“And then it was over… ”

She stares at me for a long time, examining me with a mix of horror, disgust, and pity. She seems frozen in shock, unable to comprehend the news I have just shared with her. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I knew she wouldn’t take what happened that night well. I just couldn’t keep it a secret from her anymore.

“Oh my god…” She finally manages. “I…that’s horrible. I can’t believe he…I thought…” She shakes her head. I can practically see all of the thoughts racing through her mind at the moment. The confusion and the sympathy and the disgust and the anger. “Why didn’t you say anything? It’s been over a week! When were you planning on telling me this? When were you planning on telling anyone this?”

“I wasn’t,” I mutter, hanging my head. I stare at my shoes, shame and fear building up inside me.

“So you weren’t gonna say anything? To anyone? You were just gonna let this all go and keep it to yourself?” She asks, containing her anger, not very well I might add. “Have you even told your parents?”

I don’t move. I can’t move. It’s like my entire body has gone limp and my brain has shut off.

She stands up and starts pacing the length of her bedroom floor. Her feet shuffle along the shaggy, pink rug, still processing what she has learned. “We have to go to the police,” she states plainly, as if it were an obvious conclusion.

I shoot up from her bed, suddenly very much alert, “No. No, we’re not doing that.” I face her fully, looking her dead in the eyes. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“You’re kidding right?” She asks, baffled. “You’re not seriously going to keep this quiet, are you?”

I stare at my shoes again. All of my energy and confidence receding. I cross my arms in front of my chest and sigh heavily, holding back my tears.

“Oh my god,” she gasps. I look at her face. Her eyes are wide open and I watch as confusion and a new sadness consume them. Her mouth hangs open, yet she can’t seem to find the right words. She finally breathes out, “I can’t believe this.”  She turns from me and starts walking to her bedroom door.

My heartbeat quickens and my stomach turns at a nauseating rate. “What are you doing?” I ask, following her. Before she reaches the door she turns to me.

I can see the pain clearly in her eyes as she stares back at me. “If you aren’t going to tell someone, then I will. I can’t just sit here and watch you break down inside. This isn’t okay!”

“No, you can’t!” I plead, frantically. “Please, I’m begging you…don’t do this.” Tears spill down my face as I speak. I can barely manage any words through my panic.

I can see the anger building up inside her. “There is no way I am just going to sit by and watch him get away with this. It isn’t fair to you, and it isn’t fair to anyone else that might fall victim to-”

“Stop!”

“Why? So I can just let you deal with all of it yourself? So I can let this all go unreported? You know 3 out of every 4-”

“JUST STOP!” I scream. She looks taken aback by my sudden outburst. And then I finally see her boil over.

“WHY ARE YOU PROTECTING HIM?”

“I’M NOT!”

“THEN WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? CAUSE IT SURE AS HELL SEEMS LIKE YOU’RE JUST LETTING HIM TAKE ADV-”

“I’M PROTECTING MYSELF.”

“HOW?”

“I’M…I’m…I” I choke on my words as my tears become too much. I’m sobbing now. “Just please…”

She stares at me intently for a long moment. I see the hurt clearly on her face as her eyes well up with tears. She shakes her head, and looks down for a moment, seeming to contemplate her next move. I hold my breath, awaiting a reaction from her. I want to tell her everything. Explain why we can’t open this up to everyone. I want to break down to her everything that is going on in my head, and body. But before I can say anything else, she turns away from me, opening her door and storming out, slamming it shut.

I slink to her floor, resting my head in my hands as I let myself cry. My body shakes with sadness and defeat as I reach my hand into my sweater pocket. I pull out the little test that has been burning a hole through my sweatshirt and my heart. Who knew that such a miniscule thing could hold so much pain and fear? It seems ridiculous that those two little lines staring back at me could bring this much ache. This much sorrow. They almost taunt me in their own sick, twisted way. I scream at the little rectangle in my hand. I scream at this situation that I have been thrown into against my will. I scream at this burden that has been placed on me.

She’s right, it isn’t fair. I throw the test across the room and curl up into a ball. I continue sobbing into my arms, like the pathetic and weak shell of a girl that I am, until I feel numb, inside and out. I’m protecting myself.