Healing Powers

The rain poured down heavily upon Hannah, drenching her in heaven's tears. She glistened ethereally in the luminescent lighting of the streetlights. Her heart felt torn in two. Her dress hung raggedly across her shoulders, a bold rip that separated her dress, made it hang wrong. Her golden eyes stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. The street she walked beside glistened with the rain, it joined in with a hum of its own as the droplets lead the percussion. Her heart beat along, at a faster rate, and one haphazard. Her sandy blonde hair, completely bedraggled in the downpour, appeared a horrible shade of brown, one her boyfriend Byron would have surely criticized, that is, if he even cared. She pictured his piercing blue eyes and his smile, that crude smile, he wore it that very night while he...

She shook her head, the thought throbbed in tune with her heart and the rain. It waited, like an unwanted gift, and she couldn't open it, not yet.

She shivered as a cold blast of wind pushed at her back, slipping through the rip, and raising goosebumps all over her back. It made the scratches sting. She sniffled heartwrenchingly and a question came to her mind, one she thought over and over while the deed had been done: "How can he do this to me?" And with that thought, the gift unwrapped itself, and a movie came on, one that didn't have an off or pause button, it would play until it was finished and she reluctantly obliged to its persistence, squeezing her eyes shut unknowingly, and grinding her teeth...

...Byron awaited at the door, his platinum blonde hair scintillated in the light from the porchlight. He beamed when Hannah appeared from the shadows, holding her strapped heels in her fingers. The walk had been long, and worth it, but the heels had come off midway. But if he'd asked her to walk to his place in those murderous heels, she'd have done it. She would've done anything for Byron.

"Glad you could make it, Hannah." he grinned as she quickly climbed the stairs to meet him. She stood up on her tip toes (for Byron towered over her) and planted a shy kiss on his lips.

"Thanks for inviting me, where's everybody else?" She'd been under the assumption that other people would be there, but she saw, as Byron stood aside to allow her, that there was nobody but her, and him of course. Her stomach started to knot with a sudden nervousness. She couldn't imagine why he wanted her alone with him. She was only fifteen and he, twenty seven. Wasn't there some kind of law against this?

"Maybe I should go back home, Byron." she said uncertainly, watching as Byron went over to a large agglomeration of candles and began to light them with a lighter he pulled from his pockets. He looked up at her, still grinning, his eyes twinkled a little in the tiny flicker that the first candle gave.

"Home?" he queried, he furrowed his brow a little, as if confused, but the smile remained.

"Y-yeah. My m-mom doesn't know I'm-" Byron had crossed the room while she'd been sputtering out the beginning of her response and kissed her hard and deep after he'd reached her, to cut off her sentence. He wrapped her in his muscular arms, in a loving, but tight, embrace, making her drop the shoes she'd been holding. She didn't notice that he kicked them away. Surprise had taken away any chance for her to notice. She'd almost melted in his arms right then, but a coldness that had started up the moment his lips enveloped hers, kept her intact. Something didn't feel quite right. Byron had kissed her many times before, but they were always furtive paternal kisses, nothing romantic, nothing like this.

She pulled back a little, but his arms remained around her, she didn't think she'd be able to break through that barrier that trapped her with force, maybe with words.

"Byron, I want to go home." Of course Hannah had never been very persuasive with words, they often annoyed or angered her parents and by the way Byrons smile was dwindling, she sensed she'd accomplished one or the other. His embrace slackened, but not enough to free her.

"I went through all of this for you, and now you want to go home?" he queried in disbelief. Hannah looked around and spotted only the candles, she saw no other flamboyancies that might have made her feel a little guilty.

"Candles?" she answered boldly, feeling proud for her grown up response, but she regretted it quickly as Byron's once loving embrace, became cold. He held her tight against him.

"I made reservations for us." he murmured into her hair. She'd turned her head away from him, searching for something that might ensure her freedom, but saw only a plush armchair and a couch. No vases she could crack over his head, and she wasn't close enough to the candles to make some use of them.

"Reservations?" she asked, hoping talking would slacken his arms again and she could slip out.

"Yes, that expensive place in Ambersville."

"That's at least forty five minutes from here. I can't stay out that long."

"I thought you were mature enough for this, Hannah. You lead me on, that's wrong, Hannah." Something in his voice had changed, had become more frightening. One of his hands had broken free from the embrace and trailed up and down her back, along the zipper. She'd liked that little black dress because it made her feel sexy, seductive. But as his hands trailed along her back, she felt stupid, young, and whorish.

"I'm only fifteen, Byron, and I'm not even supposed to be out."

"So you did something grown up like sneaking out, but you can't go on a nice little date with me to Ambersville?" His hands found the zipper head, hidden beneath her hair and he tugged on it, dragging it downwards, toward its base, toward her waist. She struggled, but found it fruitless.

"What are you doing?!?" Hannah nearly screeched. She regretted not wearing a bra. Byron didn't answer. He'd reached the base of the zipper and had released her from his embrace to try to slip the dress off. Hannah saw this as her only chance and backed up quickly and turned to run, not knowing that Byron still had a hold on her dress, not until she felt the tug and then heard the loud rip. She took a misstep and went sprawling to the floor.

"Oops." Byron said sarcastically. He bent over, grasped her in his strong hands, and lifted her effortlessly over his right shoulder.

"Put me down!!!" she screeched, hoping that someone in the apartment complex would hear her screams, hoping they would call the police to save her for then Byron's intentions became clear to her. They crossed (well, he did) out of the living area and into a dark bedroom. He shut the door as if for privacy, by kicking it with the back of his foot. A huge bed awaited not far from the door and he threw her onto it. She tried to scramble off of it, but he muttered,

"Not so fast." and held her down.

"Please," she whined, tears began to seep from her eyes, "Don't do this." Though it was dark, her night vision showed that with his one free hand he'd begun to unbutton his shirt.

"If you didn't want to be treated like an adult, why'd you come?" he asked, as his chest was free from the shirt. He reached down and, again with one hand, unbuckled his belt.

"I thought you were throwing a party for me, it's my birthday." her eyes widened as his pants dropped to the floor. He wore no underwear.

"Well, happy birthday," he said with a smile as he climbed on top of her despite her pleading, "may there be many more."

The memory, still fresh, for it had only happened twenty minutes ago, caused a fresh bout of tears to escape her shut lids. She'd been happy to find it raining, as she ran from his apartment, away from him and his laughter, away from the scent of burnt out candles and her humiliation. The rape clung to her like a cloak of vileness, but the rain, free from the impurities of the water at home, would wash it away, leaving puddles of shame behind that would evaporate in the sun the next day. And the next day, how would she be able to face it, how could she hold her head up and pretend it didn't happen when it would be there, waiting for her. Her steps quickened, splashing through puddles that riddled the street. How could she smile into Byron's face tomorrow morning at the start of Geometry, and greet him? How could she listen to him as he taught them the formula for finding the surface area of a parallelogram? How could she stare into his face again and try to learn? She bowed her head, allowing the rain to find its way to her covered neck, where his kisses, where his scratching had been most profuse. Another tear dropped and mingled with the rain to join the trail of shame she left behind. The rain had healing powers, enough to clean her, but no answers to soothe her, no answers to mend her shattered heart, and no answers as of how to return to her the last connection she had with childhood.