I Couldn’t Hear My Screams

Updated on January 31, 2018

I Couldn’t Hear My Screams

The man that made me a victim and a now proud survivor was working in New York City for a European consulate. We were dating. We had several dates in fact.

We went for dinners, plays, walks, brunch and hours of banter on the phone. In fact it was lovely and I started to see a possible future with this man. He was a gentleman, smart, funny and interesting. Was this my man? The future was gleaming with excitement.

I believed he was “courting” me and I was more than happy to accept.

I loved learning about each other over dinners and strolls. He was impressed by my love of architecture and would kiss me softy as I gazed up towards roof lines and balcony railings.

This all changed without notice and without the ability to hear myself scream. I tried to scream harder than I can explain. I swear I did. I tried to bite, scratch and kick but my mind had no control over my body. Screaming so very hard.

The inability to hear myself was at the end of another wonderful date with one exception I had to use the bathroom before I started the drive home.

My gentleman arranged with the doorman to keep an eye my car running and warming while I went into the apartment. ”I will be down very soon” and we slipped into the elevator.

When I was allowed to descend in the elevator it was the next morning. He slowly and in a very controlled manner slid open look after lock. He watched as I scrambled for my clothes as if he had won a game. I was handed a parking ticket for a garage around the corner he told me I would find my car there. I accepted the ticket and don’t remember walking out of the lobby.

Torn stockings, bruised flesh, the sound of locks being engaged one by one, screaming but sound not escaping my body rushed through my head. Something that would never escape my body, heart or memory. I left with unbearable emotions. Emotions that had never before existed within me.

I couldn‘t go to the police. “I shouldn‘t have had to use the bathroom. They would see me in the morning light dressed for evening and think “I asked for it”. They would think I was a whore. They would think I wanted it.

I just wanted to find my car and hide in my car. Mascara stained my cheeks, red marks on my neck. I pulled the torn stockings off and my underwear off as I drove across Central Park. I felt like the criminal as I looked for a trash can to get rid of every part of him. If I could I would have ripped my skin off and left that behind. The smell of him the stale clothing the terror I needed it off me.

I poured an old bottle of seltzer over my hands and face trying to wash my memory away. It didn’t work.

As I watched the liquid trickle into the gutter it took the pure innocent vein of my heart with it.

My wholeness, My dream like fairytale of the future taken. The clean part of my insides mixing with the dirt in the gutter. The clear now turning into a thickened mud slowing to a stop.

Was I now the whore in the gutter? Would I be able to lift my soul and spirit into a state of cleanlines?

The journey that was ahead would be transforming.

They Would Think It Was My Fault

As I watched the liquid trickle into the gutter it took the pure innocent vein of my heart with it.


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