I sat with my legs crossed on my boyfriend’s bed. I had been playing Farmville on Facebook for hours and I finally decided that I needed to take a break.
I clicked on my favorites tab and selected Twitter. Signing into my account, I noticed that I had about 100 new followers and 50 direct messages.
Ever since people had found out that I was Justin’s ex, I’d become pretty popular on the internet.
Some of Justin’s obsessive fans knew more about me than he did.
I clicked the follow button for each of the people who had followed me. If I could make some fan’s day, then I’d happily oblige.
I skimmed through the direct messages.
I deleted the haters’ messages, smiled at the ones who called me pretty, and rolled my eyes when people said that I was sooo lucky to know Justin.
Lucky? More like cursed.
There’s nothing like being head over heels in love with someone, plan your whole life around them and to then hear them say: “Baby, I think we should break up. It’s not you, it’s me....well, it’s my career.”
He might as well have taken a knife dug it right in my heart and twisted it.
Of course, I didn’t let him know how much he’d hurt me. I simply smiled and wished him luck, like any good girlfriend who’s truly in love would do, but then a good boyfriend who’s truly in love would see that you were putting on a facade.
Justin sure didn’t notice, so I guess he doesn’t fall into the good-boyfriend-who’s-truly-in-love category.
I heard the sound of the garage door and I jumped. I glanced at the clock and realized that it was 6pm -- dinner time -- and I hadn’t even started cooking yet.
“Crap.” I muttered.
I shut my laptop and climbed off the bed.
I cautiously made my way down the stairs silently praying that he was in a good mood.
The sound of a slamming door told me he wasn’t.
I gulped hard and made a dash for the kitchen.
“Cate!” he said his voice gruff. “Why don’t I smell something cooking?”
He called me Cate. Oh, boy, I’m gonna get it. He only calls me that when he’s really angry.
I rummaged through the shelves pulling down a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese.
I quickly began putting the ingredients together.
Who was I kidding? Kraft Mac and Cheese cooks fast, but not THAT fast.
“Cate!” I jumped almost dropping the bowl as the voice sounded close behind me. “Did you not hear me talking to you? Are you ignoring me?”
I closed my eyes as he screamed so loud my eardrums felt like they were going to burst.
“I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry.” I muttered my voice shaky.
“Why are you stuttering?” he demanded.
I didn’t respond.
He slammed his fist on the counter top next to me.
“Because you know you didn’t do what you were supposed to do!” he answered.
He yanked me by my hair.
Sending tears to my eyes.
“Didn’t I just tell you to stop stuttering?” he screamed in my face. “Why are you crying? Answer me, bitch!”
“You s-s-scared me.”
I felt his hand come across my face.
It was like being hit by a MACK truck.
“I scared you, huh? Well maybe you need to be scared more often. Maybe then you’d do what I ask you to do.” He yelled down at me. “I took you in after that faggot, Justin, dropped you like a hot potato--”
“Don’t talk about him like that.” I said quietly.
“Did you just interrupt me!?” He shook me violently. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
I looked up at Seth.
His piercing blue eyes were ice-cold and his muscular arms tense from squeezing my small frame so hard.
He had dark brown hair and a perfect tan.
He appeared to be the dream boyfriend. Almost like the Ken dolls you play with when you’re five.
Except I don’t ever recall Ken making Barbie feel as small as a molecule.
“Did you forget what happened last week?”
I shook my head quickly.
How could I forget?
He had stolen the one thing I couldn’t back from me.
“I think you need to be reminded.” he smirked.
“No! Seth, please!” I begged.
“Please bang you? Sure.” he grinned wickedly.
He tightened his grip around my wrists until it was numb.
He dragged me up the stairs and into his bedroom where he threw me on the bed.
“Please.” I cried as tears streamed down my face. “Don’t do this to me, please. I love you.”
“LIAR!” He screamed as he backhanded me across the face. “You hate me.”
“No, I don’t.” I lied.
I did hate him. I hated him with every fiber in my body. I didn’t use to hate him, but when he raped me, I couldn’t help it. I realized he didn’t love me at all. I was just his punching bag and now his sex toy.
“You know what, I’m gonna hurt you just because you lied to me.”
I closed my eyes and tried to block what was happening out as ripped my clothes off.
My mind began to flash through memories of Justin.
We had been each other’s first everything.
First crush, first dance, first kiss, first break-up, first make-up, first love.
They say you never forget your first love, but I guess there’s an exception if you’re pop star, because Justin forgot all about me.
Still, we had shared a lot of great, romantic times together.
One of my favorites was my 13th birthday when Justin had told me how proud he was of me for deciding to stay pure until I got married.
That thought made me cry harder as I was violated.
Seth hadn’t cared what I wanted. He hadn’t given me a choice, he’d just taken my precious gift away from me.
My 13th birthday had become meaningless — the ring on my left hand a piece of junk. I’d only left it there to avoid my mother’s questions. I knew that if I took it off she’d notice.
Though, when I wore it, I felt like the world’s biggest liar.
When I sat in youth group and heard the pastor talk about how true love waits, I felt like there was a big red sign on my forehead that read:
CAITLIN BEADLES ISN’T A VIRGIN!!!
“Scream my name!” Seth said his voice husky from forcing himself on me.
“Seth!” I screamed it was really out of anger for what he was doing to me, but he took it as obedience and that’s all that matters.
When he was finally done, he climbed off of me and threw my clothes at me.
“Get out of here, bitch.”
I slid on my clothes.
My whole bottom half aching from being abused.
I walked stiffly out to my little old Volvo and buckled myself in.
I drove up the streets of Stratford, Ontario.
I stopped by Grandma’s Goodies, a little Mom and Pop bakery that I went to often.
It wasn’t because I was hungry, but because my mom had asked me to bring home a fresh loaf of bread.
I parked my car and forcing my injured thighs to act right, I walked into the store. The aroma of freshly made pastries filled the air.
“Caitlin!” Mrs. Jones, the daughter-in-law of the owner greeted. “How are you?”
“Fine.” I smiled politely.
“That’s good. I’ve already gotten your mama’s order ready.” she smiled. “And there’s an extra doughnut to help you celebrate.”
Mrs. Jones winked.
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I thanked her anyway.
I got back in my car and drove home.
I was still unsure of what Mrs. Jones was talking about and then it hit me, to day was my Sweet Sixteen.
I suddenly felt sick.
I’d been raped on my sixteenth birthday and the only guy I truly loved was nowhere to be found.
Happy birthday to me.