The Victim Part 1

Amnesia. There was a fancy term for the kind of amnesia, but I can’t really remember it. Some kind of temporary forgetting of recent things. My doctor says i’ll recover, but I know he’s lying to me. Its weird though. I wasn’t so good at telling when people were keeping things from me, but now I can clearly see that he’s grinning at me from behind his eyes. Like he thinks somehow i’m funny. He thinks he’s being real deceptive too, which almost makes me want to giggle.

“We need to talk about what he did to you.” My doctor had a way of always getting right to the point. I thought that doctors were supposed to know how to make people feel invited or comfortable. He was pretty shit at his job if that were true.

“You know this already. He raped me.” I hardly had any trouble thinking about the idea and hardly any trouble talking about it. I felt a little sick, knowing that some person over powered me, at home, but I thought rape would be more dramatic than it actually was.

“I know. We all know, but I think it would be easier for you if you walked through it.”

I immediately felt uncomfortable. My stomach twisted involuntarily and I crossed my legs in the soft red chair. I kept my eyes on the glass table in between us, polished, and perfect. I wondered how something so easily dirtied could just be something everyone kept on display like that, begging for someone to break it or dirty it…and then it’s like some sort of indignation that responds to someone taking the invitation. Everyone want to touch a glass table. Everyone wants to–

“Jared, i’m going to need you to look at me.” His voice was soft and cooing, and it cut off my thoughts. I looked up at him.

“Let’s start with something easy. What were you doing that day?”

I think back. I had been watching a crime drama. I can’t remember exactly what. But I was sitting there when he came in through the window. Good idea too. I always left the damn thing open. I liked fresh air. I don’t think about it too much now. I think about why it feels so strange holding my kitchen knife with my right hand rather than my left. I wonder why it’s so hard to write my name on paper anymore…or strange to see my face in the mirror.

Well the window was open the breeze was good, because I lived near I lake. The tv was blaring, but my neighbors weren’t annoying about it. And I was sitting in my pajama bottoms and a wife beater, watching the television.

“Out loud.” My doctor snapped. He seemed impatient with me. I looked at his eyes now and he seemed angry, unhappy, a little sad actually. I don’t know why that tickled me more than him laughing at me, secretly in his own thoughts.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, and I realized I had been smiling but I didn’t stop. I uncrossed my legs.

“It was the knife that hit my neck first. Big blade right against here” I slapped my neck hard, and it would probably get red soon, “and before saying a word he just ran his tongue nice and sloooooooow against my face like I was some big ice cream cone.” I looked at him, enjoying the still clinical look in his eyes, mingled now with shock and a bit of fear, “I probably tasted like cream or strawberries because he pushed me back into the room and onto the nearest couch and started licking me all over.”

Suddenly I felt funny. I felt warm all over and then a little sick,

“Some times I imagine that he has my face. That I enjoyed doing that to myself.” I felt like I was going to be sick all over the floor.

“It’s actually quite common to have sexual arousal from your rape.” He begins, “would you like to stop?”

The amnesia hits me in the strangest ways. Like I can’t remember what happened immediately after the rape. I don’t remember this doctor’s name off the top of my head, like i’ve never been seeing him. I don’t remember the rapist’s face, like he’d ripped it out of my mind when he slid that blade down low to slice–

“I’m not aroused by what he did to me. I’m aroused by doing it. I want to do what he did to me to…” I looked up at my doctor who’d glanced down to write something in his book. I felt an antsy feeling in the back of my head…like bugs crawling all over and i just wanted to take that notebook from him

“him?” He offered

I nodded, but I didn’t really think it mattered who, really. I just don’t want to feel so weak. I want to make someone else suffer. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me.

“He really seemed to like to rub up against me through the clothes. He did that for such a long time, looking me right into my eyes while he did it, grinding fast and rough in his sweats against my pajamas.” and then I found myself getting properly aroused and the doctor was frowning at me now, openly.

“Jared, how would you describe him, the man who raped you?” He asked suddenly, pen in his mouth, book down, and his eyes fixed on mine.

“Strong, well built, rough.” I could only remember what he felt like against me, not what he looked like. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t remember what he smelt like either. I read about other victims and they all said he smelled like beer or sweat or anything. They always knew what he smelled like. I can only remember what I smelled like. I smelled like a fresh bath, like exfoliating soap. He just felt big, warm, heavy, and desperate.

“Still having trouble with his face?”

I glanced up at the clock and my session was over so I got up and collected my jacket. My doctor liked to keep these thing going as long as he could but I preferred to be done with the amount of psychiatry I “needed.” That and I didn’t like spending too much time with him. He made me think about things I didn’t like to think about here

“Doc, it seems it’s that time again.” I said, excusing myself.

“I decide when the sessions are over.” I heard him grunt behind me. I would have turned around to look at him, but that’d just get me all riled up. He liked to assert his dominance. I liked that.

“Yeah, well I pay you to decide that sort of stuff so in fact I decide everything you do with me, Doc.”

I paused to see if he’d say anything more, but he didn’t. He just shuffled his papers.

At home I find myself laying in my bed, thinking about my doctor. He was so young for someone in his profession. 32 maybe. He seemed like such a sexual kind of guy, even though he tries to hide it from me. Sometimes he’ll cross his legs when he talks to me or touch his neck, and swallow and I just know what it is he wants. What a sick bastard. Preying of the raped. I grinned. Rubbing my palm on the lower part of my stomach softly.

I thought i’d be less sexual since that man raped me, but I felt even more sexual than ever. And Doc just did it for me. That pale skin, squared shoulder, pink cheeks. I could just—My hand slid down and unbuttoned the front of my jeans—I could just bite right into his creaming neck. My hand ran over the thin cotton of my briefs but when I grabbed a hold of myself I felt sick suddenly. I was sweating and rushing to the bathroom and throwing up.

I was still very aroused, but I stared at the chunks of vomit in the toilet bowl. I just pressed my briefs into the cold porcelain of the toilet hoping it would go away.

This kept happening. This was the only dramatic part of the rape I felt, but it always felt so strange. Like I never thought about him and got sick. I never felt anything when I thought of him, except contempt. All I had to do was just get aroused and want to touch myself—I was throwing up in the toilet again. It was almost like I was being punished.

That stupid Doctor should talk about that. Maybe he should suck my dick….and I was getting even more aroused and I found myself grabbing hold of dick, and stroking it as I threw up int the toilet. I went at it until I was dry retching and I’d come all over my hands and the toilets. Then I laid on the cold floor of a bit, still wet and sticky…

After my shower I sat down in the living room.

I felt bored.

I had been given time off from work at the University, in light of my rape, but to be honest I felt like it was more of a punishment. I had all this time floating around and nothing to do. I flicked on the television by sitting down in front of it and muttering, “on” and cartoons were playing. I couldn’t remember watching them yesterday, but the doctor says that’s normal. Forgetting little things while you’re trying to remember the big ones, is how he put i think. I flipped through the channels by waving my arm until the images were blurred and I was lost somewhere in my mind.

I felt so empty. The only time I felt right was when I was with the Doctor. I felt right thinking about him or about the rape. I think something might be wrong… I might be wrong. Or everything else is wrong

i didn’t know what I should be doing. The curtains were ugly. The carpet was cheap. The place smelled like orange air fresheners. The chair was too close to the TV. I didn’t like the food I bought.

Everything was so irritating.

I needed to go out. Outside wasn’t much better though. This place felt like a bad part of a fantasy I wanted until this very moment. Everything looked fake and I just wanted to start a fire right in the middle of– I spotted Danielle. She’s this girl I used to have work with. I didn’t know she lived around here. I saw her from afar but instead of walking up to her…i just found myself watching her. Just…watching. She was walking her dog, a nasty thing that always barked at me.

Danielle had a flat nose, and thin liney lips. She was a very tiny sort of girl. The kind that you could curl up in your hand if you wanted to. Not particularly beautiful, but not ugly either. She reminded me of my mother. It’s strange. I remember my mother vividly…but I don’t remember seeing her for such a long time.

Danielle stood around on her phone, out of the light of a streetlamp, the glow lighting up her gaunt features. I walked closer to her in the dark, choosing my steps carefully, listening, and watching her bumble around in the dark. I was upon her now and she didn’t even know. That made me giggle. She jolted when I reach out to touch her.

“Oh Jesus!” She said at first, staring at me blankly. It was like for a second she didn’t recognize me.

“Danielle?” I asked, smiling, searching for an answer to her confusion. And she kept on staring, her eyes a million miles into my face

“Oh, hey Jared.” She trailed off, and looked down at her feet. She looked a bit drunk, and smelled like it too. I don’t remember her being a particularly avid drinker.

“What’s the matter?” I looked over my shoulder and around. We seemed fairly alone. I think she noticed this too because she started looking around as well. Before she said anything her Dog noticed me and began barking. Loud, it’s mouth was wet with slobber.

I hate animals.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.” She was lying. She was also afraid. Why was she afraid…of me? “She’s been barking at everyone. Maybe it’s time she got old I guess.” Lie. Lie. Fear. Lie. She glanced from me to her Dog. A lie was coming, “I gotta–”

“It’s fine. I just wanted to say hello and get on my way. I didn’t know that you lived around here. Just making sure it was you. I’m still kinda fuzzy up here.” I smiled, but I was watching her. She didn’t seemed even remotely pleased to see me. She just turned to walk away, her feet looking unsteady on the ground. I wasn’t done yet. I wasn’t going to let her just get away, “Wait! It’s late. Let me walk you home. And you look little a bit tipsy.” I had to find out what i’d done to freak her out so much.

“No…That’s fine. I live right over there.” She pointed vaguely.

Why didn’t she want me to know where she–

“Most car accidents happen close to home because that’s when people let their guard down. I’m sure it’s the same with walking. It’s only a little ways. I promise I won’t talk too much.” I put a hand on her elbow and she pulled away.


Then we were walking together. I found myself taking note of the marks around her neck. I felt a tiny bit excited from the marks. I don’t know exactly what kind of excitement, but I quickly felt a bit sick. I suddenly noticed the bags under her eyes. She’d been getting over something. The dog growled perpetually at me. I’d kick him good when no one was around…

Something about the violence of that made me happy.

“Here I am.” She said, mumbling her words a bit. It was a nice apartment. 409. I’d have to remember that. She stood there staring at me as if to wait for me to walk off, but I wanted to go inside. Something was crawling around the back of my mind about Danielle…and I was close to finding out what. I just stood there until she put her key in the door, and let her dog inside, “Thanks for the walk.” She then trailed off and stared at me, the light suddenly gone out of her eyes like she’d suddenly become remorselessly irate with me

“Do you mind if I come in for—“

“No. That’s alright. I have things to do. See you.” Then she walked into her room and slammed the door shut. I was shocked. She was very very afraid of me. I stood there for only a moment before I pressed my ear on the door. I could hear her trembling inside.

“I can hear you breathing.” I whispered against the door. Then I heard her shuffle backwards in her heels and her dog began barking at the door.

The crawling of bugs around my mind got louder and faster and I leaned against the door listening until I found the image in my mind. The hands around her neck. She was there. She was…she was there when he raped me. He’d choked her. And it’s my face that is the one above hers, breathing on her skin, crushing her neck, her legs wild and kicking. Our gloves making that rubber noise as it tightened and twisted on her skin. I could hear her heels clacking on the wood, as we took the life out of her.

“I know that he choked you.” I whispered against the door again.

“Go away! Never come back! Go! Don’t you dare come back!” Her voice came suddenly from right against the door, and I stumbled back. Her dog barked and yapped and snarled from behind the door as well.


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