paralyzing fear consumes me and I am frozen in place. He approaches, and calls out to me, but all I want to do is run. I can’t, I am frozen to the grass.

“Mara, hey baby!” It is Hunter, his posse in tow. “What the hell happened to you in class the other day? What was that about?”

I find the will to move and get up to leave, but he is sitting next to me now and grabs my wrist, pulling me back down to his level. I shrink away from his touch and feel the bile rising in my throat again.

“What is up with you lately, you won’t answer my texts or anything. It’s starting to really piss me off.” He spews, still holding me in place. I turn away from him, ignoring his words as best as I can. The silence is clearly irritating him, and a new wave of fear passes over me.

“You know what, whatever Mara. You never deserved me anyway, b***h.” He pushes me aside and gets up to leave. I can feel the silent tears roll down my cheeks as the group of boys walks away, insulting me as they go. I sit there, visibly incapacitated, unsure of what to do next. I feel a dull, aching pain in my chest, and realize that this is the first time I have felt anything since that night. I am so tired of feeling nothing. And then, another voice.

“…Mara?”

It’s Rodger. I look up, silent tears still making wet tracks down my face. He sits down next to me, his green eyes piercing my soul. He reaches out to wipe the tears from my face, but I flinch before he can make contact.

“Mara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to help.”

I ignore the sincerity in his voice and leave him alone on the grass. I can feel his gaze glued to my back as I walk away.

* * *

Days turn into weeks turn into months, and my drinking worsens. Nothing I do can erase the memory of that night, no matter how hard I try. One night, when my parents aren’t home, I pick up a kitchen knife and press it to my wrist until blood drips down my arm. I can feel the pain, yet I still feel nothing inside my soul. I drop the knife in the sink and rinse the blood of my arm, and numbly, I bandage the cut, applying pressure until the bleeding stops. When my parents ask, I tell them I fell. They don’t question it. Life marches on.

I have lost contact with all of my friends. For weeks, I sit alone in class and at lunch. One day, Rodger joins me. We sit and eat in silence, and he respects my boundaries. I appreciate that he notices me. No one else seems to.

I drink in the bathrooms at school, at lunch, and at home, especially before bed. I cannot fall asleep without it. It takes a lot more to numb me than it used to, but I drink none the less. Nothing else helps, not even the company of Rodger, who seems to be the only one who cares anymore. It is easier for people to ignore me than to reach out and help. That I have learned.

* * *

“Mara… Please!”

I can hear desperation in his voice, and slowly I open my eyes. And there he is, green eyes piercing my soul; serrating my being into a billion tiny pieces. He sees that I am conscious and pulls me into him, holding me. For once I do not feel the impulse to shrink away from his touch. Instead I lay limply in his arms, surveying our surroundings. We are outside, and a group has gathered. I am not sure how I got here, but now there is an ambulance, and they are whisking me away. They let Rodger stay.

When we reach the hospital, the doctors tell me that the level of alcohol in my system should have killed me. This should have been a shock, a wakeup call, but instead I just wish that I would have died instead. They tell me that I must attend a mandatory rehabilitation program to treat my illness. I shrug in indifference, but my parents are clearly upset. Rodger tells me that he had no idea.

My parents and Rodger visit me every day in rehab. I feel safe there, but I still cannot open up to my counselor. She asks me what caused me to get to this point. I want to tell her but I can’t. I am too embarrassed about what happened to me. I feel guilty. I feel like what happened that night is all my fault.

Eventually, after a few weeks in the program, I am released. My parents take me home and the car ride is silent. They tell me that they do not want me to return to school right away, and instead they want me to rest at home, where they can keep an eye on me. I feel a pang of remorse for halting their lives. Again, the guilty feeling returns. If only I had never gone out that night… none of this would have ever happened.

* * *

It is spring time now. The trees have pink and white blossoms on them, and daffodils spring up from the soft, wet earth. I have since returned back to school, and I realize that the numb feeling fades with time. I am not close with my old friends anymore, ever since that night, but at least I have Rodger. We walk to school every day, and he sits with me at lunch.

One warm spring day, we are sitting in the grass after school. What I love most about Rodger is that he never pries. His unwavering patience makes him exactly what I need in this moment. As Hunter walks past with his clan of jocks, he disregards me completely. Hunter acts as if nothing ever happened between us; as if I do not even exist. Rodger can see the pain in my eyes as I watch Hunter walk past. He rests a comforting hand on my shoulder, and in that moment I know that I am safe. The bile rises in my throat as I imagine saying what I never could say before. I turn towards Rodger, and his piercing green eyes reassure me. I grab his hand as tears roll silently down my pale face.

“Rodger, I think it’s time I tell you what’s happened to me.”

* * *

Author's Note

This writing will be a fictional writing sample for a job application. Please offer any critiques you think are fitting! Thank you for your help!

Reviews

[Micah Shippey]

Honestly, its very good! But it's ambiguous to me who the rapist was, unless I'm just being stupid. It's a very real description of something I myself have experienced. I would recommend less use of the word I, but thats just a personal preference. You really captured how it feels to experience those kinds of things, all of which I have suffered through. Keep writing! -Micah

[MyaLavi]

I thought that this piece was really quite good. Your writing forced me to develop a connection to Mara, I felt like she was real. I would also recommend that you utilize "I" a little bit less, but in all honesty I doubt that would change the depth or intensity of the story! I loved it