Levi Leone, by Joyce Kristen

When I was eight, I was raped.

I still remember how my parents bid me goodbye when they were about to leave the house for an out of town business trip for four days. They told me to eat when I got hungry, drink when I got thirsty, and to take a bath when I stank. They told me to do those things all by myself. It was a bit questionable. Parents leaving their 8- year- old daughter alone in their house? That’s the last thing that parents should do. But mine were different. I even asked them if I could go with them. I just thought that it would be fun if we are together. They said no. And being the good girl I was, I listened. Although the idea of being alone in the house for four days with nothing else to do but to eat, watch television, and play by myself is a bit scary, I still listened to my parents.

I followed the lights of our car and the track it left from running. It was slowly disappearing. It saddened me, really. I ignored the sadness. I had to be a good girl. The first thing that came to my mind was to sleep. And that night, was the night I nearly died.

Some people say that I do not have enough ideas about what “rape” really is because I am still young and innocent. To tell you the truth, yes, I knew. I knew it was rape when a guy in a dirty green shirt and black musty jacket entered our house while my parents were. I knew it was rape when he suddenly found his way to my room. I knew it was rape when he laid his hand on my cheek while my mind was pre-occupied for being so nervous and scared of what he might do. I knew it was rape when I still could not identify the owner of the hand after taking a peek from the blanket that was covering me. I knew it was rape when he started covering my mouth, preventing me to make even the smallest sound a child could ever create. I knew it was rape when he whispered in my ear, “Be a good girl. This won’t hurt,” while laughing filthily. I knew it was rape.

I was helpless. I did not know what to do. With a grin on his face, he tore every cloth that was clinging to my body. He even smelled my strawberry-printed panty. After tearing my dress, he pulled my hair and tied it on the headboard of my bed. My parents could not even lay a single finger on my skin yet he’s here doing this. He started hitting me with his leather belt. I let out a very loud scream. Unluckily, he got really mad at my action. I saw him walking to my closet. I thought that it was my chance to run away from him, but he caught me by his hands and threw me back to my bed. I saw my favorite pair of socks in his hand and what he did was he placed it on my mouth. I think, it was because of the scream I made.

He forced himself inside me. I couldn’t help myself. I kept on screaming for help but the only sounds I could make were muffled voices. My lower body felt sore. While he was moving on top of me, he tried to choke me to death while licking every single part of my body and all I could do was cry. I never imagined this could happen. I was always a good girl and this is what I got?

And no, you’re still not getting the hook. What saddened me most was that when I turned to my side while struggling and begging for help, I saw my parents. I saw them standing at the door with nothing but a plain emotion, as if they were not seeing anything. I thought they were going on a business trip? Being raped did not kill me – my parents standing behind my door, just looking at what this man was doing did. They left after they saw me looking at them. I couldn’t take what was happening to me, so I closed my eyes and fell in a deep sleep.

I loathed my parents. I hated them most. I promised myself that when I saw my parents, and the man who ruined my life, I would kill them. I will make them suffer double, or even triple. If I were them, I would start running now because I will not give them any chance to run if I get a hold of them.

Is this really what I get for being a good girl? If so, I would rather not be good at all.

If you or someone you know is a victim of sexual assault, the National Sexual Assault Hotline can provide resources to help you. You are not alone.

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