At first, in the ninth grade Rebecca was normal. Ever since she was little, her father called her, Becca, and she like it that way. Becca had blonde hair, blue eyes; she wore skirts and fresh red roses in her hair. On about the third month of school, the star football quarterback Mark, a senior, stuck a note inside her locker. It read, “Becca, I hope you’re going to Willow Creek on Friday night. It should be fun; there will be a bonfire and loud music. Some of my friends are bringing alcohol. Well, I hope to see you there.” Beside his name Mark, drew a smiley face. Upon finding the message Becca melted inside, and she ran to show her friends the letter. Becca, although reluctant, remained encouraged by her friends to go to the Creek. Soon came Friday night, the music was loud, people were acting well, drunk, and Mark picked her out of the crowd. He smiled and grabbed her by the hand. She turned and her friends, they winked and told her to go and call them later. Reluctantly, she went with Mark. Becca did not really drink; however; she felt comfortable around Mark, and he encouraged her to have a few Rolling Rocks. So she did. After making sure she was drunk, he asked her to go to his car with him. Becca said okay, even though she was drunk. Mark had to pick Becca up as she was tripping over her high-heeled boots.They were laughing and seemingly enjoying themselves. Mark opened the back of his jeep, and while Becca was standing waiting, Mark looked around to see if anyone was observing the couple, and seeing as no one was watching, Mark violently pushed her in the back seat. She said no, but he disregarded her objection. He really fucked it up, this time. He thrust himself inside of her and told her to shut the hell up. With each and every thrust she felt a piece of her die, “Bitch, you know you want this.” She cried, and at first, she screamed but he covered her mouth. It was dark out, and the music was blaring. There was no way she would be heard. After raping her, Mark said, “Get out of my car. And. If you tell anyone, I will kill your parents."
Crying she stumbled down the hill, she didn't see her friends, so she called them. As soon as they arrived, Lisa said, “Becca, what the hell happened?” Becca said, “Nothing.” Lisa asked, “He didn't rape you did he? I swear to God, I would kill that bastard if he touched you.” Becca,” No, it’s nothing like that.” On the drive home, she remained silent.
Rebecca walked in and went to the bathroom; her thighs were raw, bruised and bleeding. She was screaming, inside, but no one was listening. Becca took a shower crying her eyes out, trying to scrub off the shame, guilt and fear she’d experienced. Becca went to try and get comfort from her mother. Becca asked:” Mom. Mom, can we talk?” Rebecca mother, hung-over, said, “Not now.” Becca was screaming, but no one was listening.
The following Monday after the rape, she went to school wearing dark lipstick. From that day forward, she wore all black. She screams and she screams, but no one is listening. She walks to school in the rain, and the pain pounds down her self-confidence. Upon entrance into her first class private school, she walks through security spreads her arms for the metal detector to scan for weapons. Feeling violated and construed, she screams inside. Although her long jet-black hair falls down around her shoulders, now, the other kids see her as being different. And whatever that means, they must be right because the tears in her eyes told the truth, hidden behind a breath and the streaming of her jet-black eyeliner, if only someone had heard her screaming softly. Dan put a quarter in the payphone; he thought to call her mother to let her know something was wrong. The phone rang once; he hung up thinking things would all blow over. Despite the fact that she bit her jet-black nails to no end. Becca was screaming, but no one listened.
After all, her dad was never at home. Someone had to pay for her education. She would give anything to go back to her old school. Late at night, her parents fought over bills. And. Argued over the cost of her education. So she cut her left arm, but no one listened. Feeling cold, alone and confused, she screamed but no one listened. Her mother was closet drunk, and never answered the phone
Despite the fact that she kissed the thought of sanity, and she loved God but no one was listening. So she screamed, and she cut, she lied, she was dying inside but no one listened. Her last journal entry stated nothing more than, “I really fucked it up, this time.”
She took the lid off the lipstick her mother bought her three years back, back when she was sober, and on the wall, in caps, she wrote, “I so fuck up this time. However, you cannot say that I did not try.” She applied the lipstick on her luscious lips and kissed the wall, leaving an imprint of her last moments. If you’re wondering, they’re forever hanging in the air.
Becca hung a belt from her closet. Becca wrapped the belt, as did she the guilt of being born, around her neck. She put both hands on the closet bar, and she let go. She let go of everyone who never gave a damn about her. Becca lays hung, lifeless and bleeding at the mouth. Mother, for the first time in a long time, walks into her room and sees a girl she forgot about, lifeless. Her mother was screaming at her, but this time, Becca was not listening.Note.
I wrote this because someone I know was a victim of a date rape. It's hard for people to talk about..