And then I felt it build again. Shocked, I heard myself begging again. Fully aroused, I felt myself tightening on Him. Desperately, I tried to move against Him for more feeling, but He held me still.
Groaning, I actually found myself bite His lip. Shocked, I was scared until I saw His eyes light up. And then He moved again, harder and faster, crushing me under His weight. Intensifying every feeling of passion I had ever felt. He moved, and I was pushed higher.
And then it happened. My body exploded on a rush. I couldn't contain my scream, or my shuddering movements beneath Him. I screamed, and moved, and gasped for breath and nearly died in His arms.
Feeling Him still above me, my stranger then moved, again hard and fast. Painful and exciting. He powered into me as I clenched my teeth in reaction to my sensitivity until I felt Him grow harder while still above me.
With no words, I knew when He released inside me. I knew from the feeling, and I knew from the silent stillness. I always knew my stranger inside me.
Turning us suddenly, I was spooned with Him deep inside me. Struggling for breath I didn’t dare move. No part of my body felt like my own. My muscles ached and my body was exhausted. Exhaling, I pushed harder against His body as He wrapped His arms tighter against me.
I felt loved and abused in a good way. I felt like my stranger didn't hold back with me. I felt like He finally took me as He wanted without fear of my reaction. I felt happy that He did take me as He wanted. And it was as it should be.
When I felt my stranger kiss the back of my head, I smiled. Even as my eyes grew heavy once more, I was content in His arms. I felt loved and cared for. I felt peaceful and exhausted. I felt good in my stranger's arms while I felt sleep keep dragging me down.
When I woke this morning my body ached. But with a smile, I inspected the bruises on my wrists and body, and the nail marks in my palms. I was sore, and tired, but happy still. I felt good. I felt right. I felt like my stranger scrubbed away the bad memories with good ones of Him and I.
I feel like I might be okay now.
July 2002
22 years old
CHAPTER 13
Thinking back on what followed I'm astounded I lived, honestly. I suffered so much I can't believe I didn't kill myself. I can actually think on that time now and realize I was either too afraid to die, or I was stronger than I thought. Probably mostly afraid with a little bit of strength mixed in. I don't know how but I survived, and amazingly I didn't become a strange early 20 something suicide statistic. I still don't know how, but I lived.
After the last time we were together I became pregnant.
I was pregnant by Him and I was lost.
I was suddenly pregnant by a man no one knew about, and I was alone.
I waited every night for Him to tell me what to do. I waited for Him to tell me what would happen. I waited for Him to come back to me so I could understand what the hell I was going to do. I waited for Him to come back to love me so I would be okay. I waited for Him to come love me so I wasn’t alone anymore.
I waited. But He never came back.
And I was lost.
And it was more than my typical lost. I was devastated and panicked and just completely lost. I was still evading school as much as possible. I only went to school when I knew final lectures were going to be given before final exams. I showed up to final tutorials before final papers were handed out. I showed up if the Prof was a jerk and actually took attendance and then I left through the back doors as quickly as possible.
I was a ghost in my school who spoke to no one. I ghosted through the halls with my head down when and if I attended school, for those brief sessions which were required so I would pass.
I was alone and waiting.
Eventually when I hit 3 months without Him and 3 months of pregnancy, I knew I had to do something. I had to tell someone. I had to go to the doctor or take vitamins, or decide what the hell I was going to do about my life. I knew I had to do something, but I had no idea what to do.
I had been hiding my sickness from Patrick, and I was afraid to tell him in case he asked me the question I couldn’t answer.
And I couldn't even imagine telling my parents I was pregnant, especially since I couldn't tell them who the father was. I couldn't imagine the shock and confusion on people's faces when Sadie the Virgin Prude was suddenly knocked up and appeared to not know who the father was, or simply wouldn't say who the father was. I didn't know what to do. So I did nothing.
And amazingly, or thankfully, or tragically, depending on my mood, I woke up at 4 months pregnant having a miscarriage in my bed. I felt crampy and absolutely exhausted before I went to bed, and I woke up covered in blood. I woke up barely able to move from the weird exhaustion I was drowning in.
I remember reaching for my phone on my night table and calling an ambulance for myself. I remember moaning because I was uncomfortable but not really suffering pain. I remember feeling so tired when the dispatcher spoke to me, but that's all I remember about my physical being. I was losing the baby physically but all I felt was unbelievable exhaustion.
My mind was filled with pain though. I was lying there lost and confused. There was a part of me that wanted the baby because it was His, and also because I thought I wouldn't be lonely anymore with His baby. But honestly, the bigger part of me was simply relieved.
And then of course I felt the guilt of being relieved and I was more depressed. It was a strange little circle of worry, relief, guilt, and despair wrapped up in a body that was bleeding all over my bed with unbelievable exhaustion weighing me down.
So the ambulance came and I remember I couldn't make it to my locked door which was embarrassing. I couldn't even make it out of my bed. I heard the knocking and I heard the dispatcher on the phone telling me the EMT's were there to help but I just couldn't get out of my bed, which was of course the furthest room from the front door in my apartment.
And then they were suddenly there in my room with my wonderful Patrick, of course. While not talking to me or interfering, Patrick stood in my bedroom doorway while the 2 men moved my comforter and looked at me and my sheets. They started prepping me for transport while taking my vitals. They started asking me questions, but I looked at Patrick.
I watched him watch them until he finally looked at me. Waiting for something from him, Patrick finally leaned against the doorframe casually and then he smiled at me like everything was okay. What he did that let me know he was freaked out was suddenly push his hand through his hair, which he never did. Patrick's hair was always perfectly in place with tons of hair product; but without thinking he pushed his fingers and hand through all his hair which just killed the look he probably spent 2 hours perfecting before this rude interruption.
But he smiled his charming smile at me in a kind of, ‘it's going to be okay Sadie’ sort of way, and then he turned toward what the EMT was doing to my body, and we never made eye contact again.
And I was so embarrassed. After the EMT removed my sheets, he actually snapped on a rubber glove and touched me. He seemed totally clinical, not even looking at my vagina as he touched me, but he did anyway, and I wanted to die.
No one touched me there except for the bad man once, and always, my stranger. No one had ever looked at my vagina, and suddenly a gloved hand was feeling around and Patrick was watching with a clinical eye all that was happening to me while I cried.
Eventually, my cries turned into sobs and I could no longer answer the questions posed to me.
How far along? 4 Months, because I knew the last night He had visited me. Any previous spotting? What's spotting? I didn't know. Last Doctors appointment? I hadn't made one yet but I was going to. Due Date? I don't know for sure.
And then we left. They carried me out of the main building, with our few neighbors curiously watching. But Patrick had covered me totally with a blanket over the gurney sheet, so no one saw where I was bleeding from, and then he followed in his car behind the ambulance.
I was told
in the hospital the miscarriage was incomplete and a D&C was required. The fetus was gone and I felt grief, and relief, and guilt. And I felt lonely.
Doctors spoke to me. Nurses spoke to me. Even a chaplain spoke to me about my grief. Patrick waited inside my room when he could and outside my room when he couldn't, but I was alone.
I was placed on IV's, given meds, tested and examined. I was beyond humiliated by my circumstance. I was beyond humiliated by just how many people looked, touched, examined and invaded my vagina. I was alone and humiliated.
I was also severely anemic. And that's how my parents found out.
I needed real medical attention, and a D&C. But I never would have told them about the pregnancy and miscarriage. I would have had the procedure and taken the medication but I would have done it alone. I wanted to be alone. He wasn't here, and I had lived and breathed alone for so long that having people around made me uncomfortable.
Patrick betrayed me however, and called my parents.
When my mother walked into my room hours later the procedure was already complete, and I remember looking at her thinking she must be shocked. My mother must be embarrassed that I had screwed up so totally. She must have been humiliated by me, but she wasn't.
My mother came in, walked right up to me, and took my hand. She didn't cry, or say anything negative, but she held my hand and smiled at me. She was cool, and I was relieved. This is what I knew of my parents; calm and cool. So if she had acted any differently I would have lost whatever was left in me.
Whispering, my mom asked, “Why didn't you tell me, Sade? I would've helped you. I would've helped you fix this.”
Stunned, I had nothing to say. What could I say? I didn't know that. I didn’t know she would help me. It's not like I was particularly close to my parents. I couldn't have known she would help me. I didn't know what to say, so I shrugged.
“Did you want the baby?” She pushed.
And again, I had nothing to say. What could I say? I did and I didn't. I wanted it so I had Him, but I didn't want it because I didn't have Him. What could I possibly say to my mother? I didn't know what to say, so I shrugged.
Minutes passed between us in silence until my dad walked in. Looking at the door, I burst out laughing at him. Covered with balloons and stuffed animals, and even multiple bouquets of flowers, my dad looked like an idiot.
Smiling at him affectionately, my mother shook her head. And in that moment when my dad looked at her and shrugged while smiling back, I felt like an interloper. They had a good marriage, and they clearly loved each other. They could still smile at each other affectionately while their daughter was a mess in front of them.
Watching my dad enter my room further, I realized I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.
Clearing his throat, my father asked, “How are you, Sadie?” But again I had no words, and I didn't know if I should tell them anything. I didn't know if I could tell them anything. So with no words still, I shrugged.
In the silence that followed, my parents stood beside each other while my mother unloaded my father's arms. Placing the flowers everywhere, and tidying up the little bedside tablet of post D&C pamphlets, and miscarriage facts, and anemia information, my mother tidied up everything. My room looked nice, and it looked like I wasn't alone.
My parents sat beside each other, not speaking but holding hands. My parents looked at me, but we didn't speak.
Finally, “When are you going home?” My dad asked.
“I don't know yet. They have to monitor the anemia, and make sure the IV's are working. So I may have to have a blood transfusion tomorrow if I’m not getting better. But if I'm good by tomorrow night, I can probably leave.”
“Oh, that's good,” he exhaled. “So Patrick will probably bring you home then?” He asked. But I didn't know. Looking, I wasn't sure if Patrick was until my mom confirmed she had spoken to him, and Patrick wanted to bring me home.
And that was it. My room looked good. My parents sat in silence with me for another half hour, until my mother mentioned the parking meter, and within seconds they stood to leave me.
Looking I didn't know what to say, so an 'I'm sorry' whispered past my lips.
My mother took my hand again and kissed my forehead, while my dad patted my leg. They were being supportive, I know that. This was their support.
“We'll be back from Florida on December 19th, so we'll all have a good Christmas together. And by then this will only be a memory. Don't be sorry Sadie, this happens. Just be smarter next time, okay?” My mom smiled her words as my dad nodded his head.
“Okay,” I agreed quietly.
And that was it. My parents left the hospital. My mom did call my room that night however to tell me she loved me, and to reaffirm that 'everything would be okay'. And I agreed because what else could I do?
It was the end of November and my parents were leaving for Florida like they did every single year on either the 1st or 2nd of December since I was 12 for 3 weeks. But they always returned a few days before Christmas so they could prepare for the holidays and buy my Christmas gifts. They always left, but they always returned so I wasn't alone at Christmas.
My parents did visit the next day telling stories about some of their friends and their families. They spoke about light subjects, while ignoring the reason for my hospital stay completely. When they left my room they did however offer reassurances that I would be fine by the time they returned from Florida.
And Patrick stopped by. He was very busy with his own school work. He was finishing his PhD thesis and I knew it was very important to him, but still he made time to visit me for a few hours the couple days I was in the hospital. He made time to be with me while he could and I was grateful. Patrick understood I wouldn't talk so he filled our time together with stories of his weekend and the new guy he met. He told me about all the crazy and the fun that was his life so I wouldn't have to think about the pathetic and lonely that was my life.
Patrick was amazing but acted like he wasn't doing anything special for me. Even when I found myself suddenly whispering 'thank you for trying,' when he took a much needed breath from his escapades, he simply shrugged and smiled.
So my parents came the morning I was to be released and then they left knowing, or rather stating, that I was in good hands with Patrick. They were acting the same, so I figured I had to act the same too.
I'm not sure if I ever really was the same though.
As usual with me there was always drama and upset. There was always depression and suffocating despair. There was always this need to escape from myself. There was a desire to be anyone but myself... and this didn't change. It just became more pronounced.
I left the hospital with Patrick who brought me clothes and shoes and thought of everything I may need.
When I was wheeled to the doors, he pushed me. When I was slow to stand from my exhaustion, he aided me. When I sat in his car gingerly, he drove slowly the 4 blocks back to our apartment.
Patrick was amazing that day and I felt such affection for him, I sat in his car and cried. For maybe 20 minutes I sat in his car out front our cool walk up apartment and cried, and he said nothing. He held my hand and shushed me a few times when I cried too hard and nearly threw up, but otherwise he did nothing but sit beside me while I cried.
After I returned home, I continued the next 7 1/2 months of my life waiting. I attended school infrequently, and I lived in my silence alone, except for the random calls from my parents and the frequent drop-ins by Patrick, and maybe a boyfriend of his.
But otherwise, I was completely alone, waiting.
CHAPTER 14
So I continued.
I went to college, then University. I was very smart and maintained very good grades even though I almost never attended school. I sat in my apartment all day and I waited every night for my stranger to show up. I waited every single night, just like I had spent my years waiting.
I did have a slight friendship with a woman named Silvana
who I had met in school, and she tried to form an actual friendship with me over the course of a semester. Often we drank together in my apartment while she tried to be my friend. She really tried to engage me in my 'story', but I had nothing to tell. I would never tell anyone anything about myself. I'm not even sure I knew what to tell about my life, so I told her nothing.
Once a week, my female friend Silvana came to my place for dinner, we ended up drunk every time, and I even had a little fun with her. I kind of lived around her once a week visits, but that was all she was to me- a once a week visitor, which was much more than even my parents at the time, but that was just their way.
Throughout the semester I enjoyed Silvana’s pseudo-friendship until I went out with her socially once. After incessant begging to go out, one night I felt drunk and secure enough to actually do it. So we went out. We went to a dance club and I was ridiculously quiet and drunk, until I wasn't so quiet anymore.
And I looked like a fool, I know I did. At the club, I danced my ass off and I had fun until a man wrapped his arm around my waist and started dancing against my back. And that was all it took to turn me into a psycho. Admittedly, I can’t even deny it; I behaved like a total psycho.
After screaming, turning around, slapping his face, throwing my drink at him, I kicked him, and before he even had a chance to defend himself against some tiny little 20 something, I had grabbed and twisted his penis in my hand.
And I was repulsed. I know I looked like a complete psychopath, but I was more repulsed by the feeling of him in my hand than by any embarrassment I should have felt at my behavior.
And my new friend Silvana was mortified, I could tell. Originally, she jumped into the fray thinking he had caused some offensive injury to me, but when he pushed me off him and she screamed 'what happened?’ I replied the truth. I said such simple words but I spoke them like I had been repeatedly stabbed.