Jaime

Slowly, Jaime raised her head.  She examined herself in the pale, autumn moonlight.  Standing half-naked in front of the mirror had always brought her some artificial sense of arousal.  A long time ago, bare skin would have raised the goose bumps on the back of her neck, almost immediately, creating perverse sexual desires deep inside her imagination.  She could then lay for hours on end, fully stimulated and ready to perform.  But that was a then; she had to live in today’s reality.  Men required more than just a good lay.  They wanted to spoon, to delve into hours of foreplay with no end in sight.  Hoping to spread their seed, in a shower of glory, at the last possible moment.  1

As she zipped up her low-cut jeans, a thousand memories flashed before her eyes.  It had not always been like this.  She could remember her early childhood, long before she had heard the words “pornography” or “contraception”.  Back when she would run outside for hours, bathing in the crisp August sunlight.  She could still remember her first crush.  His name was Simon.  He had the dreamiest blue eyes and a thick head of curly, brown hair.  Daily she would bask in his presence, during her afternoon free period.  Back then, for her, life couldn’t get any better.  That was then…2

As the memories came back, her eyes flooded with tears.  How it all had began, she still could vividly remember.  She had been walking home from a movie, late one Friday night.  It happened so fast, she could barely recite the order of events.  First, he had struck her on the back of her head.  Dizzy, she struggled to fight him off, but he just kept coming.  She kicked and screamed with every ounce of her fabric, but he wouldn’t let go.  Simon raped her.  Behind a lilac bush, under the veil of darkness, her perfect world shattered into a thousand pieces, reflecting her innocence for all the world to see.  And yet, nobody believed her.  She pleaded.  She begged.  She screamed out, and nobody would believe her.  3

The hatred began to boil inside; the anger consumed her.  She dropped out of school, and found what she thought, was a way to escape the pain.  Ah yes, her way out.  Every night, she replaced her anger with empty passion.  Soon the anger had seeped away, leaving an empty, emotionless shell.  With every attempt to try and rekindle strength, a little piece of her died.  4