I look down at Mom where she’s still sitting in a pathetic ball on the floor. She holds her arms out to me. “Help me up, baby.”
“You sold me.”
It’s not a question. She said as much. For unlimited access to money and drugs. She only had a problem with it when her supply was cut off.
“He promised he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want,” she says. “Now come on, help Mommy up and we can go home and put all this behind us.” She tries to get up by herself but falls back down on her ass again.
Wow.
“God, Sarah, let’s go somewhere,” Dominick says. “Just let me explain.”
I scoff and shake my head at him.
Turns out I’m seeing a lot of things clearer now. “I’m just like the fucking frog.”
“What?” Dominick’s brows knitting in confusion.
“You know, the story of the frog cooking in the pot? If you put a frog in boiling hot water, he’ll jump right out. But if you put him in cold water and then slowly heat it to boiling, he’ll stay there and get slowly cooked through. You and…” I swallow the tears threatening to choke me. “Paul had me on a slow boil from the beginning. Starting at the wedding. And I was too fucking stupid to know to jump out of the pot. That you two intended on making a meal out of me the whole time.”
“Christ, Sarah, no! That’s not how it was. Just listen—”
When he takes a step forward, I back away and lift my hand. “Don’t you dare come any closer.” The threatening tears finally come, pouring down both cheeks. “I never want to see you or your abusive bastard of a father ever again. I’m getting restraining orders against both of you. If you come within 500 feet of me, I’ll call the police. I’m staying somewhere else tonight. You and Paul better be gone by the time I get home from school tomorrow.”
With that, I turn and leave him and my mother behind.
“Sarah!” he calls after me. “Please, Sarah!”
I ignore him and continue walking down the hall. Away from him. Away from my mother. Away from the last of my innocence.
Thirteen
One Year Later
Life went on. For a few months, I didn’t think it would. I finished the semester in a daze, somehow managing to pull off B’s in most of my classes. God only knows how.
Then, not able to stand even being in the same city as Paul and Dominick, I transferred to Loyola University in Chicago so I’d never have occasion to even accidentally run into them. I also changed my major to women’s studies.
After feeling numb for a few months, I got angry. I cut my long hair short, declared I was a feminist on my Facebook page, and read a lot of Gloria Steinem.
But I could only sustain the anger for so long and what was left after that was depression and confusion. And just an intense need to understand.
How did I let it all happen and not stop earlier to question what was going on? Was I so hungry for family and the need for people to want me that I just so blindly ignored all the red flags? And why did Paul pick me out of all the women in Boston? Well obviously I was young and naïve and Paul saw a good target, but God. Was I that pathetic, like I had a giant sign on my forehead—I’m stupid and easy to manipulate?
And what about Dominick? Was he lying to me the whole time too?
I love you. I love you, Sarah. Christ, I love you so much. You’re my first and my last.
If only I could get his voice out of my head. And the memory of how his hands felt when he caressed me. When he cupped my face and curled his warm body behind me in bed, holding me so close to him like I was his lifeline.
God, was any of it real?
After everything, the months and months, the complete decimation of my heart and the explosion of my whole life, that’s the question that tortures me.
Which is completely fucking pathetic! shouts my new internal feminist. They used and abused you! They had you begging for cock like a dog on your hands and knees!
But not Dominick, another voice argues back. Sometimes he wouldn’t even let me give him head, and the one time I did he wouldn’t let me swallow. And he did everything possible to make sex all about pleasure, not pain—
But he sat right there and did nothing while his father all but raped you when he took your virginity! shouts the new, angry voice.
Not that I realized it or even knew how to vocalize that it was what was going on at the time. I thought because I eventually felt pleasure, that meant I wanted it. And I did get off so much of the time. With Dominick, every single time, often more than once.