Understanding Arden [coming soon]

[01]

    © voidash. all rights reserved. cover © voidash

WARNING//TRIGGERING CONTENT AHEAD; INCLUDES SEXUAL EXPLICIT SCENES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

+

i. the incident

+

THIS IS NOT a story about love. This is not even a story of lust or silly grade school crushes. This is a story about friendship and unfortunate encounters with horrible people who do not care. This is a story about forgiveness, and anger, and the very thing that makes us human: emotion.

If you were looking for a story about love, or lust, or sex, you have made a wrong turn. This is exactly the opposite.

+

HERE'S HOW IT happened. It happened during the summer on the 20th of June. I should've never gone to the party, but it was my best friend's party, and I couldn't miss it. Jackson Standall was the biggest sweetheart in our entire school. He was loved by everyone. I couldn't think of anyone who ever disliked Jackson. He was too nice and too perfect. We met when we were eight during the summer at the city park. He pushed me off the swing and although we fought that day, we've been friends ever since.

Everyone always assumed we loved each other, but we didn't (at least not that way). Our relationship was strictly platonic. We were nothing more than best friends, inseparable like two peas in a pod, like family.

Anyway, practically the entire school was at his house. His mom went away for the week for some family emergency in San Francisco, but Jackson's passport was expired so stayed. Perhaps if he did go, there would have been no party, and perhaps if there would have been no party, this wouldn't have happened.

No. If life had a backspace button, everyone's problems would disappear. My parents were sworn to hold Jackson under protective custody for the time being, but they were away on a date night. My parents trusted us anyway.

It was hot, so Jackson cleaned his pool and invited everyone he could think of. Word got out, and eventually, there was a party. I was wearing one of Jackson's flannels over my bikini top, and a pair of my favorite shorts. They fit me tight since I hadn't worn them since last summer, but I wore them anyway.

I guess it was my fault for what happened.

No, it wasn't. I tend to forget that too. I wasn't my fault. How is it ever the victim's fault? Am I a victim? Yes, I am. Do I want to be? No. A part of me wishes this happened to someone else, but I think of the pain this has caused me, and I feel a sense of relief that it was me who suffered and not someone else.

It was already dark out, and I told Jackson I didn't want to get in the pool. "I can't swim," I told him, so he made it his job to ensure I wouldn't drown. He told me to hold onto his back as he swam around his pool, and even though I shrieked whenever he would swim in the deep end, he was never annoyed with me.

Jackson and I spent the night drinking everything that didn't have alcohol. We promised each other we wouldn't get drunk that night. We spent the afternoon making sure no one broke or stole anything.

It happened after I got out of the pool. Jackson stayed in the cool water with his friends while I fetched a towel. I went upstairs, in the bathroom, to dry my shorts. I knew where Mrs. Standall kept everything. Every time I slept over, she told me where extra clothes were and whenever I was on my period, she told me what to do to relieve cramps. She was my second mom.

I was too busy having fun that day to realize things that could have saved me the misery I'd carry for the rest of my life.

He came in after me and locked the door behind him. I was only fetching a towel, so I left the door open. I could've locked it, but I didn't. I wonder if it would've not happened if I closed the door. I wonder if he would've waited outside anyway. Maybe he wouldn't have. There were people all over the house. Maybe he was and he would've pushed me into somewhere secluded. I don't know, but it's too late to wonder now.