Chapter Sixteen: The Rape

October 28 2008, Gypsy and I were in our room, and Gypsy confessed to me that he’d had an affair with my sister. He said he wanted things between us to be a fresh start, and that he felt bad about hiding that from me.

“Okay, then” I told him, “Well, that’s worse than mine, so I’m not worried about it.”

“What did you do?” He asked

“Well,” I told him, “I worried that you might have been talking about me to other people, so I logged into your email account and skimmed the subject lines for my name. When I didn’t see my name anywhere, I logged out. That’s pretty much it. When I was in Georgia I mostly spent time working on my book and thinking about the baby.”

He started telling me again how he wanted a fresh start, and he initiated sex. Although I wasn’t necessarily interested, I saw it as an opportunity for change, and it was about 9:15 p.m. anyway, and he was about to go to work, so I allowed it.

Within the first few moments, he started…growling. He dug his nails into me painfully and he started going really rough. His torso was pressed onto me so hard I couldn’t move. I tried pushing against him. Nothing. I know I said “Stop” multiple times – but he was hurting me so much that every breath I took came out hard, so my voice sounded like a whisper. I know he realized I was in pain – he could see it on my face as he looked at me with anger in his eyes, growling. I had tears coming down my face, I couldn’t breathe, I winced with every move he made.

“P-please-s-st-stop-OW-s-st-stop!” I couldn’t even get the words out because of how roughly he was thrusting. I felt myself tear. Eventually, I just closed my eyes and waited for it to be over.

After he was done, he got up, put on his housepants, and went to the door.

“Never. Touch me. Again.” I told him.

“What’s wrong?” He said, annoyed, “Are you bleeding?”

“NEVER. TOUCH ME. AGAIN.” I repeated.

“Fine.” he spat at me, and walked through the door, “See you tomorrow.”

I looked at the clock. It was shortly after ten, he had to be at work at eleven. I laid in the bed, angry with myself, until he went to work. I didn’t want the stench of him on me, but I didn’t want to go into that shower right after him, either. Hell, I didn’t even want to be on the bed. So, considering I’d already been punished for something I didn’t do, I may as well fucking do it, so I did.

I logged into his MySpace account, and read through everything. I saved a bunch of stuff from his gmail account (which I still have today), and I had one large piece of gold of which I even printed out and saved extra copies (copies which he, regrettably, found and destroyed later on.) A message to my sister:

Gypsy: I feel bad

Sister: Why?

Gypsy: I got mad at your sister and hurt her, and made her bleed during sex.

Sister: Why?

Gypsy: She got into my emails again

Sister: Well, then, she deserved it. She should know better than to violate someone’s privacy like that.

That was all I needed. My sister and I haven’t really been on speaking terms since then, though we still visited each other. We mostly just couldn’t (and can’t) get along. I encouraged their relationship, thinking that I could get out of ours and take my son and finally be free of Gypsy. I tried to keep everything as peaceful as possible – even took family photos with Gypsy and my son literally the day after he raped me. Gypsy wasn’t even trying to initiate sex. Things, over all, were going exactly as I needed them to – until November 20, 2008, when I made a fearful discovery.

I was visiting my sister so she could see my son, and realized while driving with her that I felt carsick – a huge telltale sign for me. When we got to her house, she was talking to our grandmother on the phone, and I went to her bathroom because I knew she had pregnancy tests in there. (The one thing she has always wanted more than anything else was a baby)

And when I took it, it was positive, and I screamed.

I was pregnant with a rape baby.

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