I blamed me. I’d agreed to sit on his lap. I didn’t fight. Not until it was too late.
I’d trusted to the point of stupidity. He’d tried to tell me of his desperate state. He’d needed me to be strong. To guide us to safety.
And I sat on his lap.
“You aren’t going to tell anyone are you?”
I stared straight ahead.
“You’d get kicked out of school.”
I hadn’t even known physical things could happen that way. I sure as hell hadn’t wanted it to happen. But who would believe me?
James would tell them it was my fault. I’d gone with him willingly. I’d agreed to sit on his lap. I didn’t tell him no at that last point.
I hadn’t known what was going to happen. I hadn’t been able to speak.
I was fear. Not afraid. Just . . . fear. I was fear.
“You can’t tell anyone, Sweetie Pie.”
I could tell someone. Though I couldn’t think of who that would be. Mom and I didn’t talk about such things. I’d never told her about the things I’d done with Tim. But she knew our dates had lasted until 4:00 AM more often than not.
I could tell Rachel. She’d be shocked. I’d be judged as a convert. One from the outside. I was worse than a whore, worse than a fallen woman. My vagina hadn’t been penetrated, but I was no longer pure. Not even a little bit. I’d never even heard of that happening to a girl before, and I was certain she hadn’t either.
She knew I’d gone with James. She knew him, too, just like I did. Everyone loved him. So many girls were jealous that I had him.
She’d find me as disgusting as I found myself.
Everyone would.
We were in front of the student-housing apartment I shared with Rachel and three other girls.
“Just remember, Sweetie Pie. Even though tonight was your fault, I still love you. I’ll always love you. You’re my girl. You’re my good girl. And you’re still a virgin.”
Technically, I wasn’t. Tim had taken care of that medical proof.
The lights were on in every room. It was curfew time. Everyone would be there, and I was going to have to get out of James’s car and walk up that long sidewalk to the front door.
I wasn’t sure my violated body would let me walk. I couldn’t get out of the car.
With a frown, James watched me and then slowly got out. He came around to my side of the car. Opened my door, just like he always did. He reached in with tender hands and helped me out.
He supported my weight as I stood. “You can’t tell anyone, Sweetie Pie,” he said again, his voice laced with concern. Compassion.
I nodded.
Tilting my chin he looked me straight in the eye. “Promise me? It’s our secret. Part of our love.”
I nodded again.
He kissed me—a normal, chaste kiss—and I almost cracked open right then and there. Two things occurred to me in that second.
There would never, ever be anything chaste about me again.
And . . . the entire time we were on that dark country road, James had never kissed me. Not once.
With an arm around me, holding me to him, James walked me up that path. I felt what he’d done to me with every step I took. I pictured the bathroom in the back of the apartment. I had to get to it.