Chapter 3

 

My Shame

 

Melissa

 

 

Memories of what brought me to the hospital and the sterile room filled my mind. I didn't want to remember. I needed to forget, to stop the movie on continued replay in my mind.

I refused to take part in what was happening; I needed my clock—the one that held me and kept me safe. I forced my eyes open and searched for my salvation, the thing that allowed me to bury the pain. Soft ticks came alive, and the room disappeared once again. The sounds of the clicks grew louder and louder until they became a calming heartbeat lulling me and providing my refuge. The clock's hand surrounded, embraced, and welcomed me from the reality of what my life became—they provided freedom and happiness. My eyes closed as the newfound peace took over, and the clock completely accepted me back.

Peaceful thoughts flooded my mind. I was in a garden filled with flowers and trails. The sounds of feet hitting soft sands filled the salty air as the view of the single path split in two with a large wooden sign centered between the paths. “Choose wisely” was scrolled across the top, and below were two arrows. One pointed toward the right and the other the left, but nothing was written under them. I walked closer to the sign and noticed a message in tiny print at the very bottom: “One road leads to peace and happiness and the other to pain and suffering.” There was nothing more. It didn’t say which path led where. I walked toward the right, where flowers adorned the paths—beautiful colorful roses bloomed. As I continued down the right side of the road, the bright sun shone. There were blue skies and singing birds. I walked in awe of the beauty when suddenly, a brisk wind blew, kicking up sand as massive black clouds rolled in and covered the path in a thick fog.

Within seconds, the light of the sun disappeared, and darkness surrounded me, leaving me in the murky haze. The sweet scent of the roses turned sour, leaving a strong odor of decay—the beautiful blossoms were no longer vibrant, but all dead–the stems bent over and the petals brown and lifeless.

My journey to the right side of the fork changed from peaceful and happy to dreary and sad. More winds whirled through, dirt tornados spun, and debris rustled through the air. Another gust raged, yet the leaves eerily stilled as the wind whispered its words.

"Once you have chosen, you can't turn back."

A sharp pain pulled me back from the trance I’d insulated myself with to avoid the hurt. The distant voices became louder. Now, both worlds—my imagination and my reality—were hell, both filled with dread. I didn't want either, but then again, no one asked me what I wanted.

"Bruising to the vaginal area…"

I didn't want to know—I needed to drown out all the voices, especially the one that insisted on revealing my disgrace in vivid details. More specifics of my abuse were described, but a male voice dominated over the softly spoken one.

"Melissa, sweetheart, can you hear me?"

I knew that voice. It belonged to the man who introduced me to a new way of life—a life that an eighteen-year-old never knew existed. He’d shown me more in the first few months of our arrangement than I’d seen in a lifetime. He had been gentle and understanding with me, teaching me what he expected. Even the times when I hadn't followed all of his guidelines, he’d showered me with gifts and kindness. He’d promised punishments yet laced them with rewards.

I fell in love with the man who held my hand—not with the man he became in the last few months. In the beginning, he spent hours with me… until he didn’t. I longed for the early days of our relationship. That was the escape I longed to relive.

Now, my disgrace would have no rewards, only punishments and heartbreak. I committed the one unforgivable crime and broke the cardinal rule of our contract. In our time together, he only required and demanded one thing—my fidelity to only him.

This man owned me—my body, mind, and soul—from the minute I agreed and signed my life to him. His protection was supposed to ensure my safety. Once he learned the truth, I'd lose that security. I’d often had that reminder repeated to me: he would not protect me if I disobeyed—I would be on my own. His empire and image came before his dirty little secret—me. Though he may have truly cared for and adored me, I had no doubts: to save himself he would discard me like yesterday’s trash. Now, all the lies I’d hidden and everything I’d worked for during the last six months, everything to accomplish my dreams, was all for nothing.

Another squeeze brought me back to the room of hell—the voices, smells, and pain all returned. One tear had multiplied into many until my eyes drowned in the hot liquid and overflowed into a trail down my face. My mind fired question after question, but actual words became lost before they surfaced. I already knew the answers to the questions; it had been my desires and my decisions that had brought me to my now. It was my fault—even if others tried to convince me otherwise. I’d signed the agreement, and I’d broken it by not following the rules.

Last night's attack wouldn’t be the only consequence I paid.

I wanted—no needed—out of the horrid nightmare I was living. My feet were still secured in stirrups and legs bent as I lay on the small mattress covered with a white sheet. A second white sheet was on top of me, but its placement left my lower half exposed to all in the room.

I was nothing more than a rag doll to the robot nurse. She’d placed the sheet over my arms at my sides and proceeded to pull the rat's nest of my hair through a small comb into little envelopes. Her motions were rough and uncaring. With everyone else’s eyes diverted, she didn't seem to care if she caused me pain.

The nicer of the nurses approached with a bottle and needle and inserted medicine into the IV. "This is going to help with the pain."

Dr. Caller gently took my legs out of the stirrups and covered them with the sheet. She walked to the head of the bed and reached for my hand. Our eyes met as she described each abuse my body had endured. She continued her observation in more detail than I wanted as I stared at her with blank eyes.

"Melissa, you sustained a lot of trauma. There are bruises in your vagina and anus. Your right arm is sprained, and several of your ribs are bruised. You also have multiple lacerations—including your lip, which is split. I gave you an antibiotic. It will help with any infections. I’m also prescribing…"

Once again, someone else was making the decision of what they thought they knew I needed. No one needed to tell me my injuries—I’d lived it. I didn't want to relive the details again.

I just wanted to disappear.

I couldn't listen anymore. All the pain in the world wouldn't compare to the pain I felt in my heart. The rape was more than a physical attack. The marks on my skin served as a reminder of a night of terror. It was the hidden scars locked into my memory that would haunt me. I was no longer the Melissa Summers with a dream but now Melissa Summers, the violated rape victim—shattered beyond repair.

As hard as I tried to drown her out, Dr. Caller pulled me back with her words. I overheard the conversation she had with the nurse. She wanted me admitted for observation for the night and possibly the next. Dr. Caller had more concerns about my mental state than my physical injuries. She knew my body would heal but emotionally, she worried I would have difficulties since I still hadn’t uttered a word since being brought to the ER.

The words echoed off the walls as the fog that surrounded me lifted. I didn't care about the why and what they were doing—I just wanted the voices to stop. I needed the room, people, and bright white light gone.

I searched again until I found my clock and begged for its warm embrace. The gracious clock forbade entrance to anyone else—this was my safe place. The words of pain and punishment were banished outside the welcomed heartbeat. The ticks lulled me into peace and took me somewhere else.