SoMeBi

My name is SoMeBi and by August which is next month, I will be 18yrs. The first time mother suggested to get a private teacher for me was in my 14th year. I believe that with a private teacher, she would learn more; she said to dad one evening. I wasn't particularly happy about the idea of a private teacher, neither was I indifferent. Dad agreed. Why wouldn't he? He did all my mum suggested. He loved her to a fault.       I am the only child of my parents  and I am not happy about it. The private teacher resumed in the beginning of August. I could clearly remember him. I expected a "she" but it was a "he".  The proprietor of my new school recommended him. I think he is good, he looks smart; Mother said to dad after the first day.        He started with introducing himself as Donald, after mother invited him to the dinning for breakfast which he declined. I was glad because he was a total stranger.   He often smirked his tongue as he spoke, gesticulating with hands and smiling often. From time to time, he would ask if I understood. The first week had been a bit awkward, he lectured from 8 to 12 everyday excluding Saturdays and Sundays. But from the second week, I adjusted, listening more carefully and comprehending easily.       You are a brilliant girl!  He usually complimented me after I answered each question correctly.  Mother resumed her work at the City Newspaper. She was a chief editor. While dad worked at the popular Rosetorn Radio Station, in the technical section.  Sometimes he wrote sweet poems and read them aloud in his high collar pyjamas, while mother sat hugging a pillow and blushing. It was a sweet family, a successful union, blessed with a child and wealth.      I was happy I had a private teacher, I didn't have to go to school like most kids for the regular holiday lessons. *************************************************          The first time Donald molested me, nobody was home. He had a wicked smile on his face while he moved to fondle my tiny breasts, he smiled. I smiled too. I was just 12 though already in the junior secondary two. The second time, he put his tongue in my mouth and asked me to do the same. The third time, he made me hold something. It was long, attached to his body and between his legs.  He refused to tell me its name.  The fourth time he undressed me and stared at my undeveloped body  for sometime before he went on to do something very painful. So painful that I couldn't cry. He moved between my legs for what seemed like eternity, while I lay there, back to ground, shaking. My legs quivered . When he was done, he took me to the bathroom and cleaned me up. He wiped at a bright red stain on the floor. It looked like blood and I knew  it was blood. He left early that day while I lay down still refusing to cry and tried to steady my shaky legs. ************************************************* Mother came back in the evening likewise dad. The house help came around to cook and clean, occasionally coming into my room to ask what was wrong  and I will always reply "nothing".        That day, something died inside of me, something I might never be able to recover, to resurrect. Days passed, mother didn't know something had died within me. She didn't always have enough time to notice delicate things, to see in the direction of a mother! An ideal mother.    Donald had continued teaching me, but not without threatening to maim me if I ever voiced out a word to anyone about his deeds. But far from it, I didn't care if he cared. I didn't care about his reputation which is a mess and when u smiled ruefully after each threat, I discovered I wasn't afraid of him, that I would do something drastic to him.     One week after that things died in me, there was a feeling of recklessness, a massive urge to destroy, to ravage. I walked into my parents room that morning while they were preparing for work and stood by the door unnoticed. Without a second thought, without fear for Donald's threats I voiced out "Donald did something to me".    Mother had turned sharply from the dressing mirror with her lips slightly parted.          What?  Dad asked first. What did he do to you?       He touched me. He has always been touching me, when everyone is gone.       Mother stood up forcefully causing her powder palate to fall. Dad simply sat down at the edge of the bed and rubbed his head with his palms, cursing quietly. It was indeed a terrible scenario and for the first time after I was raped, I allowed those tears to choke me. I wallowed in it, then I ran up to my room and locked myself up. What was intended was good but the wrong person was chosen. The negative outcome stifled the positive outcome. After he was arrested that morning, I felt relieved but that things that died within me still refused to come back alive.