This is an excerpt from my book,shows how monstrous people become when alcohol takes over
|I was almost asleep when I heard Kirsten come crashing in. "Charlotte?" she called as she teetered into the bedroom. "Are you awake?"
I didn't answer. I lay perfectly still, hoping she'd think I was asleep. I wasn't in the mood to baby sit her. She smelled like she'd taken a bath in alcohol.
I felt the bed move as she sat down. She started to rub my back; it felt nice.
"I know you're awake, Charlotte," she said. She reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. She was slurring her words. She must have had at least four or five very strong drinks. "Look at me."
I knew that tone. It was the tone she used when she was waving between sweet drunk and violent drunk. I rolled over and smiled sleepily up at her.
"Hi." I knew better than to ask where she'd been.
"Hello, my silver eyed angel," she said. She started to play with my hair, then said "I love you."
I curled up next to her. I had this down to an art form: Kirsten comes in plastered. She wants to chat and for me to snuggle with her. She plays with my hair a little, kisses my forehead a few times, says I love you and goes to bed. The sequence depended on how drunk she was, but that was more or less what usually happened.
Only that's not what happened this time.
She was more drunk than I'd ever seen her. I was surprised she could even coordinated enough to get into our apartment.
She kissed my forehead, in her favorites spot. I looked up at her and smiled, like I usually did. Then she kissed my cheek and neck.
"Kirsten," I said, trying to keep the panic from my voice, "what are you doing?"
"I'm showing you how much I love you." She hovered over me, then laid down on top of me. She kissed me on the mouth, carefully, almost gently. I tried to turn away from her but then she just held my head so I had to look at her. My terrified eyes looked into her drunken blue ones. She kissed me more forcefully after she had my head where she wanted it.
"Stop! Please!" I begged.
"Relax," she whispered in my ear.
"Stop it!" I cried again, trying to wriggle out from under her. "Please, Kirsten, stop!"
I tried to push her off but she was lying on top of me with her full weight. She grabbed my hands and held them down. She had eight inches and at least forty pounds over me. There was no way I could get her off me. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming.
"Charlotte," she hissed in my ear as she reached under my shirt, "stop struggling, or you may get hurt."
I felt her drag her teeth against my neck, then she bit my shoulder. Very hard. I cried out in surprise and pain.
"Stop struggling. Or that will happen in a much more sensitive place." She reached between my legs. "Get my drift?"
I nodded, trying hard not to cry. This isn't Kirsten, I thought to myself. This isn't the Kirsten who reads you the classics every night. This isn’t the Kirsten who helped you deal with Dad’s death. This isn't the Kirsten who loves you. This is the drunken monster she's become.
I thought that the whole time. I thought it as she yanked my pajamas off. I thought it as she lay on top of me, kissing and groping and grinding. I thought it as she shoved her breast into my mouth and I choked. I thought it as her hands slid between my legs and inside me, as I screamed in agony.
Kirsten loves you, I kept thinking. This isn't her.
"Kirsten, stop!” I cried one more time. "Please! You're hurting me!"
"Shut up!" she hissed in my ear. She shook me like a rag doll, then slammed me against the headboard. “You’re mine, Charlotte,” she snarled, her face nose to nose with mine. “Mine!”
I stared into her eyes, terrified. I was so scared of what was coming, I was shaking.
Kirsten kissed my forehead. I think she was trying to calm me down. “You’re so beautiful, angel. Your body has really developed since you first came into my life. Do you know how beautiful you are?” She kissed my collarbone. I bit my lip.
“You have breasts now,” she said as she ran her fingers over them lightly. That was debatable but I didn’t say anything. I was still hoping she would just pass out. But she didn’t.
She kissed her way down my body. I remembered what she'd said and tried not to struggle. Her head was between my legs. I closed my eyes; I wanted to cover my face but Kirsten was still holding my hands down. I tried with all my might but my body betrayed me.
"Now don't tell me you didn't like that," she said when she was done. I didn't say anything. I was repulsed and terrified.
She crawled up to my face and kissed my forehead. She had blood on her fingers-my blood.
"My beautiful silver eyed angel. I love you so much,” she murmured then passed out.
I lay there for a minute, shaking, trying to comprehend what had happened. Then I rolled Kirsten on her side so she wouldn't choke on her own vomit if she threw up and went into the bathroom.
I washed every inch of my body three times. My body felt like it wasn’t mine anymore.
Kirsten loves me, I kept thinking. She was just so drunk she didn't realize what she was doing. She never would have done this if she was sober, or hadn't had as much to drink.
I can't tell anyone, I thought in alarm. Nobody would believe me. It sounds so bizarre, your stepmother raping you. I can't take off either. I'd never make it on the street. I changed into a clean pair of pajamas and fell asleep on the couch.
Kirsten was up before I was the next morning. She didn't say anything about the night before. Not one word. She didn't even act or look like she was hung over.
"Why are you sleeping out here?" she asked as she sipped her morning tea.
I looked at her incredulously. "Because of last night."
She looked puzzled. "Last night? What happened?"
"You raped me!" I shouted.
She laughed. "I think you should lay off the popcorn before bed, Charlotte."
Now I was really confused. Had I dreamed it? No. The pain was real. There were bruises on my arms where Kirsten had held them down. There was bruising on my shoulder where she’d bit me. I looked at her, calmly drinking her tea and watching the morning news. It was possible she didn’t remember it; she had been incredibly drunk. Strange how she never had a hangover.
"Kirsten, you came in plastered last night," I said. "You got in bed with me. You raped me!"
"No I didn't," she said. "I'd never hurt you like that."
Sober, no she wouldn’t. Drunk, yes, she would, beyond a shadow of a doubt.