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Author Topic: How I was ruined (added two new chapters 12/16)  (Read 5569 times)
Ararria
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« Reply #30 on: December 05, 2016, 10:29:17 AM »

I'm glad you are enjoying it but it's not done yet
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Brittanyishere
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« Reply #31 on: December 05, 2016, 10:32:59 AM »

Wonderful. I look forward to reading the rest of your work.
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« Reply #32 on: December 05, 2016, 11:05:38 AM »

   This is a very powerful, unique and moving piece. The writing style is brilliant. It felt like sitting with Ally and listening to her heartbreaking story. Every word resonates with the dark emotional state of the young woman. Bravo, dear lady. Bravo.
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Ararria
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« Reply #33 on: December 06, 2016, 02:30:02 AM »

"Can't even do that right"

Suicide is an odd thing. It can, depending on the method, be very easy to attempt, or very difficult. Attempt is the key word here because you can always fuck it up. Blow your brains out, instead be left a vegetable. Slice your wrists and maybe just be left with new scars to explain. Take a bottle of sleeping pills, expecting to go on the long sleep and find out they don't work like that anymore. That's the problem with taking such an unoriginal way out. Tons have done it before you and so companies have tweaked their formulas. Maybe I should have done some study online first but research and study have never been my thing. So once again, I got to fuck things up.

One million people a year kill themselves, and I can't even do that right. Fuck my life.

The first thing that tipped me off that something was wrong was pain. Pain in my gut, my throat, and my cheek. Also all over my body. I couldn't focus worth shit, still so out of it even opening my eyes was a challenge. But pins and needles were stabbing my body all over. I didn't know what was going on. Well, I knew enough to know I wasn't dead. I was wet still, but it all felt wrong, I was sliding under water. Water rushing at my face, my body convulsing. Eyes half lidded as I bent over and hurled, my throat already so fucking raw. Why was my throat so raw? If I was bent over, why was my face still in water. None of it made sense.

The music from my phone was screaming at me. Just ranting and saying things that were all jumbled. I didn't remember any of it from Les Misérables. I tried to push the water away, trying to cry as my stomach surged again. I bent over and hurled as I gripped the sides of the tub. I couldn't see anything, my eyes were wet, water was still hitting my face as I struggled to get out from under it. There was a foul stink in the air as my gut convulsed again and I whimpered in humiliation as my bowels let loose. Strangely, for someone who wanted to die, I became worried about how they would find me. Apparently me dead and cold in a tub was fine, dead and covered in vomit and shit was not. I flailed as I was drowning again in the tub. Ashamed that they would find me having fouled myself. Again the pins and needles hit my body all over as I apparently pulled my face free from the water. I shuddered, so cold. It wasn't fair. I was supposed to go to sleep. Why couldn't I go to sleep?

My face felt a sharp pain again and I wondered if I had slipped and hit the edge of it. Had I slumped down? Nothing made sense, there was just too much noise from my phone. It was was screaming at me again to wake up, which didn't make sense. Why would my phone care about me. No one cared about me. I fucking didn't care about me. I struggled again, doubling up and puking. Water hit my face as I sobbed, my throat raw. Why couldn't I just fucking drown? I tried to focus again, arms pushing against the water in front of me but I couldn't hold it. It kept rushing through my hands as I fell through it. So cold. I felt another slap and I tried to grab at it. What? A slap? I tried to open my eyes, I was so fucking tired and I cried and just wanted to know what was going on. Did God hate me that much? What was wrong?

All I saw through the water as I tried to open my eyes was a blurry mess that made no sense. Something moved over me as my phone screamed my name and I tried to turn away. I just wanted to go away. Why couldn't I go away. Why did I have to hurt more as I curled up on my side and lost control again, puking and voiding myself. I was jerked upright and was drowning again. The cold needles hitting my face, teasing me, but not letting me suffocate. Why?

I heard my name again screaming at me as I started shaking violently, slaps ringing in my ears. I pushed hard and something pushed me back. Nothing was making sense. The blurry object was over me and my phone screamed at me with Teddy's voice. Why did my phone have Teddy's voice? Why was it telling me to wake up. I didn't want to. I wanted to quit. I had fucking said goodbye. Suddenly my vision cleared for a moment as my face hurt a bit. Someone was over me. My eye was pried open and my phone talked. No, not my phone. Teddy? I didn't understand.

"Ally! Ally! Stay awake dammit!" I heard it yell at me. I whimpered, sobbing, and my throat felt foul. My stomach and ass churned. I thrashed hysterically as Teddy held me as still as he could. I saw the shower head now, as he turned me a bit, hosing my backside. Then my face again. Something had gone wrong. I didn't know what. It was all I could do to think straight. He kept talking to me but almost none of it made sense. I tried to close my eyes but the sharp pain of cold water on my face and chest hit me again. How long this went on, I don't know.

Later on, I'd realize it of course. Sleeping pills and alot of vodka had been rejected by my body. Enough had been taken into my system however to fuck with me though. My lack of body control, my confusion, my disjointed memories of it, all side effects. Teddy kept at me the entire time though. Course he didn't call the cops or the hospital, but maybe he'd been through that before. It's easy to hate on someone and second guess them, but he'd came back and found me. Kept me from choking to death on my own vomit. It was all confusing as I found myself in my bed, like none of it happened.

Eventually I had stopped throwing up. Became more aware of what was going on, even if I couldn't focus much. The water got warmer. No. That's not right, it had gotten less cold. I think he turned on some heat once I started responding to him. I mostly just cried from what I remember as he cleaned me once I finally stopped vomiting and shitting myself. He had carried me to my bedroom as I clung to him. I had whimpered, a small child in his arms. Lost. So fucking lost. Then a bright light in my eyes and voices near me as he talked to someone. Apparently he'd found a body? No. That was me, he'd found me. Overdosed in the tub. Convulsing. I dozed in and out, only to be woken with a slap or another bright light to my eye. Voices, a hand at my throat. No, fingers. It's all so disjointed now. This morning I was going to die. I was going to fix everything. And I screwed it up. I just wanted to go. I couldn't do anything right. So I curled up, still chilled to the bone under the blankets and slept fitfully as Teddy watched over me.
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Ararria
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« Reply #34 on: December 06, 2016, 03:19:40 AM »

"A rough few days"

I hallucinated some that first night. I don't remember most of it now except it had been terrifying. Dark shapes that weren't really there. Reality peeling away. Demons gutting me. But nothing in detail. Even though I had "expelled" most of the pills, what was left in me had really fucked me up. At some point, mom came home. I have fragments of her or Teddy taking care of me. Making me drink. Making me wake regularly. The next day wasn't much better. The hallucinations had stopped at some point but I was still completely out of it. They said I talked some. Would ramble on. Or cry.

Moving was still out of the picture. Teddy would take me to the bathroom or clean me up if I made a mess. Mom would clean the sheets. Otherwise I certainly don't remember much of it. Just flashes, sounds, the tattered remnants and jagged edges of memories. Mom would later claim she apologized to me. For not knowing the pain I was in. Maybe she did. They still didn't take me for help. Teddy had talked her out of it, saying that my beating might be blamed on them. Of course, he had done it. Always protecting his ass. Course, he had protected mine too. When he had found me convulsing and vomiting in the tub, unable to move, he could have shut the door and walked back out. No one would have known. But for whatever reason, he hadn't. He'd saved my life, such as it was.

Friday, two days later after my attempt, was when things started to make sense again. I still was disjointed, still felt sluggish. But I could move. They still helped me, but I could mostly get around on my own. I tried to eat and puked most of it back up. Water stayed down though. I was shaky and wanted a drink as well and when mom was out of the room, Teddy would let me have a sip. I think he knew better than my mom just how much I'd been drinking. She'd just been oblivious. To everything. But that was mom. Anyway, they didn't need to change or clean me any more. I was still on a close watch though. Mom sat on the toilet while I took my first shower under my own power Friday afternoon. Apparently I was having a bad case of the flu according to the school. Teddy had went out to pick up my work while I cleaned myself and enjoyed the heat. No one still had asked the big question. And I was terrified of it being asked. I still felt empty. The dead bitch was still in the mirror looking back at me. But something was different. I simply didn't care anymore. I was scared of the question being asked because I was scared it might make me care. That would be hard. That could hurt me. If I didn't care, I couldn't hurt. I mean, I had failed to do something that people, I thought, did easily. It just wasn't part of the plan. Some people don't get to take the easy way out. I mostly just took the shower numbly, the warmth on my body the only thing any part of me felt.

I got out, and mom helped dry me off and walk me back into the bedroom. I dressed in my pajamas and just shuffled through the rest of Friday and into Saturday. It was then when mom finally asked me why I had tried to kill myself. I can remember it so fucking vividly, years later.

"Honey, why did you try to kill yourself?" She had asked, doing her best imitation of a real mom. I had been finally fully aware, no fogginess, no confusion. I had strangely enjoyed, on some level, some of the attention I had been getting. From both of them even. It had been so nice. Numb as I fucking was, it felt like they were at least trying. It felt almost like we were a real family. So I tried. I told her the truth.

"I feel," I stammered. Looking for the right words. "I feel like i've been dead since I was raped," I said. "I just wanted to make it real mom. I'm sorry," I said. I wish I had cried but no tears came as I told her that. She held my hand, rubbed it.

"It'll get better honey," she said. She then patted my hand again and stood up. Looking sad. And then went back into the kitchen. And that was it. That was the entire discussion. Don't worry dear reader. I didn't break down. I didn't cry. I didn't despair at the neglect. I was past that now. I was empty. But I would deal. If I couldn't kill myself, if I couldn't get that right, I'd exist. I had gotten good at existing. So I went back to the school work in front of me, that I didn't care about. And later that night, I ate dinner that I didn't care about. And then I went to the bathroom and brushed teeth that I didn't care about. I looked in the mirror at the dead eyed girl. Her I really fucking didn't care about. And I went to bed, in my room, none of which I cared about. I closed my eyes and prayed for my nightmares. As fucked up as they were. They made me feel something. And that, I did care about.
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gscmar64
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« Reply #35 on: December 07, 2016, 11:18:53 AM »

Don't know if you're old enough to remember the old afterschool specials presented by ABC which they claimed was modern issues facing the modern teen.Well with the advent of cable this would be a perfect candidate for one, a truly modern issue facing not only teens but every woman!
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it's only rape if she understand that she has to say no,orates it clearly and sign that she said no!
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« Reply #36 on: December 07, 2016, 07:26:33 PM »

Sensational story.  After reading yours, I realize more than ever my amateur style.  Love a good read and yours was a damn good read.
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"I was born an original sinner. I was born from original sin.  If I had a dollar bill for all the things I've done, there'd be a pile of money piled up to my chin."  Eurythmics
Ararria
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« Reply #37 on: December 07, 2016, 07:30:58 PM »

This story isn't remotely finished. But thank you both for the high praise. I'll be posted a much expanded version of that fantasy you liked so much tonight. Hope you enjoy it as well. Then back to this one after though it might be slow until next week.
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darklord
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« Reply #38 on: December 07, 2016, 07:48:31 PM »

We have nothing but time :)
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"I was born an original sinner. I was born from original sin.  If I had a dollar bill for all the things I've done, there'd be a pile of money piled up to my chin."  Eurythmics
Ararria
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« Reply #39 on: December 09, 2016, 02:14:33 AM »

"Apology"

Things began to settle down into a new, numb, normal. I just slid through one day to the next, fumbling blindly. I didn't care about anything anymore. Well that's not exactly true. I cared about the stick. I cared about my nightmares. I cared about the pot or vodka that helped me suffer through my existence. That was about it. Mom, she didn't see a thing. All she saw was her own shitty life and getting what she wanted out of it. Which surprisingly, for whatever reasons I fully admit I was too selfish to care about, meant she was actually trying for once at work. All I noticed were two things, how I never had to hunt anymore for some vodka, and how she was gone most nights, at least until late. She was working 2nd shift somewhere and holding it down. That was fine by me, except it left me alone with Teddy more.

For the first week, we'd mostly avoided each other. He'd barely spoken to me outside of a grunt since he'd saved me in the shower. It was like he hated to even be around me and to be fair, I hadn't sought him out either. I hadn't even thanked him for what he had done yet. Probably because I didn't know if there was anything to thank him for. Should I be happy I was alive or angry at my continued existence? That was a question I wasn't prepared to deal with head on.

One night about a week after my suicide attempt however, he came into my room. I was in an oversized tshirt, stoned out of my gourd, with Netflix playing some cartoon on in the background. He opened the door, frowned at me, then walked on in. Out of it as I was, I sat up nervously. Only now was my face recovering from the black eye he'd given me. He seemed to hesitate as I sat up, then continued on beside my bed and sat down on the edge of it. He refused to stare at me and instead focused on his hands, fumbling with them for a moment before he finally spoke up.

"Did...did you do it because of me?" he asked. The words didn't come easily from him. It seemed like he fought for each one. Or maybe I was just too stoned. I basically sat there, trying to understand what he meant.

"Wha....What?" I barely stammered out. His eyes flashed at me, as he angrily grabbed the joint from my hand and tossed it aside.

"Did you try to kill yourself because we fucked?"

At that, I almost laughed. His eyes narrowed as I started to though and I realized how serious he was. He didn't know, he didn't understand. What was I supposed to say to him? Yes you're fully responsible? No, you weren't. The truth was he was and wasn't and everything in between. Fuck, the rape or the sex or whatever we'd done was among the least important things that had led to it. Everything else though, that hadn't exactly helped.

"That? No. It's been. Was. Everything was piling up. And I broke..." I wanted to explain. But the words I needed weren't there for me. I leaned forward a bit towards him and he took my hand. It was warm and easily covered mine. He honestly looked sad to me, as he rubbed my hand lightly.

"I'm sorry if I made things worse," Teddy said softly. I barely heard the words as he spoke them. I knew I liked the feel of his hands on mine. He was so close to me. He was apologizing to me. He cared. That was the only thought running through my mind as I clung to him. Pressed my face against his chest. He seemed startled by my response but I would learn what startled actually was in a moment. Myself, I pressed myself tighter against him, felt the warmth of his body. He cared. I slide my head from his chest to his face and kissed him. There was a wonderful pause, where my heart fluttered there. A spark that tried to burn. Then reality crashed in a tidal wave to snuff it out. As suddenly, I felt myself being shoved violently away. My back and head bounced of the headboard and I whimper, confused.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I try to...fuck and you...." he stammered, his body shaking with rage. He was grabbing my hair and just screaming at me, punching my sides, my back, the room went dizzy as one blow nailed the back of my head. He was just wailing on me as I quivered in pain. And suddenly, as fast as it had started, it stopped. I was shaking hard, my head and back was throbbing, everything was spinning so fast I threw up a bit in my mouth. I looked up and I saw Teddy, his fist pulled back. I knew he wanted to hit me. Part of me wanted him to hit me. He was right. I was fucked up. I also wanted to kiss him but there was none of that in him. He was shaking in fury. He was full of disgust. He finally pulled away and rushed out of the room.

"Just stay the fuck away from me you crazy piece of shit," he spat out as my door was slammed shut. I sat there, hurting, trembling, and shoved my face into my pillow and just screamed. I shuddered as I punched at my bed, and slapped at the side of my head. I cried for the first time since my attempt and grabbed my dresser and pulled out the drawer in one jerk as it crashed to the floor. I didn't care. I grabbed the stick and just jabbed it in my cunt as I cried, so much pouring out. Every time I thought I was empty, I learned I could drop a bit more. I moaned, mostly in pain, as I fucked myself with it. I hadn't lubed myself and though I was wet for some reason, I wasn't nearly wet enough. It didn't matter though. I just needed to feel. And despite everything, the pain and everything did feel good. It wasn't long before I was twitching on the stick and cumming hard. I still hadn't fully put two and two together, instead operating more on instinct than anything else. It was good enough though as I lay there, my pussy aching and raw as the crygasm ripped through me. I couldn't figure out my place, where I fit in anymore. I just twitched, panting hard, unaware of the new best friend I would be making soon. So I just let go, and cried myself to sleep.
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gscmar64
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« Reply #40 on: December 09, 2016, 05:57:04 AM »

Amazing that she doesn't snap and use something to hurt Teddy while doing herself in his presence
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it's only rape if she understand that she has to say no,orates it clearly and sign that she said no!
Ararria
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« Reply #41 on: December 09, 2016, 07:32:52 AM »

There is no way Ally could hurt Teddy. Even if she should or could have.

I don't think I'll get anything else written till Sun/Mon at earliest.
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darklord
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« Reply #42 on: December 09, 2016, 07:37:00 AM »

"Should I be happy I'm alive or angry st my existence"

Great line. Another stellar addition. Just keeps getting better
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"I was born an original sinner. I was born from original sin.  If I had a dollar bill for all the things I've done, there'd be a pile of money piled up to my chin."  Eurythmics
Ararria
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« Reply #43 on: December 09, 2016, 07:39:10 AM »

Glad you like darklord.
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Ararria
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« Reply #44 on: December 12, 2016, 02:57:10 PM »

Christmas at Wal*Mart

After that, mostly avoided Teddy. He was always stomping around the house, giving me hateful glares. Mom, he took care of. It was me that he hated. Me, that couldn’t do anything right. Most days went by with few words between the two of us, and the ones that did always came after I dropped something or found some way to do something wrong.

“Stupid shit”, “God you’re a fuckwit”, and the ilk were a constant refrain. Sometimes he’d accent his words with a slap to my face or my back of my head. I’d just take it, saying nothing. Just another piece of humanity bitch slapped out of me. On day, managed to spill some milk and I was just terrified. Mom had left for work and there I was, literally trembling because I’d knocked my cup over. He was on me in a second, and I whimpered as my side exploded in pain, then my cheek, then my hip as I was kicked to the kitchen floor.

“Clean up your mess you stupid sack of shit!” was the kind words he blessed me with that day. I just nodded, praying to god he didn’t smell me. I knew that would have unleashed a more serious beating as that was the root cause of everything anyway. I stank like a cheap whore often, after he hit me or when I hurt myself at night. I had started wearing sweats all the time around him. No more long shirts, boy shorts, or anything like that. Besides the cold, I needed to hide what I was doing. He knew the bruises and injuries, none serious, that he was causing. He didn’t know about the small cuts, along my inner thigh. My bruised and often swollen lips where the rough back had worn my tender skin raw. The cuts on the inner bit of my upper arm. All easy enough to hide. All hurt just enough to let me feel alive, if only for a moment. No, that, that would have made him furious. But for now, time just went by.

My GPA had dropped to an all time low. A glorious 1.5 that surely made me the envy of all my peers. I didn’t care and neither did they, so it didn’t matter. Thanksgiving arrived, and passed with little fanfare. A quiet uncomfortable dinner, that finally marked a turning point in mom’s quest for sobriety. It ended with a bottle of red wine decorating the wall and yelling punctuating the night. Just another wonderful night as things drifted into December. At least December meant Christmas.

Now, Christmas wasn’t a religious holiday to us. Like most people, at least the honest ones, it was about getting shit and with moms until recent regular work, and Teddy’s profession, we had some spare cash to buy shit we didn’t really need or want. But that’s what the season is for right?

It was around 7PM and we had been shopping for clothes, a new Blu-Ray player for some reason, and some assorted shit. I had a mild buzz but was functioning well enough. My hair was a mess, but otherwise I looked better than most people of Wal*Mart if remarkably plain in my worn out tshirt and faded jeans. Nothing special, but it’s not like I was looking for attention anyway. But something did catch mine.

As I turned the corner near the women’s bras, I saw him. Not one hundred feet away, near the shoes, was him. The rapist. The man who’d left me for dead. I just froze like a deer in headlights as a freight train of emotions crashed through me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, even my breathing was coming only in hitches as my heart did its very best to rip out of my chest. I was so in shock, I didn’t even feel the warm gush of piss running down my legs. My denim pants, in the crotch and theighs turned a darker shade of blue and my socks grew soggy. I don’t know if people could hear it or smell it, but the chill of air against the warm pants slowly made me realize what had happened. Tears just ran down my face as I wanted to scream, run, pass out, anything but stand there. Frozen, helpless all again.

I wish I knew how long I stood there. It felt like hours and was likely less than a minute. And then my rapist turned. And it was no one. Just some random guy. My legs and body unfroze and I just ran to the restroom in the back and hit the stall, locking it. I was shaking as I put my hands in my face and just cried. A fucking stranger, just a fucking stranger. I smelled my piss stained jeans and just wept. Merry fucking Christmas.
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