Fact and Fiction

It was only eight thirty when they took me.
This is the part I don’t remember.

I was only gone two hours, but yet I was still missed by my mother.

I told, too. I told Vivi first, made her promise not to tell. But she still told.
I guess… I guess if I were a sister, and my sister had gotten gang raped, I would have told, too.
Even if I had promised.


It happened three more times.
Once, by the same gang.
The other two times, different ones.
It doesn’t matter, anyways.
They’re all the same.
You would think after the first time I’d become more careful, go indoors earlier. Be choosier about the places I went alone, if I went alone anywhere at all. Now as I look back at that, I feel so idiotic. Why was I so senseless?

I was cocky.
And I was confident.
And I didn’t believe that anyone could
hurt me, even after the first time.

And it’s true. Sad, but true.

I didn’t tell those times.

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