*shrugs* He seemed to evade most every answer. But, he did admit it. That�s when she lost it. When he finally admitted it, when he finally said that what I�d said was true, she shook her head and started sobbing, almost hysterically. And then she left. She just walked away. And Jonny looked at me and the look in his eyes was evil. I wonder what he would have done if we hadn�t been in such a public place.

But I never accused him of actually raping me. Not to anyone. Not to my Mom, not to Dad, and definitely not to Becky. I just said we�d been kissing. My own betrayal. Of myself.

Jonny and Becky patched things up after a while. It didn�t take all that long if I remember correctly. It doesn�t matter much. I threw myself into school. Not the work, but into that world, pretending the previous me hadn�t ever existed. I lived in Seattle during the week and bussed home on the weekends. During the week I was lucky if I got three hours of sleep a week. I didn�t sleep every night. I rarely slept. I don�t know why.

I suspect, now, that it was because my subconscious was playing over the whole seven-month time period. But I don�t know for sure.

Regardless, I didn�t sleep much while I was there. I ate when I remembered to. I�d say I had about four meals a week during the five days of the week. And two or three when I was home on weekends. Friday and Saturday nights, at the folks� place I would sleep for aproximately 14 to 16 hours a night. I would go to bed soon after getting there. I would sleep until about an hour before church. We�d go to church. We�d have some sort of dinner and I�d go to bed again, waking up about an hour before the trip back to Seattle.

My life sucked ass. I hated being in Seattle. I hated it so damned much. I made it through that first semester without flunking anything. But not by much. I made it through the next semester only flunking one class. The summer was spent working in the meat shop, wrapping meat, cleaning up.

Dan Sanders was working for Dad during that year at school, saving up for when he left for College in the coming fall. (I went to Cornish that first year doing Freshman year at Cornish and Senior year of high school at the same time. Dan and I are the same age. His birthday is just a little less than a month before mine. But he graduated high school in Spring of 89 as I finished the first year of Cornish.)

Dan and I talked a lot, not about anything of vital importance, but we spent quite a bit of time together. I was sullen and quiet. He pretended not to notice.

He left for college and I really missed him. I mean, I really, really missed him. I didn�t understand why. I�m still not sure why I missed him. I think it was just because he was a male I wasn�t directly related to who didn�t run away from what was inside me. Every other male I knew, when it came to conversation, saw the brink-of-madness look in my eyes and just shied away.

That fall I went back to Cornish and hated it even more. Over that year, I�d gained about 120 to 150 lbs. I flunked three of my classes that semester and was placed on academic probation. I just quit. I couldn�t handle it. I just couldn�t handle it.

I moved home to be with Mom and Dad but they moved too and there were the three of us living in a tiny two-bedroom house. And when I say tiny, I mean tiny. The living room was the largest part of the house. It was probably 12 by 10 feet. Very small. My one-bedroom apartment on Capitol Hill had been about 700 square feet or so. We moved into a house with two bedrooms which was a little smaller than 900 square feet.

That fall, 90, I started attending PLU. Pacific Lutheran University. I didn�t want to. I didn�t like college. I didn�t want to go to school. Mom wanted me to go. I went. That first semester I got more and more and more withdrawn. I got more and more and more depressed. Around September, I started cutting myself. I wanted to not be. I wanted to cease to exist. I didn�t know why.

But I know, now, that I was so completely overloaded with guilt, shame and despair that I had no reason to not be depressed. I would spend a couple hours every couple nights, just lightly running a razor blade over my wrist. Sometimes in lines from side to side. Sometimes in lines up and down. Sometimes really light, just barely hard enough to make a scratch. Sometimes hard enough to make it bleed. A lot.

In about October of 90, I went with the folks to the Feast in Spokane. I was just moving one step in front of the other. I didn�t think, I didn�t feel, but I had my razor blades with me. And a package of bandages. And long sleeved shirts.

And while in Spokane, one day, I was invited to a party. The people who had invited me, I�m sure, were doing so out of pitty. Maybe if we invite the scared, loner, fat girl, she will open up a little. Heh. nice try. I got there and was very shyly sitting in my chair, smiling shyly to those who would try to talk to me. And then, Jonny comes in. With Becky.

And they�re hanging all over one another and they�re happy and I�m staring at them and I couldn�t stop it, I just couldn�t stop it. I couldn�t make my mind stop. Inside me I felt this rage, this absolute rage boiling up, bubbling up from deep inside. So very, very, very angry. I was pissed. I was beyond pissed. I was completely enraged.

I stood up, staring at him, my fists were clenched so tightly that I couldn�t feel anything below my wrists. I hissed at him, I hissed, so feral, so completely enraged, I hissed and I think I punched at him, but I don�t remember clearly, it could have just been in my head. But I hissed at him and I swore at him, in front of all those people.

I glared and hissed and I told him he was a mother fucking bastard. If I did try to hit him, then Butch grabbed my arm. If I didn�t, then I just stormed out of there. I don�t remember. But I left and stormed out of the room and out of wherever it was we were. And I went into the park with white hot tears streaming down my face, rage boiling within me and so much contempt and shame and guilt and I was so pissed off.

That mother fucker had stolen my innocence. He had stolen it from me. He had stolen my true virginity. And he was happy. He was happy with the woman he loved, the woman he�d been cheating on with me. He was happy and so was she. And I was humiliated and embarrassed and scared and alone and so fucking pissed off.

He was happy. And I was miserable. I couldn�t breathe. I was crying so hard and so silently and I hurt inside. I hurt so badly. And I didn�t understand why. I hated him. I hated him so much and I wanted to see him dead. Because he stole my innocence. He stole my naivte. He stole my virginity, my true, sexual virginity. The mother fucking rat bastard stole my purity.

*blinks* Sorry bout that. *smiles softly* Yeah, well, I gave up the whole keeping the emotion out of it a long time ago.

So, Ben and Butch followed me outside. (Two very good and long-time friends of mine) They followed me and didn�t interfere, they let me rage. And I did. I screamed and I cried and I kicked trees and I pounded my hands against walls and trees and tables and I screamed. Oh I screamed so hard.

They didn�t ask questions. They didn�t tell me to stop, they just followed me and made sure that I didn�t hurt myself or someone else. And when I started shaking, when I started shaking so bad that I couldn�t stand up anymore, they sat with me. They didn�t ask questions. They just talked between themselves and to me, but they didn�t ask me questions. They didn�t require me to tell. They just sat there with me.

That night I was supposed to meet the folks at a specific restaurant for dinner. Butch, Ben and I went to this place and we were there about an hour early. So, Butch and Ben and I went into the bar. We each ordered a beer and the waitress said everyone was over 21 right? *chuckles* I had just turned 20. Butch and Ben both nodded. I didn�t comment, I just stared at my hands. She left and came back with the beers.

the three of us sat there and just talked for a long while. We didn�t say anything of great importance, we just talked. Or rather, they talked and I mumbled a few replies. But I was listening. You bet I was listening. The sounds of their voices kept me sane that day. Or rather, kept me from being more insane.