Note: My name is the only one that hasn't been changed in this story. There are probably a great number of triggers in this, so be warned.
My mother, in some kind of twisted loyalty to family tradition, named me "Adonis" when I was born because of the pretty golden hair she just KNEW I'd have. Everyone on her side of the family had some sort of Greek name, even though there hadn't been Greek lineage in her family for hundreds of years. In any case, my name is, in fact, Adonis, and I did grow to have pretty golden hair and pretty golden skin and just general pretty goldenness. However, that's not really part of my story just yet.
My mother and father died in a car accident when I was just one year old. They faced off with a truck, and the truck won. I was sent to live with my only surviving relatives: My Uncle Ares and his wife Helen, and thier baby boy, Acis, who was one year older than me.
I think they were always bitter about this, and for as long as I can remember, my Aunt would make me do menial household chores and Uncle Ares would always harp on me for being so incredibly girly. I slept in the attic, behind the boxes that held Christmas decorations, and was used as a butt of jokes and, on more than one occassion, a punching bag for my cousin.
When I was thirteen, I started volunteering after school to help a young man in the neighborhood open up shop. I admired him for his courage to leave home and try to make his place in the world. Gradually, admiration mixed with longing and I fell as much in love with him as any boy could fall in love with a man.
I told him once that I loved him and was very upset when he laughed, but I found out later that he only laughed out of disbelief. He said that I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and he was so unbelievably happy to learn that I loved him. He said he loved me too.
Business was decent for a little while, but gradually his profits dwindled over the months until he was desperately in the red. He had been a kind and gentle man, but with growing stress he began to become increasingly aggressive towards me. One day, as we were finishing up closing down the store for the evening, he asked me to go into the back storeroom and wait for him to show me something. I did as I was told and he walked inside and shut the door tightly behind him. He told me to turn around so that my back was to him and to not speak. I spoke, he said, he wouldn't love me anymore. Since he was the only person who had loved me since my parents died, I couldn't risk that happening.
He very firmly bent me over some boxes and pulled down my trousers. I remember the feeling of his hands on me. I felt him sticking his fingers inside of me and the feeling of tears pricking at my eyes, as I was so confused. He snapped some pictures and then walked aside and set up a video camera, still telling me not to make a sound. Next thing I knew, HE was inside of me, pushing in harder and harder. I couldn't think. He snapped some more pictures and I heard him gasp just before feeling my insides being coated with something hot and watery. Some more pictures and he patted my head and pulled my pants up for me.
"You're a good little whore," he told me, and laughed. The next day, he called my Uncle's house and told him that I wasn't to come back to the store, as he was leaving the neighborhood.
I stayed home a lot after that, doing work around the house, trying to be successful in my studies, and dealing with my Uncle constantly calling me a "bitch little girl." My cousin, Acis, broke his leg when I was just about to turn fifteen. I was put in his charge and was to wait on him hand and foot, while also doing housecleaning, cooking, etc. Gradually, we almost became friends and he would ask me to sing for him whenever we were in the same room. One day, he asked if I would kiss him. I told him no, that it was wrong because we were cousins. I left too quickly to see his reaction to that.
After his leg was healed, he asked my Uncle if I could be moved into his room. I did such a good job taking care of him, he said, that he wanted me to be kind of his personal servant. My Uncle found this delightful, and moved what few things I had into Acis' room while I was at school. Ares bought him a bunkbed and I got the bottom bunk, so that I could scamper around and fetch things more quickly than if I'd had top. I forgot about Acis' request for a kiss and threw myself into the happiness of having a proper bed to sleep in.
One night, though, Acis woke me and asked if he could share my bunk. He said he'd had a bad dream and I was so small and warm that he just wanted to be with me. I didn't dare say no, lest he tell my Uncle, and I let him lay down with me. He began touching me and asked if I minded. I told him "no" since I was scared that I might be punished if I'd said "yes." He had sex with me that night. It wasn't quite as scary as it had been with the store owner, but I was very disturbed that I was raped by my COUSIN.
After that, Acis was completely obsessed with me. He never let me go anywhere unless he could watch me, and he would make me take my clothes off so he could photograph me. He had a huge book with the
photographs and my name written hundreds of times over and over again (more on this later). He wrote me poetry and had sex with me at least once every night.
His passion abated slightly when he graduated from High School. He got himself a girlfriend, and only had sex with me once every couple of weeks. He kept the book, however. After I graduated, I left home and went to college, paying my way through work. I simply left everything, including a photograph of my parents that I wanted back. So, when I was twenty years old, I went to my Uncle's house to sneak in, get the photo, and sneak back out, with no one the wiser.
However, my Uncle's car was in the shop and he was at home. He was infuriated to see me there. My cousin was home as well, and hid in his room when he saw me coming, which I thought was strange. I told Ares that I was just going to go to the attic, get one small thing, and then leave again. He would never see me again.
Ares punched me and grabbed something out of his pocket: one of the photograps that Acis had taken. He
accused me of being a faggot whore who seduced his son. I flew into a panic, as I'm only 5'6" and weigh 125 pounds when I'm healthy. Ares was at least 6' and probably a good 300 pounds and so proved a formidable force. I ran up the stairs, but he was faster and threw me down them. I went unconscious for a few minutes and Ares forced me onto my stomach.
"You like being fucked?" he asked me. I said "no" over and over again. He tore my clothes off of me and raped me on the stairs. I was so scared and hurt that I couldn't even scream. I just said "no" as if I were being asked a question about breakfast food. Once he was done with me, he punched me again and ran out into the backyard. Acis came downstairs and helped me into some old clothes of his that didn't fit him anymore.
"If you hadn't left me, this never would have happened. I never would have told him. You're stupid," he said.
My Uncle came charging in again. It looked like he'd vomited. He told me I would never be anything but a whore and told me to get out. I don't think I've ever run so fast.
I lost all control after that. I became a heavy drug user and I barely graduated with a teaching degree in History. I began doing tricks for drug money and eventually I DID become a whore, just like my Uncle said I would.
I was found unconscious and semi-clothed in an alley by a thirty-something couple. The husband, Rodney, used to deal with kids on the street and he took me to the hospital. They took me home with them, and basically nursed me back to health. I tried to kill myself through cutting several times, but Rodney and Margie gave me all that love I never thought I'd have and helped get me off of drugs, off the street, and helped me get a job at a local middle school teaching World History. I'm twenty-seven now, and I still have to battle crippling nightmares, insomnia, eating disorders, horrible depression, self-loathing, and a reminder of my past whenever I look at the scars on my skin.
I'm now with a wonderful man who has been through some terrible times, himself (his father joined a cult and his mother commited suicide, leaving him living in his High School with his little sister until he had enough money to buy them a home) and who respects me and considers me his equal in all ways. And he cooks me breakfast, which still almost always makes me cry because it's so amazingly sweet. It took us a long time to be comfortable enough to actually make love, but once we did, I finally learned why people like it so much.
I'm writing this all now because just last week, I got Acis' book in the mail. It was honestly the first time I'd ever seen it. He included a letter saying he'd met my partner and that he's realized I'm in love with someone--finally. Acis is dead now. He shot himself after mailing it to me, apparently. I don't know what to think about it, really. I have a lot of anger for him, and I could never bear to go to his funeral for fear of seeing his father, but I think he did love me in a twisted and obsessive sort of way. I hate the thought that he killed himself because of me. (Well, I hate the thought that he killed himself, period, but it's made even worse that it's because I'm in love with someone who isn't him.) I don't think my Uncle knows my address, as I'm sure he would have come charging over here, hungry for vengeance. I don't even honestly know if he actually killed himself because of me. Why else would he send me the letter and the book, though? I don't know. Things are just messed up right now.
I hope that this wasn't too long. I wanted to let it out, though. Writing always helps me organize my mind and I've looked for some semi-anonymous support for a very long time. I'm amazed by how strong and brave you all are and it really helps me knowing that I'm not alone.