Natalie Fern Bell (lastxtrainhomex) wrote,
Natalie Fern Bell

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16 Years Long

16 Years Long
-Natalie Fern Bell

I was sitting on the bleachers against the far wall of the auditorium, eating my daily lunch; pop tarts. I was listening to Ani DiFranco writing in my journal about the women I’d loved over the years. He walked up and sat next to me, read over my shoulder until I eventually noticed he was there. I took my head phones off, startled. He asked, “What are you doing?” I said, “Writing, what does it look like I’m doing?” He looked at his hand, picked at a scab on his thumb, “I don’t know, writing, I guess.” I put my pen down and closed my journal, rested my forearms on it, I slumped over, “I guess?” He laughed slightly and picked at his scab furiously, “Yeah, it looks like you’re avoiding somebody.” I turned off my personal CD player and shoved it into my messenger bag, “I’m not avoiding anybody, I just like sitting here.” His thumb began to bleed and he sucked on the blood, “You like sitting here?” He said in-between blood gulps. I looked at him, feeling almost irritated, slightly curious, “Yeah, I do, is there something wrong with that?” “No,” he said, “No, nothing wrong with that, just weird.” He wiped the remaining blood on his faded blue jeans. “Well, I guess I’m weird.” He sucked on his blood again, then began to bite his nail, “Why are you avoiding people?” I looked at him, I figured he couldn’t understand a damn thing I said anyway, “I just don’t like to put myself into situations where I can get hurt.” He bite into his nail, spit it out onto the bleachers in front of us, “So you don’t like to put yourself into situations where you can feel good?” I laughed and began to stand up, gather my things, my hair fell in my face, I pushed it behind my ear, “I feel fine.” He looked at me with puppy dog eyes, “You don’t look fine.” I looked at him and I picked my books up off the bleacher, “What is that supposed to mean?” He reached out and touched the scars on my arms. I pulled my arm from him and put on my coat, “I’m just fine.” I began to walk away from him, heading toward the exit at the end of the gym floor. He stood up and followed me. I was walking fast and he quickened his pace to walk with me, he put his hand out to stop me, but also reaching for a shake, “I’m Rick.” I looked at him with my slight sneer, “I’m leaving.” He laughed, with his persistence, “Well, Miss. Leaving would you like to go out with me?” I stopped, tapped my foot against the floor, looked at the door urgently then back at him, “Fuck off.” The way I said it, it almost sounded like a question. He grabbed my hand, took his black gel pen, wrote on the backside his number. “Call me sometime.” My angered eyebrows released, “I’m Natalie.” He smiled, “Natalie, can I buy you something other than strawberry pop tarts?” I laughed and put on my hand warmers, “No, I really have to go.” He put his hand on my arm, “Where are you going?” I laughed, he really was like a needy puppy, “To see my girlfriend.” He laughed, “Yeah, I heard about that.” My arm tensed up as I tightened my fist, and pulled myself away from him, “Is that why you’re talking to me?” I looked around the gym, then back at him, “Yeah, you can tell your friends I’m a dyke.” I walked away, out the exit, he followed me with a slow trot. “No, I’m talking to you because I’d like to get to know you.” I looked at him, frustrated, “I don’t fuck guys, so if you’re trying to get to know my cunt then you need to just fuck off.” He looked at me, I saw his face shift into a hurt look, “No, I didn’t want to get to know your cunt, sorry.” He started to walk away. I began to follow after him, what was I doing? I stopped him, “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, my guard’s just up today. Shitty week, you know?” He looked at me hesitantly, “What happened?” I looked around the hall, ran my hand through my hair again, a nervous habit. “Um, I’ve just been fighting with my parents a lot, trying to figure out who I am, growing up, hormones, teenage angst, the normal shit.” He laughed, “Yeah, me too.” (2 months later)

I was standing in the middle of Rick’s house. I was surrounded by what were supposedly “cool” kids. There was one guy in the living room karaoke growling to Taking Back Sunday, when did they become so mainstream? I was drinking beer, Budweiser, the shit that America was built on. People are always so proud of America, little do they know it was built on slaves, and lies, and blood; you know they‘ll never be able to scrub this country clean. “Hey, you wanna do a line?” She was hot, punk, hardcore, whatever, I didn’t know the difference between these labels. She had black finger nails and black eye liner and black Mohawk… she was fine. “Yeah…” I was afraid I sounded over eager, I was scared shitless really, but… whatever. She took the rolled up dollar bill and placed it inside my nostril, I placed my left index finger against the other side of my nose and snorted. It burned and it felt like it was tearing my sinuses apart, a head ache that blurred my entire life into a dollar bill, and then I felt okay. I felt beautiful, I felt desirable, I felt like, “Suck on this New York.” I ran my hands through my hair, I felt every piece of my life rush back into my mind, all that shit that had just moments ago been blurred down to a dollar bill came rushing back and it hit me hard like that god damn hurricane hit Florida, and it wiped out every brain cell. And I was so god damn happy and then I was so god damn pissed off at every person who’d ever jumped right in to take a stab at me, and then I was so fucking angry at myself for letting them, and I was so angry for letting myself down. I felt my body lie down onto a futon mattress, it had a stench of ammonia and sex. I felt his hand slide up my stomach. His hand. I wanted my brain to stop spinning for just two seconds, stop spinning, just give me two fucking seconds, just… And I couldn’t grasp my thoughts and I was scared, my leg convulsing, his fingers, those hands that had once bled on the bleachers, tearing at my jeans like a wild animal. “Stop,” I couldn’t even hear myself, “STOP!” I screamed and he laughed, tugged off my jeans. He cupped my ass in his hands and dug his nails in. And that girl, that beautiful girl was smiling as she kissed me. “don’t kiss her back,” I felt myself think but my body doesn’t care what’s right or wrong it only cares what feels good. I placed my hands on her face trying to pull her on top of me, but she pulled away. “oh god…” I felt myself think, pubic hair brushing against my thighs, thick, not like mine which is absent most of the time. Those aren’t hands. Those aren’t my hands. I gripped the futon with my nails, I tried to pull away, but my body didn’t seem to care. He pushed his cock into my cunt and I felt my intestines scream for mercy, my internal organs wanting to get this shit out of me. I felt my stomach turn as he pumped his dick inside my body, like I had a space that he needed to fill. My throat tightened, I couldn’t breathe, my head pounded, my body attempted to purge this foreign object out of me; vomit seeping down my neck onto my shirt that my mom bought me earlier that day, she thought I was going to some chicks birthday party, she wanted me to look nice. “mommy…” I heard myself whisper another hard thrust inside me. A man’s body is a tool, this man’s body is a weapon, anything is a weapon if you hold it right. He grabbed me by my hair and tugged my head back, shoved my face into my vomit and I purged again. “mommy…” I cried, I was so scared. I was so tough just moments before all this, invincible, beautiful, strong, a woman. A woman, resilient and strong, the most beautiful creature of them all. He pounded into me harder, shoving his head inside my cervix slicing through what little virginity I had left with his dick that felt like a sword. “do you like that you fucking dyke?” he whispered with a slight smile then grabbed my face with his fist, “do you like dick? Huh?” he thrusted inside me harder. I closed my eyes and grit my teeth and screamed against my breath. He shoved his cock farther inside me…. There are things worse than death. His hand now wrapped around my throat his thumb pushing in on my air ways, his dick pumping faster inside me. “now how does it feel you fucking bitch?” He grip tightened, “do you wanna suck it you fucking slut?” I closed my eyes real tight, if I can’t see it, it can’t be there, right? His dick was hard and pulsing against my teeth, it was red, meaty. His taste clinging to my tongue. He pushed his head against my throat causing me to gag again but there was nothing there. His grip on my throat tightened as he shoved my head against his cock and I felt him cum inside my throat, seeping into my sinuses and down into my stomach, leaking down to infect my insides. I threw up all over his dick, he laughed, released my throat and threw me down, I missed the futon and hit the cement floor of his living room tucked quietly in his parents basement. He took the sheet off the mattress and wiped hands, scrubbed his dick clean of cum and vomit, zipped up his pants. I saw the black haired girl scoop me up off the floor, she grabbed my shoulders, he grabbed my ankles and they dragged me out to his car. They drove me out to a site ready to be built on; a new life, new dreams, a fresh start, but not for me. He pulled me out of the back seat by my ankles and dropped me onto the ground, my head hitting the side of the car on the way down. He laughed and slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. The black haired girl lit a cigarette and stared, smiling through her black lipstick. He picked me up, put my head between the car door and the car itself, the lower half of my bottom still stretched out across the ground like a limp doll. He kissed my bloodied lips and slammed the door against my head crushing my skull. Your life goes by pretty fast when it’s only 16 years long and on rewind. When it was over there was static and then nothing but black.
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