Playing with Forever

Chapter 55: Fille Courageuse

The senior class was gathered around in the gym for a first period check in. Mr. Fitzpatrick announced that we'd break off for the rest of our classes, but first we would have a few minutes to talk about our emotional states after Tristan's death. Before that, though, he announced, I had something to say. He nodded to me, giving me permission to go ahead.

I stood and walked to the front of the room, pulling up the notes I'd written on my phone the night before. I'd sent them to the principal asking for permission to read it aloud to my fellow seniors. Mrs. Hansen the guidance counselor had immediately called me, checking in on me and my mental health. She was a mandatory reporter of child abuse, after all. We talked for an hour, and after I explained that my abuser was in jail and she assessed my state of mind, she eventually cleared me and agreed to let me do what I wanted.

I shook like a leaf in the wind as I stood in front of my classmates. I looked at the crowd staring curiously back at me. There was Mina and Dylan, looking surprised, along with the majority of the varsity volleyball team. There were teachers there, too, and Mrs. Hansen gave me an encouraging nod. Coach Wilson was watching me with a frown.

The last face I sought out was Sam's. He was looking terribly confused, worry plain across his face. He should be worried, I thought.

I quickly looked down at the phone to avoid his eyes, took a deep breath, and started to read.

"This past month, I've been blackmailed with a secret about my past," I read. My voice was quiet, so I spoke louder, not wanting to have to repeat myself. "Well, I'm taking the power back now. This is my story to tell, and I'm going to tell it now, on my own terms. No one is going to use me like that again."

I shuffled my feet and took a deep breath. Was I really going to do this?

"I'm sure you've all heard what Tristan said after school the day he died." I looked up and saw raised eyebrows and eager looks, as well a few guilty ones. There were murmurs of intrigue. Oh, yes, they'd all heard. They'd forgotten, but they'd heard.

I continued. "When I was fifteen, I went to live with a family friend. At first he was charismatic and nice, but he soon got possessive and started manipulating me. He got a job at my school where he could watch over me and control me. Not long after, he started physically abusing me. I was scared and stuck and felt like I couldn't tell anyone since he had isolated me from everyone who cared about me. He held that over me."

I should glance up, but I didn't want to. I didn't think I could continue if I did. My heart was already pounding out of my chest, adrenaline spiking in my veins. I had to push on.

"When I was seventeen," I said, then took a shaky breath. I could do this. "He raped me." A few gasps joined more murmurs around the room, but I ignored them.

"I made excuses," I went on over the noise. "He must have been drunk. He was out of his mind with rage. That it was my fault. When he did it a second time, I knew it wouldn't stop. I went to the hospital and reported him. He went to jail, and I went into CPS and a foster home. Six months later, I turned eighteen. On my birthday, I moved here, and two days later, I started school here."

The words were coming out faster and faster.

"I never intended to let anyone know this about me, including my boyfriend. Especially my boyfriend. But Tristan knew. Last month, he began blackmailing me. I did things I didn't want to do because I didn't want him to tell anyone. I let another man control me."

I took a deep breath, and slowed down.

"Well. Not anymore, and never again. I won't be graduating with you this weekend. I'm not okay. I'm not well. I'm going to a place that helps women like me, survivors. I will be okay someday, but it's going to take some time."