WHAT'S GONE CAN'T BE RETURNED
By: Beatrice Silver
The reminiscence of my innocence still lies on the dirty floor of his room.
I laid there. His large, rugged hand covered my mouth, trying to cover my screams. His other hand wrapped around my throat trying to prove his dominance. I watched as he began to tear off my shirt. It was the one that my mother bought me for my first day of college. I tried to get out from under him, but he had me pinned down. Eventually, when my body couldn’t fight any longer, I gave up.
There are moments in our lives that change everything. And this was mine.
When it was over, I felt numb. He was there, lying next to me as if nothing had happened. Peacefully dreaming. Blood had begun to drip from my inner thigh and land on the cotton bedding his mother had probably bought for him. I crept out of the bed and grabbed a random pair of basketball shorts from the ground.
And I ran.