I Said No

Chapter eighteen

My studio is blisteringly cold. My hair is soaking wet and plastered to my skin. The rest of my body is still moist, goosebumps cover every inch of my skin. Each of my hairs are raised. I lay here on my side, my arms crossed, each of my hands holding onto my shoulders, my forearms keeping my breasts warm. I cannot get out of this bathtub.

I can't cry anymore and that scares me. I used to want the crying to end, but now that it has, I wish I could. At least while I was crying, I was feeling. Having emotion. Now I am just laying here, waiting to die.

Maybe I don't want to die. I feel so confused. I've struggled with depression before. Not the kind where I show my scars to the world, but I have done some self harm to my thighs, I have taken pills before hoping to overdose. I have always pretended to be happy, people would never know that I actually have had deep emotional issues. I have always felt unwanted, unloved.

The pain comes from deep within my being. The exterior might be bright and bubbly with a loud laugh and bright smile, but cut the way through my skin and my interior would show a different story. Cold, dark, resentful, sad. I am a sad person. My nights are filled with terrifying dreams and my days are no better. I feel like I'm in a bad dream. I wish I could just wake up and this would all go away.

I try to remember the times I have felt most alive. Maybe I can be more inspired to live if I can remember the good times.

I do not have many happy memories with my mother, but I do remember one night in particular. My mother cooked dinner for my brother and I. It was a rare occasion for her to be home with us and awake. She was either working, out, having migraines in her room, or sleeping. She wasn't the stay at home and cook dinner for her kids kind of woman. We had Maria or Martha, or Margarita for that. But that night, she had made us some toasted bread in the oven with melted cheese on top and sliced pears on the side. We had tall glasses of milk and sat around the table having small talk and giggling with each other. Just the three of us, having a normal evening.

On the weekends, she would send us to my brother's grandparents, who quickly became my grandparents. I had asked them if they would be my grandparents when my brother was born, I was only four years old. I had some of the best times with them. I haven't seen them in years now, but I wouldn't be the person I am without them. Neither of us would be.

My brother and I would never have had anything close to a normal childhood without them. I am so grateful to have had my abuelitos. Days spent in their pool, full home cooked meals, and so much endearing never ending love.

I also think of my Nonnie. My grandmother. My mother's mother. She is my Saint. She has stepped up to be my mother. She has been there every step of the way with me. She's who I call with every problem I've ever had. She helps me with school. She helps me when no one else does. She lives in Arizona so I don't get to see her as often as I should. I need to go see her more often. I used to visit her over every school break, but once I moved in with my dad, that pretty much stopped after fifth grade. She came up to visit me in Washington though. She is always there. She is a part of me forever. But I can't tell her about this. She would be devastated that she couldn't protect me.

Kyle. I can't help but think of Kyle in my favorite memories. The night I lost my virginity to him truly stands out. It wasn't because the sex was the most mind blowing thing ever, but because of all the emotions involved. I felt so loved. I felt whole.

My parents had friends over that night. They were all drinking and embarrassing me in front of Kyle. He took it all well, rolled with the punches. We were saying, 'I love you,' then. I guess that part hasn't completely stopped. I still love him. I would be with him tomorrow if he wanted to be. But at this point in life, it was mutual, we were both in love, he was visiting often and life could not be better. He surprised me with flowers that day,  showed up at my door with them. Even though he lived two hours away from me.

That night, everyone went to bed. My parents and siblings upstairs, in their rooms, and my parents' friends in the family room on the couch. Kyle had a bed made up in the front room and I was laying with him. Kyle and I were not allowed to sleep together. My dad would never allow that. Probably for good reason, I was only seventeen and still had my virginity in tact.

I remember Kyle's lips that night. He held me and kissed my forehead. I love forehead kisses. They make me feel so safe and secure. His lips, plump, moist, soft. I had never felt like that before. I had never felt so at home and loved as I did while I was in his arms. I think that's why it is so hard for me to let him go now. Or even back when he broke up with me. Especially now after I had given him my virginity. I love him. He is my home.

He whispered in my ear that he loved me. I knew he did. We continued to kiss and he caressed my body. Holding me tight, as if he would never let me go. His hands strong, holding me with fierce passion. He made me feel so complete.

I was finishing my period cycle that night, but the moment was so perfect. I knew I wanted to have sex with him. I knew I wanted to make love to him. I whispered to him that I was ready. He asked me if I was sure. He asked me over and over again as if he didn't believe me. But I was sure, I was ready.

He slipped my shirt off over my head and kissed me. Those lips again experimenting over my body. He moved from my neck to my collar bone, then down my stomach. Then each of my hips. What a jolt of thrill. I had never been kissed on my hips before. He made his way back to my face and kissed me. Both of my lips individually. Then together.

I remember the first time it hurt. He kept asking me if I was ok. It was ok, it got better. I had to keep quiet. My father was a strict traditional man. It would not end well for Kyle.

Then we heard a noise, a door opening. Kyle took off running to the bathroom, naked. He left me. I covered my head with the blanket and hid there, praying my father wouldn't come down those stairs, that it was just my baby sister getting up to go to the bathroom. She was only four, that could be plausible.

The door closed. I threw my clothing back on and ran upstairs as fast as I could. I laid in my bed laughing. Panicking. My heart racing. He text me that he now understood what I was talking about. He called me from downstairs and told me that it was worth waiting to have sex until it was making love. He felt jittery and his heart was racing and he had never felt like this before. He told me that he loved me over and over again. And I told him that I loved him.

That has to be best one of my best memories. The way I felt so loved, the way I laughed so hard.

After all the lovey dovey talk, I got to give him a hard time about leaving me naked in the front room while he ran naked to the bathroom. Hiding his manhood with his hands while running bare bottom. I will never rid my brain of that image, when he panicked that my dad was going to come get him, he ran away naked and hid in the bathroom.

I let out a deep hysterical laugh while lying in my bathtub. It's time to get up. I grab a towel, wrap it around myself and make my way to my kitchen. I'm hungry.

***Author's note***

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