Lucy Lahey trusted the man she was dating, and it turned out to be her biggest mistake. Reeling in the aftermath of a rape that stole not only her virginity, but her confidence, her love for MMA, her clarity and more, Lucy now finds herself in Jerse...
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Dad and I haven't spoken since yesterday after I busted him seeking help from a podcast. He he came downstairs in ten minutes intervals and stuck his head in the door, saw me watching a movie and then went upstairs again.
Eventually he asked if I wanted food or water or to watch Suits. The answer was no but not because I was mad at him, because I was mad at me.
Constantly lashing out at people is exhausting.
On Saturday morning, I scroll through Instagram, looking at my new, not so improved feed, void of fighting photos or evidence of the person I used to be. Nari has posted photos of her and her friends at an arts festival. Her smile is glowing and I wish I was capable of that sort of elation.
We haven't spoken enough this last week, my mind has been preoccupied, selfishly of course. It's hard to talk to someone who you used to confide in, when you don't want to do much confiding at all. Sometimes, letting people think I'm not teetering on the edge of a full-blown breakdown is the preferable option.
She doesn't know how bad it's been, I want it to stay like that. When we spoke on the phone, she asked if Gia had ruined the homecoming for me, I lied and told her it was the best night I've had in a long time. That's all I can do right now, pretend.
There's a new comment on one of my posts, there's been an influx of them since homecoming last weekend, but I've been deleting them.
Eww imagine sneaking off to have an abortion without even telling the dad. Whore.
This is nothing new. There have been a few comments along those lines. Even on the posts of Niles and I. I'm fairly resilient to the insults. Words are just words, but it never fails to rub me the wrong way. Usually, I would delete the post and block the user but this morning, I don't. I'm not sure if it's the lingering bad mood or if I'm just fed up, but I respond.
First, I was never pregnant. Second, pretty sure it takes two people to have sex. If I'm a whore, what is he?
He's a rapist. That's what I want to tell them, he's a rapist. I want to scream it at that entire school, to make a scene, to have him thrown in a cell and left to rot. But that's the thing about society, rapists aren't treated like criminals, women who have sex are.
The comment is deleted about three minutes after I respond, as usual, just some keyboard warrior who doesn't think I'll bite back. I block her. Gia and Logan can both rot as far as I'm concerned.
Footsteps pad down the staircase while I lounge in bed, and then dad appears in his sleep attire, sweatpants and a faded band t-shirt. He has a few of them, but he only wears them to bed. Something about being too old to wear them in public.
