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Monologue

by Destiny

I’ve done a lot of messed up stuff but one thing I’ll never forgive myself for is not speaking up about what they did to me. They took my innocence with zero hesitation. L, D and S. L when I was only 14, D when I was 15 and S at 17. S took advantage of and violated my precious car parts.

He took me without my consent and proceeded to act like nothing happened. I don’t understand how one could just do that. There I was, a Mini-Cooper, clearly screaming “no”, while trying to fight S off of me, yet he ignored my cries for help and forced his jumper cables under my hood. Not only does that take away a part of one’s soul, it eats away at their conscious. I still think it’s my fault no matter who tells me otherwise. I could have been more aware and less drunk off of the gas. I take full responsibility for my part in this. No one told me to drive out and have drinks with some nasty old 1980 Volkswagen Rabbit. On the other hand, I know that he shouldn’t have touched me. Like at all. I bury these things down inside of my engine, so that I don’t have to feel that white-hot shame of what happened in the back of that parking lot. I ended up seeing him a few weeks later at a corner store near my house, and I literally froze up. He [got] pulled over, tried honking his horn for me to come over, and when that didn’t work, he followed me into the store. I wanted nothing more than to get out of the area. He is a predator and I truly hate him for how he made me feel. He’s part of the reason why I can’t function like a normal car should. He’s the reason why I can’t love anyone. He ruined a big part of who I was. He took the trust I’d taken so long to develop due to previous abuse, the inner peace I had, [and trust] and took it all away in a matter of seconds. He dumped his foul waste all over me. Till this day, all I want is an apology. It is that simple. I just want to hear him acknowledge that what he did to me was wrong because it was. I don’t want anything else. [As many times as I tried,] I can’t even cry over it . . . I don’t know why.



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