She was curled up on the chair in a tiny ball; she’d yanked her hand away and had her arms wrapped around her shins, rocking. Whispering. I had to strain to hear.
“The abuse didn’t stop. And I couldn’t tell. He told me if I told anyone, I would get arrested and go to jail. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but it was scary enough of an idea that it worked. He told me it was our secret and if I told anyone, our special relationship would be over and he couldn’t help me be famous anymore, and no one would believe me anyway. All true, I now realize. Just the truth, only twisted so it seemed like a threat.” A ragged whimper of a sob. “Every week. For years.
“I withdrew, socially and emotionally. I was already shy, and that only made that worse. I never left my room. I stayed in my room every moment I could, playing, practicing. I was so good, back then. I really was. He was an amazing teacher, truly. He could get the best out of you, he could make you play and sing with a passion you didn’t even know you had. I think I thought if I was good enough, I’d get discovered somehow and whisked away, and the abuse would stop, and I’d never see him again. But it never did. He’d fuck me, until he was ready to finish and then he’d come in my mouth. Thus my aversion to that. But he never used a condom. Never. Probably part of why he did things that way. Obviously, knocking up his teenage student would put a damper on things, so he was very, very careful. He never even got close to coming inside me.”
Pause. A choked sound.
“Except once. The last time. I was seventeen. I was getting too old for him, I now realize. His sweet spot was thirteen to sixteen. Most of his female students were in that range, and I always wondered how many he did this to.” A breath, a sob. “So, I was seventeen, musically talented. I was applying to colleges, but figuring I’d leave for Nashville the day I graduated.
“Anyway, he’d been sick the week before, so we’d skipped the lesson. For four years it was the only reprieve I’d had except holidays. When I arrived, he didn’t even pretend we would have an actual music lesson. He locked the front door, pushed me into the sitting room, and just…went after me. Pushed me over the couch, yanked off my underwear, ripped them, and hurt me in the process. And just…” a ragged, horrible sound. “Just railed me. Bare. As always. Right there in the sitting room, those lacy curtains barely obscuring anything. He was just…an animal. And this time, he didn’t stop. He came inside me, and it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life. He was…he was on top of me, and he said…I remember the smell of his breath and the way his voice sounded when he said ‘yeah, baby, you’ve always been my favorite, Sexy Lexie,’ and that was when he came, calling me Sexy Lexie. Somehow, it was worse than all the other times combined. Why, I don’t know. I think maybe because I knew by then how pregnancy worked, and that I’d probably get pregnant. Being seventeen, Mom had had the talk with us girls, and boy was it detailed. We talked about our cycles, and if we were going to have sex it should be protected, but that we should also understand our fertility cycles. Typical Mom overachieving situation. But thanks to that, I knew I was at my peak fertility. And he’d come inside me. Without a condom. And that I was going to get pregnant.”
She sobbed, and I reached out, wanting to comfort her, but she waved me away.
“Just listen. I’m…I’m okay. It’s just a terrible memory. Just listen.” So I sat on the floor next to her, dying to comfort her, touch her, hold her, be angry for her. “He finished and told me to go to the bathroom and clean up. I did, and when I came back, he had a Plan B pill. I realized then he’d been planning this, and he was ready. He told me to take it. Watched me take it. And that was when I just…lost it. I slapped him. Hard. I was shaking so bad, I could barely function, and it was a rage unlike anything I’d ever felt, before or since. Just…hate. I hit him and hit him, and he tried to stop me but I was just…insane. And that was when he hit me back. Just full on punched me across the jaw. Knocked me clean out. When I woke up, he wasn’t anywhere to be found, and my jaw hurt so bad, and, I still…I still had his cum leaking out of me. So I went home—I was driving myself by then. I made up some excuse about a fight at
