They Call It Depression {edited}

Chapter Eleven

That night, I'm changing into my polka-dotted pajamas and thinking about Nathan. I told him my secret today. I never thought I would. Okay, I did, but I didn't think it would be this soon.

Somehow, the thought of him knowing relaxes me. It's comforting to know that someone else I really trust can help me through my struggles. And I know that Nathan is the perfect person to do that; he's a good listener and very compassionate and understanding.

The whole time I was talking, he never once judged me. Never said anything rude. He just listened and nodded and hugged me. I know that I love him now more than ever.

Just as I'm thinking about him, my phone chimes. I pick it up and see that it's a text from Nathan. Speak of the devil.

Hey, I had a lot of fun with you and your family today and I just wanted to let you know that. Also, I wanted to thank you for trusting me with your secret. That meant a lot to me. I love you baby girl, the text reads.

I had fun too, and yeah, I'm glad I can trust you. Thanks for listening, I text back.

No problem. I hope you're doing okay now. Call me if you need to.

I will.

A few minutes pass before he responds. I wish you were here, his text says.

I feel butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I wish he could be here with me, too, but I don't think it would do any good. We're trying to save ourselves for the wedding night. I know that I can't be fully his, since I've already lost my virginity, but we're saving ourselves as a couple. I'm so lucky to have found a guy who agrees with my morals and wants to do the same thing as me.

Just six more days!😉, I type.

Yeah, I know. I can't wait to marry you!😁

Same.

Well, I'm gonna go to bed. It was a long day. Goodnight, beautiful.😘😋❤

Ah, I love when he calls me that! Goodnight.💋, I text back. Then I put my phone down and crawl under the covers.

- - -

After I was raped, I didn't see the point in "waiting for marriage" anymore. I mean, I'd already had my virginity practically stolen from me, so it's not like I could save myself anyway.

I told Brandon about this, but he didn't want to sleep with me. "I don't want to risk actually getting you pregnant," he insisted.

I felt rejected and ugly. What, was I not good enough for him?

Apparently not.

Brandon couldn't handle the pressure of dating me. People were still teasing me, although it wasn't about the pregnancy anymore. I'd already told them that I'd lost the baby. But now it was about us "not being able to take care of a child."

Some kids spread rumors that I'd had an abortion, not a miscarriage, which was true. And then everyone believed them. They shunned me for taking a life, and for thinking that abortion was the best way to go. "She just couldn't handle it," they said.

And they were right. I couldn't. Neither of us could. Brandon explained to me that he couldn't have everyone thinking he was such a bad person, and that he needed a break from our relationship.

"A break? No thanks! If you're going to take time off, maybe we should just break up altogether!" I yelled.

"Fine!" he yelled back.

So we broke up. I couldn't believe our two-year relationship was over. We'd been dating since 8th grade. How could he do this to me? Leave me all alone to fight off the haters and the bullies? He was a jerk. And he didn't deserve me.

But then again, did I even deserve a good boyfriend? I was the one who'd taken the life, I was the one who'd become a drunk and a part of the party scene. Brandon hadn't done any of those things. I hadn't even told him that I'd started drinking, or that I'd started going to parties. I was a liar, a murderer, and a helpless drunk.

But I didn't care.

I kept going to parties, and kept drinking alcohol. Kept cutting myself and covering it up. My parents knew about the cutting, because of the time when I'd passed out and had to go to the hospital, but they didn't know how to help me. They didn't want to ground me, because that would just make me more depressed. And they couldn't take away my razor, because I couldn't just not shave my legs. So they let me do my own thing, and hoped to God that I would learn my lesson without being punished.

Of course I didn't.

One night at a party where I was particularly drunk, I saw a guy from my science class, and we ended up finding a room to ourselves.

I was scared, to say the least. I'd been raped, but that wasn't really sex. I'd been forced into it and hadn't had any say in the matter. It wasn't even someone I knew (which is a good thing, but still).

However, I did know Zach (the guy from my science class). He was a nice kid, with blonde hair and blue eyes, but apparently, he fell into the party scene just like everybody else.

Through our drunkenness, he made me feel loved and beautiful. As he undressed me, he kept telling me how hot I was. Then we made love, and it hurt at first, but then it began to feel good. Kind of like cutting.

When it was over, we put our clothes back on and he drove me home. "Thanks for the ride," I told him, and he winked.

From that day on, I'd sleep with anyone who asked. I was a slut, but I didn't care. It was all about finding that pleasure, that escape. I thought I could find it in my many one-night-stands, but I couldn't. I could only find that in Christ. I just didn't know that yet.