You shouldn't fall in love with your rapist, should you? Sorry for the shitty title.
I had sighed as the streetlamps turned on, casting an artificial amber glow over the footpath that was paved past the riverbank. I told myself I would just stay at the small park for another five minutes because at that point I was still filled with the childhood naivety that tells you that you’ll always be safe, that murderers and child molesters exist only in television dramas and the six o’clock news and newspaper headlines written in bold print. And, in all my childhood innocence, of course those things only happened to strangers.
I knew that I lived in Newark which was where dead bodies were constantly found drifting down the river (it chilled me to know that, as I swung higher and higher on the swing set, one could sail past at any moment), and where the newsagents could barely seem to keep the same staff for more than two months at most because they generally ended up dead or in prison, but still I convinced myself that I was safe. Of course my mom wouldn’t mind if I was a little late home; I was ten years old now – a big boy! Staying out till nine o’clock which, at the time, was extremely late for me, especially considering I was out alone; it made me feel like I actually owned the place. My friend Patrick had gone home about half an hour earlier, claiming that since he was still a little eight year old, he should be ‘getting to his beddy-byes’ and that he ‘didn’t want his mommy to worry about him’. I had seen some sense in his words – I was getting pretty exhausted myself – but I guess I wanted to prove to my mom that I was growing up, and that I could look after myself. The only problem was I couldn’t look after myself, and that’s how I managed to get myself into the worst situation of my life.
I had promised myself that that was the last ‘five more minutes’ (despite having promised myself this several times already) and smiled to myself. Mom would be so proud of me; staying out late and not even getting into trouble. I sighed, swinging upwards once more and feeling like I was flying, before dragging my feet along the tarmac to stop myself, probably destroying my trainers in the process, and I stood up. I didn’t have the time on me but the sky was much darker than it was when the streetlights first flickered on so I estimated that it was at least quarter to ten. I began making my way out of the park, the rusted gate creaking loudly as it swung, and crashing as it closed, and up the small footpath.
I gazed out at the dark rippling water through the tall reeds and piles of empty takeaway cartons and beer cans, vaguely aware that I could her another set of footsteps a few metres behind my own. I could hear the leaves littering the path crackling as he softly walked, keeping a similar pace to my own. It didn’t bother me all that much at first because I knew that the stranger had nothing to do with me and if he did he would have said something to me. I didn’t find anything odd at all until I reached the part of the sidewalk where there were buildings on either side of the path and no streetlamps to light my way so everything was plunged into darkness. I hadn’t counted on it being this dark when I had stayed out late, and when a stupid little cat skittered out from behind some bins it scared the living daylight out of me. As I caught my breath I realised that the other set of footsteps had also stopped. My eyes grew wide; this was the only the path went, and it seemed unlikely that he would have turned back this far down it. I shivered when I realised he could be watching me right that moment and although it seemed unlikely I could practically feel a set of strange unfamiliar eyes boring into me. I told myself there was a much less terrifying explanation and he had probably just stopped to tie his shoelaces or something but this didn’t stop my heart from drumming hectically in my chest.
When there was silence for a few moments I tensely started walking, and that’s when I walked straight into something dark and soft and coffee scented.
“Oof,” I had mumbled, backing away before looking up to see what I had hit. I could see two eyes, glinting despite the lack of light, hidden slightly by some locks of thick black hair that fell in front of them. “S-sorry sir,” I mumbled, trying to dodge around him. I was beginning to regret staying out as late as I had. He didn’t make any attempts to move.
“Um... Sir? C-could you p-please let me past, please, sir?” I asked quietly, beginning to get scared. He rested one hand on my left shoulder and I shivered, truly terrified now.
“I’m afraid,” he murmured, putting his other hand on my other shoulder, beginning to apply pressure, “I can’t do that.”
He pushed me slowly against one of the walls, and despite the fact that he wasn’t shoving me terribly hard I had to comply because he was much older and stronger than I was. I squeaked in protest and fear, but he obviously didn’t care as he leaned forward, trapping me with his arms and messily kissing me on the mouth. I stopped struggling at that, because the seriousness of the situation had finally grasped me completely and I was paralyzed in fear, although I could feel tears forming in my eyes. He probably noticed but he continued to suck on my immobile lips, his grip leaving my own, but not so much that I could escape. His hands seemed to be everywhere; my back, the side of my face, my chest and then, finally, he reached down and grabbed my crotch, causing me to jump. He tightened his grip on me as he stopped kissing because he had run out of air. As soon as he removed his face I burst into the tears I had been struggling with. He fondled me through my jeans for a moment before grabbing the button and undid it in a heartbeat almost as if he did it every day (which he possibly did).
“No!” I gasped, “Don’t! Please,” I hiccupped, still crying my eyes out.
He didn’t answer, just clamped his lips down on my own again to shut me up as he slid my jeans down my legs. When my bare skin hit the air I shivered, and hiccupped again into the man’s mouth.
He sighed and stuck his hand down my boxers and this set me into a fresh wave of tears as he stroked me. I was naive, but I knew this was wrong. This man was going to take my innocence away from me, and that had torn something somewhere in my chest.
Within minutes (possibly even seconds) he had removed his own underwear and had stood up straight, still holding me so I couldn’t run.
“Suck it,” he demanded and it took a moment for me to realise what he meant. I was disgusted and horrified.
“N-no! L-let me go home! Please!”
“Suck it,” he said again with his nasal voice and when I didn’t answer he shoved his crotch in my face. “Now!” he hissed and a tear slid down my cheek as I did as he said. I felt dirty and tried not to concentrate on what I was doing, looking anywhere but at him. I choked immediately, not knowing anything about what I was doing other than it was horrible. He leaned into me further, forcing my face into the rough dark hairs that were growing there. I gagged, more tears running from my eyes as I fulfilled the filthy task. I felt an unfamiliar liquid fill my mouth and he pulled out of my mouth, leaving me to attempt to swallow the residue that I had only ever heard about when it was vaguely mentioned during a brief sex ed lesson.
He wasn’t done there, however, as he flipped me over, pushing me face first into the dirty wall that I was leaning on. My breath hitched in my throat but I made no attempts to say anything as I had realised that I wasn’t going to win. I winced as he stuck one of his fingers right up my ass, and I hiccupped again but he took no notice, just added another finger and scissored them. I had no idea what he was doing but he shrugged carelessly at what he had just done and then he tugged his fingers out of me. I prayed that this was it over with but of course it wasn’t. He started to edge his... His... His dick into me, and I broke out in another wave of tears, much louder and more hectic, but there was no one around to hear me screaming and crying in pain as he forcefully shoved into me.
It seemed like hours until he was finished with me, but when he finally pulled out of my for the last time, kissed me sloppily once more and pulled his trousers back up I was so relieved that it was over that I could have just collapsed right there. I staggered as I pulled my own jeans back up while the man started walking off down the alleyway. He must have noticed me stumble because he chuckled coldly for a moment before continuing on his way. What he didn’t notice though, was the small white piece of card that fell out of his jacket pocket.
Once he was within a safe distance I walked over and picked it up. I couldn’t tell what it was because it was so dark, so instead I just pocketed it and tried to walk away. It took me a couple of minutes to get used to walking because I was shaking beyond belief, couldn’t see properly because my eyes were still full of tears and my backside hurt whenever I moved. I slowly made my way in the direction of my house, still unable to believe what had just happened to me and when I finally reached my front door I could see the silhouettes of people behind the curtains. The moment I walked in the front door I was wrapped up in my mom’s arms, and she was in hysterics.
“Oh my lord, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie!” she sobbed, tears running down her face, “Don’t you ever do that to me again! Your father and I have been worried sick! I said you could stay out till nine as long as Patrick was with you and when I phoned Mrs. Stump she told me that he was home at half past eight! Oh god, it’s midnight, oh god Frank, thank god you’re okay!”
I was far from okay.
“Sorry mom, I... Got lost,” I mumbled lamely.
“But you’ve lived here all your life honey! Look, never mind; let’s just get you off to bed!”
After my mom and dad were safely in their own bed I got out of my own, sneaking across my messy bedroom floor and flicking on the light. I reached in my jacket pocket and my fingers closed around the small card that that horrible man had dropped. I sighed in relief, thanking the lord that I hadn’t lost it. I pulled it out and when I looked at it I realised it was his ID card. I breathed in sharply, looking at the small picture of his face. His hair was greasy and his face was pulled into the standard passport-pic poker face. There was a dark glint noticeable in his eyes and I shivered, turning my attention to the name instead.
The name of my rapist – Gerard Way.
I just want to say that Gerard is eleven years older than Frank in this. Soooooo, rate and review, I really want to know what you think :3