Last February.
February 14th to be exact.
The events of that day still haunt me.
No one knows except me…and him.
It scared me, mentally and physically.
Listen if you dare.

The day started like most do, I woke up to the sound of my alarm wailing punk music, “Give It All” by Rise Against to be exact. I ate exactly one bowl of Life cereal like I do most days. I like to keep my days to an exact schedule, to prevent any unwanted surprises. That day was, unfortunately, filled with unwanted surprises.
I walked into the bus and sat down in the first available seat. I am the second to last stop on my bus and with the cuts in the school budget, I’m lucky that I have a seat to sit on everyday.
That day it was in the last seat in the back of the bus with him. It was the only seat that didn’t have two people already in it. The seats are supposed to fit three people but with my clarinet, in its black protective cover and chunky blue backpack filled with my AP textbooks, that’s an impossibility.
I take a deep breath and sit down. “It’s just fifteen minutes, only 15.” I thought. “Breathe. I can live sitting next to him for that long. Just breathe. Nothing’s going to happen.” I was so horribly wrong.
He looked like he usually did, brown hair with a buzz cut, tee shirt and jeans with running shoes. I couldn’t tell what color any of it was; the sun hadn’t yet risen to shed any light on it. I wish with all of my life the sun was up. Maybe it would have made the difference for me.
He moves his backpack and his guitar to make room for me. After a minute, he speaks, “Look, Sam, I know things went wrong between us but I’m sorry. I truly am. Please look at me. Please. I miss you.” He then put his hand on mine. I shake his hand off and say, “Your sorry? Really? Is that all you have to say for yourself? You cheated on me and all you have to say is your sorry? Please like I would ever forgive you! Just leave me alone!”
“Your mouth says one thing but your body says something completely different.” He immediately replies. I give him a disgusted look that spoke more than any words could have. That look coldly said, “My body is my own. It says what I want it to say. Right now, pervert, it says get away before I pull out the pepper spray!”
“No, no. You sat down next me. And now you are probably as close to me as you can get. Don’t worry, honey, I’ll keep your secret. I just want to know how long you have to pretend to hate me before I can be with you again.” He says, obviously flirting, that pig.
It took all of my will power not to slap him at that point. The reason I was sitting close to him was simply that there was no extra room on the seat by the way. I was as far away from him as humanly possible without falling into the aisle, though, which was less than an inch.
I responded to his comment indignantly yelling, “How can I with your big fat ass taking up the whole seat!”
“Finally, you have come to your senses!” He responds coolly, “Now what do you want to do with that big fat ass?”
Before I have a chance to respond, He took my left hand and shoved it into the back of his pants so I was feeling his big fat ass. He has his weight positioned so that I can’t move my hand. At that moment, I take my right hand and slap him across the face. I feel proud of doing that, of showing him how I truly feel.
“OOH YAH! I like them feisty!” He says, loud enough that I get his message but not loud enough that anyone else on the bus can hear.
I know that after that he pressed me against the seat, so that I can’t move. He reached down to his pocket. At the time, I thought this wasn’t significant; I was more concerned with freeing myself than with what he was grabbing from his pocket. Maybe if I had been paying more attention, I could of avoided it.
The syringe.
Filled with some type of black liquid, I never knew what.
Looked like poison.
I didn’t see it coming until it was too late.
He injected it into my arm.
Spilling its contents into my body.
The poison spread throughout my body.
Spreading like wildfire.
Within minutes I was unconscious.
The last thing I remember was saying, I believe I was screaming, “NO!”

Hours later, when the bus driver was checking the bus before he picked the students up from school, he found me. My clothes were placed neatly, folded next to my naked body. There was a note on top of the pile of clothes, which read,
“Well, honey that was the best time of my life.
You sure know how to make me feel like a man.

Until our next meeting.”


They brought me to the social workers and psychologists, trying to find out what happened. I told them I didn’t remember much. After that I shut up. I wouldn’t, I couldn’t, tell them who did it to me.
They knew it was rape. They could tell. They never arrested him for my rape.
I avoided him like the plague, after that but I still managed to see him every so often. It was awful.
And now exactly a year later, I am telling you. I love you but sometimes I cannot help but cry when you touch me. I can’t help but to recoil when you reach into your pocket.
I know you keep telling me to relax when I’m around you but I can’t relax until he’s behind bars for what he did to me.