I Want to go Home

There were flashing lights and sirens; heavy breathing and muffled sobs. The night sky was alight in neon red and deep blue and then it was dark again. Dark and starless as if it were the end of the world. Everything seemed to pause even though shadows moved along the branches of trees, caught in the leer of headlights. I think it was because I was laying face-down in the backseat of the car, buried in the grey leather.

But, I knew what was happening because it's always how it goes. Just one horrible thing happens to you and you let it all go; your conscience, your sense of danger and all of a sudden you're in the backseat of a stranger's car in a ripped prom dress and covered in bruises...

And their blood is mixed with your own, drying on your skin.

It didn’t feel very nice... Especially when I thought of how much money it took to make me look this pretty. Especially considering I could feel his semen running down my thighs, making it hard to breath. I felt sick.

"But don't we all feel like playing the victim?" he asked after he had raped me. "Isn't it something everyone feels like doing once and a while? Attracting pity is better than attracting hatred."

Maybe he was wrong, but I highly doubt it. Why else would I have taken a ride with a complete stranger in the middle of the night? It wasn't only because my boyfriend dumped me right after prom... No, it wasn't only because I was saving myself until I was married.

But he came at me... And when he least expected it I bit back. Hard. And we both played the victim that night, whether he was the real villain or not.

He got the bullet in the arm... And in the chest... And in the head. I think the last shot is what killed him because he didn't stop convulsing... vomiting blood until his brains were sliding down the windshield. I lost my innocence in so many ways.

So maybe he deserved it... A pervert. A rapist. But now he's dead and none of that matters. Even if he was burning in hell... That couldn't take anything back... There were no repercussions for the loss of two lives.

And when the police take my hand and pull me out of the car, I don't feel exposed. I don't feel sad.

I tell them, "I want to go home."