second time's the charm

This all that I remember from September 7th; the day of my second, and most vicious rape.

My bottom lip was cut. I bit down on it when they grabbed me from behind and one man covered my mouth with his calloused hand. He said these words: "We'll kill you if you scream." I remained motionless. "You understand? If you scream you're dead." I nodded my head silently. My arms were pinioned to my sides by one of the men's left arm wrapped tightly around me and my mouth was covered with his right.
He released his hand from my mouth.
I screamed. Rapidly. Abruptly.
He covered my mouth again. They kneed me in the back of my legs so that I would fall face down. "You don't get it, puta. I'll fuckin' kill you. I got a knife. I'll kill you." He released his grip on my mouth again and I fell, yelling, on the pavement. One man, I would later find out was called Juan, straddled me and kicked me in the side. I made noises, but they were nothing, they were soft footfalls. They urged the man on, they made him dominate. I scrambled on the pavement. I was wearing soft-soled sneakers, and every kick merely grazed him.
Somehow, I do not remember how, I made it back onto my feet. I remember biting him brutally, my teeth sharp razors, and tasting his blood, punching him, anything. But, it was useless. Three Mexicans, and one tiny girl? We all know the outcome of this match. One reached out and grabbed the tufts of my blonde hair. He yanked it hard and brought me down onto my knees in front of him. That was my first missed escape.
"Puta, you asked for it now," one man said, and heard myself begin to beg.
The man reached around to his back pocket to draw out a knife. I struggled still, my hair pulling out painfully from my skull as I tried to rip myself free from his grip.
Suddenly the darker man, Juan, shoved the back of my head, and I was on the ground on my stomach. He
sat on my back. He pounded my skull into the pavement. Once, Twice. I would have a concussion I knew. He cursed me in Spanish (Que te jodan!, Puta, Skonka.). He turned me around and sat on my chest. I was crying. I was begging. This is where he wrapped his hands around my neck and began to squeeze. For a second, I lost consciousness. When I came to, I knew I was staring up into the eyes of the man who could and would kill me.
At that moment I signed myself over to him. I was convinced that I would not live. I couldn't fight any longer. They were going to do what they wanted to me. That was it.
Everything slowed down. He stood up and began dragging me over the grass by my left forearm.
I twisted and half crawled, vainly attempting to keep up with him. Dimly, I could see the other men smiling and walking after us. A rush of fear ran through me. Would I be gang raped?
As I scrambled in the grass, the men circled me.
"Stand up," Juan said.
I did.
I was shivering uncontrollably. It wasn't cold out, but combined with the fear, with the exhaustion, made me shiver from head to toe.
"Take off your clothes."
"I have one-hundred dollars back home," I said.
"I don't want your money," he said, and they all laughed.
I looked at him. Into his eyes now, as if he was human, as if I could speak to him, plead my case.
"Please don't rape me," I said.
"Take off your clothes."
My hands were shaking and I couldn't control them. He pulled me forward by my belt loops until my body was pressed against his. He drew my head forward and our lips met. My lips were pursed tightly together. He tugged harder on my shorts, my body pressing up further against his. He grabbed my hair in his fist and balled it up. He drew my head back and stared at me, the others chortling.
"Please don't," I said. "Please."
"Shut up."
He kissed me again and this time, he managed to get his tongue into my mouth. By pleading, I had left myself open to this. He unzipped the khaki shorts I wore.
"Now take off your shirt."
I had a t-shirt on. I took that off. I wasn't wearing a bra. The men seemed entertained by this fact.
He reached out and grabbed my breasts in his hands. He plied them and squeezed them, twisting.
"Lie down."
I did. Shaking, I crawled over and lay face up against the warm, tickling grass. He pulled my underwear off me roughly and bundled them into his hand. He threw them away from me and I didn't dare look to see where they had gone. I watched him as he unzipped his pants and let them fall around his ankles.
I heard the laughter again. Yells and taunts in their native tongue.
As he worked himself against me, with more and more friction, I kept silent and still. He was hard enough and plunged himself inside me. The other two men had somehow managed to grip my arms, my breasts, keeping me pinned to the ground. He made noises and rammed it in. Rammed it and rammed it and the other men squeezed my breasts, and kissed me, and one chose to indulge himself by rubbing his groin against the side of my head.
And then it was over. He came and slumped into me. I lay under him. My heart beating wildly. My brain thinking of poetry, of language, of sleep, of B. Nothing erased this memory from my mind. They watched me stand on wobbly legs, dress, and wipe the blood from my eyes. They let me leave. They didn't kill me.

You don't know how much I wished they had. Two days later I attempted suicide, the bullet just barely missing my temple. I was sent to the psychiatric ward. And really, once suicide enters your mind, you and the reality surrounding you, is never the same.

beat me steadily

I sort of boycotted the physical act of writing for months. I think I was scared of what might spill out. I've been away for quite awhile, but I am finally ready to settle down and write:

In the room I was raped, a bedroom that belonged to me: where it was a supposed safety net, a bosom buddy, where secrets were passed. Instead, here's Ed, in front of me, who has shared so many of my memories, and violated my body in so many ways.

This is what I remember. My lips were wet with blood and spit. He had kissed me brutally, after he had grabbed me from behind and left a bruise on my arm. He said these words: "Jane, my best girl, if you don't scream I won't hurt you." I nodded my head silently. My arms were pinioned and pressed against his belly, and his hot breath was spilling into my ear.

He released my arms. I screamed D's name. Quickly. Abruptly. The struggle began. I had good aim, and whacked him on the cheek, but that didn't deter him. He kneed me in the stomach, so I would fall back onto my bed. "You don't get it, Jane. You are my best girl. Remember?" He gripped my short hair tightly and straddled me. I scrambled for purchase of something, anything. I wanted nothing but out. I made sounds, little noises, they were nothing but soft droplets. They urged him on, they made him righteous and hard. He flipped me around on the bed, and kissed me again, his eyes open and taunting. For a moment, I lost consciousness. When I came to, I knew I was staring into the eyes of my former molester, and now into the eyes of my rapist.

In that single moment, I feel like I signed myself over to him, I was convinced I couldn't fight anymore. He was going to rape me while D was downstairs frying her hair with color. That was it.

I remember him undressing me rapidly, eagerly. I wasn't a virgin, I knew the procedure. He continued kissing my lips like they were newborns, and caressing my body like it was a foal. He pulled me forward by belt, before unbuckling it, so I could feel his hardness. I swallowed my vomit.
"Please," I said. "Please don't Ed."
"You already asked for it."
 I watched him unzipped his own pants and let them fall to his ankles. He laid down on top of me, and started humping me, before inserting his penis. I was dry, and I felt the nausea swimming in my stomach. In my brain, I never stopped apologizing. It was serene up there, and there were poems, and wild animals waiting. I tried, as numbness overtook me, to recite one of the poems. I moved my lips, but no sound came out.

He made noises, and rammed his hips in and out, in and out, grunting with each thrust. And then it was over. He came and slumped over me. I laid under him, my heart fluttering wildly. My brain feeding me poetry, new books I wanted to read, Gary, anything. I began to shake again, and he moved off of me like a snake. He looked at me, and bent down to hand me my clothes. He moved aside and stood up, zipping and buttoning his pants. Easily. Like nothing irregular had occurred.

He held my underwear out to me, and I slid them on cautiously. Then he handed me my pants and shirt. I stood up and put them on, almost falling back from lack of balance. I needed to lean on my bed to pull my pants up. I was worried about my face, the bruise would be noticeable by any passerby. I couldn't control that, anymore than I could control the situation.
"D's hair is probably finished now..." I whispered, shoving my shirt over my head, so I didn't have to look at his expression.
He watched me. He laughed. "She probably does need you, my best girl."
"Can I leave now?" I asked.
"Come here, and kiss me goodbye," he intoned. I kissed him. I had no freewill anymore. It left me, and I believed in that.

After, I remember pushing aside what happened, and giggling with D as I rinsed the hair dye from her hair, and watched the fake color whine down the sink. I waved goodbye to the both them, smiling. I shut the door and ran upstairs, fiddled around my bathroom counter, and found my razor. I cut, and cut.

I was aware of nothing but a release. This was the one thing I required. That was all.