I moved into an apartment within a couple of days after the rape. It was summer now. I was 17 years old and carried two jobs. It didn’t take long for bad luck to punch me in the gut again. This time the air conditioning in my apartment building went out, and when I say “out,” I don’t mean down. According to the landlord, the entire system was shot and needed to be replaced. It was June, in Arizona, and the average daily temperature was well into the triple digits.
Going to work was one of the ways I acquired relief from the unbearable summer heat. There in the cool air of the mall my torments seemed to melt away. One afternoon, after whining about my misfortune to my boss, he graciously offered me the solace of his living room couch. He explained that his apartment was just up the road and that it would be no problem if I wanted to crash there while my air was being fixed. Normally red flags would have been going off like crazy in my mind, but considering my alternative at this point was to sleep out on an open patio with my neighbors, as I had done the previous night, I gave in and accepted his gracious offer.
Soon after arriving at my boss’s abode, a bizarre illness leaped upon me and turned my world black. I had such a high fever over the next few weeks that I had difficulty maintaining consciousness. The few flashes of sanity I had during my illness were pierced with pain and torture. It took weeks for me to recuperate from this anomalous infirmity, only to find myself with a new ailment: an unbearable state of constant nausea. Flashes of torment came with the improvement in my state of consciousness over time. Unfortunately, with my ever increasing clarity came the reality that my condition called for me to run to the store for a pregnancy test.
Huddled on the icy floor of the bathroom, staring at a positive pregnancy test, I laid broken, sick, and terrified. What had I gotten myself into, and how was I going to get out? I was startled back to reality by the banging of my boss’s fist on the bathroom door. I pulled my aching body up from the cold, hard floor as I tried to muster up the courage to face my betrayer. Once past the security of the bathroom walls, I was grabbed with such force a sleeping giant within me awoke. Now I was aware, and now I could fight. I spread my limbs across the length of the tiny hallway space, clinging to the walls for strength. Harder and harder he pushed in an effort to get my broken body into the bedroom. Harder and harder I pushed against the walls as the fear left and anger arose inside of me like a flood. Realizing his efforts were futile, in frustration he finally gave up. I dashed back into the refuge of the bathroom and locked myself in.
There I sat on the bathroom floor shaking from the inside out in a flood of emotion and adrenaline, watching as my stomach slowly revealed bruises from the struggle. This was the first time I thought about the child growing inside of me. I remember worrying for his safety as I watched my black and blue stomach rise and fall with each breathe of air. Every emotion in me at this moment felt jumbled like a ball of string, tangled and interwoven.
It was there on the bathroom floor that I devised my plan of escape. Once my attacker left the apartment, I emerged like a wounded animal from the bathroom. I quickly called a friend to come and pick me up, but found myself unpleasantly surprised at the outcome. Within the hour, standing at the front door to rescue me, was my father.
Having already been disowned and kicked out by my father, he was not my first choice of heroes. However, his guilt-ridden face seemed to be pleading for forgiveness as he quickly and quietly grabbed the bags I had packed, so in reluctance I followed. Back I went to the home I hated, back to a family with conditional acceptance. Why he came for me I do not know. Was it out of guilt? Or was it from some unfounded feeling of obligation? All I know is once again I felt trapped.
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