2
(Narrator) Mike was the...? It's still going to be a mystery to you. Did you think I'd let the cat out of the bag so soon, especially when the story hasn't even begun?
The following week after that long 7 days that felt like eternity, I asked myself, "Am I the victim, or can I still call myself a victim?" I said, "If a victim does the same thing as his/her assaulter, is he or she still a victim?" —a rather wise question at the moment but a bad thought at the second because that one thought was what shaped my memory and made me not fight my other half for my voice, and that was the memory that shaped my history, a history I promise to tell.
Throughout my remaining days in that year, it was rather peaceful and calm, like nothing had ever happened or as if I could remember nothing, so I thought maybe finally the worst was behind me.
But to my surprise, in the middle of my 2nd year, I found myself in a hassle in which once again another girl had taken a liking towards me, and this time around she came in with fire where the other brought only smoke, and she was determined to make me feel the same way about her, and I can't lie, along the way she almost got me for a moment, but as usual, history repeats itself.
"Mike's Other Half ":Yes, you may wonder what I mean, particularly, but to cut a long story short, once again, I was molested, but at least this time I knew the face of my assaulter. I had the chance to do something, but still, my hands remained tied. Aahhg!!! I screamed, not knowing whether I was screaming aloud or within, but all I knew was that for once my voice wasn't withheld.
But don't get distracted or confused. I believe it's very important you know one thing: this scream wasn't one of pain but of ecstasy. Yes, it was a scream of pleasure. Don't be too shocked I told you I wasn't the same and my goals had changed; I enjoyed every bit of the moment to the point I knew that second who I wanted to be.
"The Victim or The Assaulter," and it isn't what you would expect.
"Mike":Along the road an interesting occasion occurred in which my admirer was celebrating her birthday and I was invited.
On the occasion, the air was thick with cheer, and I was hammered.
That was when Gracey believed it would be best to take me to her room for us to "TALK."
which I totally knew was a bad idea, but if I may say something, I would like to say, who am I to say no to the birthday girl?
So I humbly obliged and followed her.
"As we stepped into her room, its walls breathed with a palette unlike any other—deep hues kissed with red, while a melody lingered in the air. Together, they wove an atmosphere heavy with intent, a silent signal that her desire was written between the colors and the song, drawing me toward her."
So I did what every man would do.
I stood up.
Walking towards the door, about to exit, but to my wildest surprise I found myself closing the door, and I did something which I didn't think I would ever do:I fell for her little tune, not knowing we weren't listening to the same music, and once again I found myself in a situation similar to the one I had experienced, and this time around I wasn't the victim;
I was actually the one who had just assaulted Gracey, and (thoughts ravaging my head) I assaulted Gracey. That is a misunderstanding; it can't be me. It's a lie; it can't be me. I won't do that. NO! She led me on; it wasn't my fault she asked for it.
"BAM" "BAM" (someone shouting): Is this the bathroom I want to pee, Open the door.
"BAM." Who's there? Open the door. Aahh!!
"What have I done?" was the first thing that came into my mind as I snapped back into reality, and immediately I just knew that something had gone wrong somewhere, but "All that met my gaze were Gracey's eyes, hollow with hopelessness, staring up at me as she lay there—broken, as though the wound was carved by my own hand."
But she didn't tell me to stop. "BAM!!"
(Stranger): Who's there? Open the room. Is this the bathroom?
Ohhh!! No, guy, this isn't the bathroom. My response to that persistent man as I was still locked in the moment, thinking of what to do.
"Lost in a storm of thought, I surrendered to the first impulse that clawed its way through my mind—I fled. I left her behind, abandoned the revelry, and vanished into the night, retreating to the hollow solitude of home."
The following day, I came to school worried maybe she was going to report me or say something, but to my wildest surprise.
She acted as if nothing had happened or occurred, but the guilt was eating me up, and I finally confronted her about the matter at hand, and she told me that it was nothing to worry about.
That I did good, that it was the best time of her life, but the one thing that I couldn't shake out of my mind was the way her eyes looked that night. That was how I knew in my soul that something was wrong, but I chose to trust her words like a dumbass. I chose to trust the words of a girl who definitely must have felt cornered to make that statement.
"After some time, nothing felt out of place. Everything seemed normal; her words carried no cracks, her eyes gave nothing away, and her silence felt steady.
Gradually, my doubts began to fade. Nothing appeared different; nothing pointed to a lie. So I allowed myself to believe she was telling the truth."
6 months later,
"We broke apart for more reasons than I could ever name. Each one carried its own weight—too many, too tangled to unravel. To speak them all would take more than words could bear."
"Surprisingly"
She went around telling people I had molested her and I was a bad person, which left me shocked to my bones that someone I thought I once loved would do this to me; hence my quote at the beginning, History will always repeat itself.
So if I may ask you all one more time, which one was I, "The Victim" or "The Assaulter"?