1 Chapter 1

A Description of pain

Chapter 1

Let's start this off with one of those life defining moments. Not a good one if there is such a thing. At twelve I encounter something I had not understood other than the known fact that it was wrong. I felt scared beyond words. It was only later at the age of fifteen that I understood how truly fucked-up I really was. See if someone goes to war and something traumatic happens to them in said war, if they come back messed up, different or agitated then it is understood and sympathy is the dish of the day.

There was no declaration of war, no impressive missile launch in my general direction to clearly indicated things were fucked, it was as quiet as a whisper with no one around to hear. It happened in the darkness of night, my being its only witness and victim.

How do you convey suffering within, on the surface? So desperate to be understood and so greatly misunderstood as yet another snobbish bitch, I resided myself to a solitary existence. Sorry, I had yet to introduce myself, my name is Grace Blackwood and I wish I was more than that moment had made me. Unfortunately, it had shaped my understanding of sex, attraction, lust and in so doing it shaped me.

I felt to blame, I felt as though I were the problem. Just after the incident I went on and felt little to no different. I did however greatly struggle to sleep at night, something that always came so naturally to me. But I smiled the day after and I forced many more such smiles in the year to come.

At fifteen I had my first boyfriend something I greatly looked forward to. He was a typical fifteen-year-old boy and would often make a move to touch me. I felt excited at holding hands and then the day came, my first kiss.

The pimpled, dark haired boy leaned in and smelled of some deodorizer I still don't like today. It was a very quick peck on the lips and we parted feeling breathless and blushed from ear to ear. I was disappointed a bit. Not really what I thought it all to be. It was fine, I simply wished it was more.

Our relationship carried on for a few weeks when he became increasingly more physical. Always sat almost on top of me and always tried to caress me in some way and then the skin contact came. Jesus.

It was terrifying, I could hardly breathe, my chest shook from my increased heart rate. I hated it. I so very, very much wanted out. I felt like a caged bird after a year of uninterrupted flight.

My entire body was shaking, I hated him and myself. Why am I not doing anything? I don't want this. He asked if I was fine, and for whatever reason, I answered yes, maybe in an attempt to push myself towards normality. I had a girlfriend that talked of having sex already at this age and I could not handle a boob rub?

I excused myself to the bathroom twenty times, returning every time as there was nowhere else to go. He did not let up and then finally I said that I need to get home, I had a very strict curfew, a lie.

My parents were hard-asses on nearly everything but apparently, I was trustworthy enough to choose where I went and what I did as long as they were informed and I phoned when I wanted to leave or felt unsafe.