If You Fall

Fifteen

Three days later Bella called and was all excited. "I met this guy," she began. I heard the flick of the lighter and she inhaled audibly.

"Wait, where? You don't go anywhere." She didn't say anything and it hit me. "Dude. Tell me you did not meet this man in jail."

"I'd like to, Heidi, but I can't, 'cause I did," she said flippantly. "BUT. He was just trying to get his sister's money back from this jerk she broke up with, and they got in a fight. It wasn't even his fault."

I rolled my eyes. One day they would stick in my head like that. "What's his name?"

"Randy." She snorted. "Totally appropriate for him, too."

"Bella!"

"Hey, I needed some pleasure in my life." Bella was an extremely sexual person. We weren't sure if she had been born as such or if it stemmed from virtually a lifetime of sexual abuse but either way,

Sex after abuse was something we'd discussed many times, because it pertained to us both, and we weren't awkward talking about things like that. Keeping that poison inside was more toxic than anything. As she put it, "Everything I know about sex and pleasure was taught to me by one of my abusers, against my will. I have to constantly remind myself it's not my fault some sick people did that, or that my body reacted the way it did."

She didn't have to explain that part to me. While I'd managed to avoid men and boys, I'd been placed in a home at fourteen where the birth daughter soon became my abuser. The things she did against my will and the way she treated me in secret were not things I was prepared to deal with then, on any level. 

It was of course one of the few homes that had bothered to send me to school, and she was a cheerleader there, dating a football player. Every day at school she mocked me and made fun of me with all of her friends, laughing and even throwing food and garbage at me. Then at night she did these other things to me, and acted like she almost cared about me. 

Sometimes she invited the guy next door to watch, but never let him touch. I was her toy.

That whole incredibly abusive relationship with her really messed me up psychologically more than anything else, including the fire. I'm straight, for starters. Not that I think there's anything wrong with being gay or bi, or anything; I just wasn't.

She had two favorite phrases, which I later found out were classics for molesters. One was "no one will believe you" and the other was "I'm not doing anything wrong, because your body likes it." I'd believed her on both accounts and lived there for three months before they transferred me to another place, because all I did was cry at school. 

I'd since had a lot of therapy with my excellent therapist via Skype in order to stay sane, and I had worked through most of the ordeals. I'd yet to have a relationship on my own terms, and while I had no problems being affectionate with Reed, we of course had never done anything sexual so I still worried about how I would handle it when--or if--the time ever came. Obviously not with him, since that would never happen.

"Just be careful," I said now, meaning everything from her personal safety to getting pregnant.

"I am. And having fun, which is most important." Clink of the vodka bottle.

"Um."

"Heard from James Bond?"

"Would you stop. No, I haven't. Don't call him that. James Bond was a narcissistic, misogynistic sociopath."

"Fine, I won't. Maybe we can double date if he ever comes home." Inhale, clink. "What did you climb lately?

"Not the old apartment buildings, that's for sure." My ribs were finally feeling much better, and I'd attempted a light climb the day before. I was paying for it today but it had been worth it.