How it all came to be

“Beauty provokes harassment, the law says, but it looks through men's eyes when deciding what provokes it.”

I was young. I had a successful job, made more than I had any right to right out of the gate. I lived in a huge house, half of which no one ever used. I was independent and excited about my life. I didn’t know how lucky I was. How innocent and carefree I was. I was fresh out of the military, I thought I had my whole life ahead of me. I was serious about travelling to Europe. I love the history, the art.

Now? Well let’s just say I lost it all. And in doing so I found something much more important. I found out what I am made from. And let me tell you: It’s been forged in my own personal Hell.

I went to dinner with him. He was charming. He made me laugh and made me blush. Not in an overly sexual way, by holding my chair and being the perfect gentleman. I should have known right then that the red flags were flying. Flapping in tornado strength winds, actually.

He took me out to eat several more times, we went to the movies. Nothing he ever did even hinted, even breathed, at what he was thinking. No, that would come later.

He took me somewhere, somewhere I won’t disclose, and what happened that night I can’t truly attest to. I know he drugged me, and I have brief flashes of memory. Crystal clear fragments mired in a murky haze. Him pushing me out of my chair. Ripping my shirt. Hitting me when I pushed him. Cutting my jeans, a sharp pain in my leg. My head knocked to the side, staring at the American flag. Tugs and jerks, and a stabbing pain where no one had touched before. Confusion, and pain. He kept holding me down and talking nonsense. Then peace when the drugs and his blows put me under.

I woke up at home. He told me I didn’t hold my liquor and passed out. I cut my leg on my beer bottle when I fell. I felt so thick headed and dizzy I didn’t question his soft words and concerned face. I let him make me breakfast.

Then came the week I hurt my leg and went to the er. My life tipped onto its ear when I heard the scariest words of my life. “I have to tell you that you are pregnant. You need to make an ob apt.”

OH GOD