Scars of the soul

That’s the thing about this city, it’s the place I hate the most and yet the one I can’t imagine leaving. Everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be, everything is where it’s always been. I’m the one who doesn’t fit. Everyone has an opinion on who I am and who I’m supposed to be. But how can others know me, if I don’t know myself?

“She’s too perfect”

“Why doesn’t she live a little?”

“She needs to relax”

“She’s so overdramatic”

BUT HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?

How can you know what it feels like? How would you know how it feels to be ashamed of your own reflection? To want to scrape your skin away, because you feel so dirty, so impure, an amount of filth that no soap can ever wash away. 

It was years ago, but is there really an expiration date for pain?

And now I was there, the place that changed everything. 

I used to love the beach.

I still remembered how it used to feel like: the warm sand touched my bare feet as I walked on the sea’s edge. I used to be so stressed, school was overwhelming and the pressure of an unknown future wouldn’t let me sleep. I almost laughed at the thought of that silly girl whose only worries were school and the future. And back then, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore wiped it all away. The sharp stones used to cut my feet, but it didn’t matter: the blue and immense sea was all my mind could think of. The chilly wind gently brushed my hair as I closed my eyes and savored the shy sun that caressed my face. And the smell, that salty and fresh smell that tickled my nostrils, was my favorite smell in the world.

It reminded me of the sea. Of long walks beside loving grandparents. Of joyful laughter among friends. 

It reminded me of home. 

But then, everything changed. 

That smell I used to yearn now chokes me, the warm sand burns my skin and the stones bruise my soul. Because I remember that one terrifying night just as clearly as a lifetime of happy memories.

I recall every single detail. I was so happy, it was such a fun night: the summer was about to end and my friends and I had decided to join a party on the beach to celebrate our last night of freedom.

“Tonight is all that matters” was our motto. Plus, the boy I had been messing around with all summer was there too! It had seemed like such a blessing at the time, a lucky coincidence that meant I could finally lose my virginity. And God only knew how much I wanted that: it would mean that I was mature and my body wouldn’t be untouched anymore. Not to mention how cool I would be, leaving behind the title that my friends had given me: “virgin Elin”. I was going to change that, I had had enough of being the last maiden of my friend group. And that night had presented the perfect opportunity. All we needed was a dark and private corner far from the party and boom! Magic would happen. 

It was the perfect plan, and it worked, for the most part. Just not in the way I had imagined. 

I dragged him away from the party, my hand in his, our lips clashing as soon as we were hidden from sight. We landed on the cold sand, not even bothering to protect our tangled bodies with a towel. We kissed and laughed and it was magical. 

Until it wasn’t. 

He started moving his hands up my tights, a little higher each passing second, reaching under my short skirt, and I tried to suppress a chill of discomfort. 

What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t I enjoying this? 

His lips traced a path down my neck, his hands now fondling my breast. I let out a pained breath, my forehead frowning and my instinct shouting at me to close my legs and run, run, run. The moment the tip of his fingers brushed my nipples, a cold shiver coursed through my spine. 

And that was when I decided that I couldn’t do it. 

It didn’t matter that my friends would mock me for my fear, that I would probably regret it later on. All that mattered was that I needed to breathe, I needed to get rid of his weight that was now crushing me, I needed-

My lungs stopped working, my mind spinning in a thousand different directions. 

“Stop” I whispered, just barely managing to find my voice. 

Nothing happened. One of his hands still rested on my breast, while the other had returned to exploring my inner thigh.

“Stop” I repeated, a little louder this time. “Please, stop! I don’t want to do this-”

His bitter laugh interrupted my plea, while my hands pressed to his chest and I pushed and pushed and pushed with all the strength I could gather. 

He didn’t move. 

“Com’on baby, you wanted this before” he whispered in my ear, his rough lips brushing my cheek and his breath scratching my face like claws. 

I had wanted it before. But I didn’t want it now, I wasn’t ready. 

But, apparently, what I wanted didn’t matter. 

He wouldn’t stop.

I tried to scream, to get help from someone, anyone, but his hand quickly muffled the sound, preventing the warm summer air from getting to my lungs. 

I was suffocating. 

I brought my hands to his, a desperate attempt to shoving him away from me. 

And then, when an acute pain unleashed from my most private part, I stopped fighting. I just laid there, every muscle in my body screaming in pain and powerlessness as the cold sand scratched my back and knotted my perfectly arranged hair. My hands laid at my sides, lifeless, while my eyes stared into the endless sea, its rhythmic waves that I had once loved were now a painful reminder of the slow passing of time. 

And I just laid there. 

My body filled with rage, my soul barely acknowledging the pain. 

And I hated myself for it. I should have fought, I should have been more careful, I should have refused his advances, I should have worn a something else, I should have- 

HE should have stopped. 

He should have respected my choice. 

He should have respected me, my body. 

But he didn’t, and now I was to blame. 

“You went in that corner with him, what did you expect?” was all I had heard each time I tried to talk about what had happened. 

So I stopped talking. 

And I was now facing the infinite blue once more, years and years after that tragic night, unable to set foot on the warm sand without feeling it cold and rough against my back. Unable to hear the sound of those waves I had once loved without counting the seconds passing. 

Unable to breathe without breaking.

“Tomorrow” I promised myself, “Tomorrow will be the day I will walk on that beach without shame”

Those were the words I recited every day, like a prayer. Words that had proved false, every day. 

Today was no different: I turned my back to the stormy sea and started walking towards that city. A city that I hated but refused to leave.