Concealer

Trigger warning: Implied sexual violence and language

Just close your eyes and wait. It can’t last long. It will be over just as soon as it started. Just keep reminding yourself of that. It will be over soon. Distract yourself from what is happening to you if you can. Think of anything else. But what? What could possibly distract you in this moment. It will stain you for the rest of your life. You will never escape the haunting lifelong trauma that you have become saddled with mere minutes. 

I crawled myself up in a ball on my bed. My face became red at tears brewed behind my eyes. I couldn't bring myself to shower again. I had already showered 3 times, but I still felt dirty. I still felt used. Nothing seemed to stop that feeling. Pain killers may have helped to suppress the pain in my throbbing wrists, but they did nothing to help the unbearable pain in my mind. Why did this have to happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? If God has a plan, then why does mine have to be so crappy.

My mother held my chin up as she examined my bruised face. “Hold your head up high today and don’t say a word to anyone at school, understand?” I shook my head yes. “Cover that eye of yours up better. I can still see the bruising.” I began to tear up as I embarked on my fruitless journey back upstairs to conceal my shame. It didn’t matter how much concealer I dabbed on my blackened eye, you could see the dirty truth peeking through. “Better?” I asked my mother. “It’ll have to do I suppose.”

I could feel the piercing eyes of every person in that hallway as they stared at me. They all knew, but none of them wanted to say it. None of them wanted to come near me. I felt like a leper they were too afraid to approach. It was too uncomfortable for them, as if it wasn’t for me. Perhaps they felt that by avoiding me, they could disassociate themselves from what happened and stop it from happening to them. Their eyes were filled with pity nonetheless. They felt bad for me. I can’t blame them I suppose, I would too. Is this what my life has come to? Everyday I will walk into this school and listen to their whispers and sighs as I pass, pretending it didn’t happen as they refuse to forget.

Not everyone felt so sorry for me I suppose. An ugly expressioned girl began to approach me as I slumped to my next class. I could feel myself shrink smaller and smaller the closer she came. “You have some kind of nerve, walking back into this place after what you did to that poor boy,” she said. What I did to that poor boy? What I did? My body felt paralyzed. My brain screamed at me to move, to speak, to respond in any way, but I couldn’t. My face fell blank and I was at a loss for words. Time seemed to slow as curious heads began to turn to watch the unfolding spectacle I found myself in the center of. Any acknowledgement of what happened to me would left me shamefaced, but this boldly accusatory statement felt beyond what I could have pictured. “Excuse me,” I finally stuttered. I began to step away when she blurted out “You know what, you little whore.” Another girl interjected, “Go away, Jenny”. “Why should I? She pay for what she did. If the law isn’t going to serve as karma, then someone should.” The second girl rolled her brown eyes, “Don’t you think the pity and hatred of everyone here is enough? Leave the slut alone.” Jenny scoffed and the two of them walked off. I could feel the tears swelling in my eyes. No one said another word. No one defended me or gave the situation the dignity it deserved by verbally acknowledging it. I ran out of the building and straight into my car. I slammed the door shut and locked it before fully allowing myself to break down. Why was everybody acting like this was my fault? I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. Why do I have to pay for the actions of one horrible man?

I drove home and stood at the door, staring at the corroded paint for a long time before finally knocking. I was greeted by my mother as she opened the door. “You’re home early. How bad was it?” She asked. “Bad,” I muttered as more salty tears ran down my face. She leaned in and hugged me. I rested my head on her shoulder and shut my eyes. I pulled away from her warm embrace and knocked a garbage bag sitting by the door. “What is that?” I asked. “Just some clothes I am getting rid of.” I opened the bag and found every tank top, pair of shorts, and skirt I owned. “Why would you try to get rid of those without asking me?” I demanded. “Well, they're just some of your more… revealing pieces of clothing. We don’t want to risk anything like that happening again.” Her vague language angered me. “Like what?" I asked sternly. She shifted uncomfortably at my question. She didn’t want to say it. “You know what. Don’t get frustrated with me. This is for your own good.” It didn’t feel like it was for my own good. Deep down inside she thought it was my fault too. I was wearing sweats that day, but that does not seem to make a difference to anyone. I don’t understand why he couldn’t just control himself. Why am I being held responsible for his missteps and cruelty? My mother soured as she saw the fresh tears forming in my red, puffy eyes. “Oh don’t be dramatic, Lizzy. I’m just protecting you. Look, I got you a new concealer!”