SERIAL FICTION

Not Sharing Their Personal Stories

Shadows Of Mayday #10: Harriet and Angie #2: Angie pours herself into her studies while Harriet also has a secret

Start reading here

Angie didn’t sleep that night. She cried and, just when she was about to drift off, she started sobbing again.

She always thought he was so kind, a gentleman, but he turned out to be a monster. He fucked her even though she told him she didn’t want it; even though she fought him and tried to push him off her.

He raped her.

Why didn’t I fight harder? I should have stopped him. Why did I allow him to touch my breasts? It was all my fault. I should have stopped him when he put his hand under my skirt. I didn’t fight him hard enough. Why was I wet? No one will ever believe me.

Angie had dark rings under her eyes when she got up the next morning. She chastised herself throughout the night and didn’t stop when she finally got out of bed.

Angie’s parents had gone to work. She was alone in the house. Angie couldn’t bring herself to go to class. When she tried to eat something, the food didn’t stay down for long. She went back to bed, still sobbing.

Angie finally drifted into a restless sleep early in the afternoon, exhausted.

The next day, Angie felt better.

Physically better, but not mentally.

Angie’s thoughts kept on returning to that night. She had to tell someone, but the thought of no one believing her made her keep her mouth shut.

She was angry with herself for not stopping him, and she was angry that she was too afraid to report him.

Not afraid of the police, but afraid of not being believed.

She wished for once she could stop over-thinking things and just do what was right. Days went by and Angie was in a constant battle with herself. Over and over, she deliberated with herself whether to go to the police.

Then she took the easy way out: two weeks after the rape, she decided too much time had passed. She should have gone to the police right after the rape. It was too late now, and it was time to concentrate on the future.

Angie poured herself into her studies.

She studied until late at night, until she could barely keep her eyes open anymore. Then she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and woke up early the next morning to study before she went to class.

It was almost the end of the study year and she would have a series of tests soon. She wanted to be prepared for it. That was not the only reason for studying so hard. She allowed her studies to occupy her thoughts, because it pushed the memories of the rape to the back of her mind.

Angie declined invitations from Harriet to go out for drinks. Each time she used studying as an excuse and Harriet didn’t mind. To study for tests was always more important than going out with friends.

The two students saw each other between classes and it was like old times, although sometimes Angie came across as stressed and absentminded. Harriet noticed it, but she thought Angie was worried about the upcoming tests.

Four weeks after the rape, Harriet and Angie saw an advert on the notice board in their faculty for a backpacking tour to South Africa. They both wanted to make the trip, but needed to discuss it with their parents.

It would take them away from home for three months and even though they had savings, they needed their parents to finance part of the trip. They were delirious with joy when their parents agreed.

The planning of what to pack for the trip started. They studied the itinerary the international tourist agency had sent them. They also received a list of names of the other backpackers and their countries of residence. Harriet and Angie were as excited as two kids on Christmas Eve, but they first had to get the tests of the last two weeks of the semester out of the way.

Eight weeks after the rape, Angie got sick. Each afternoon, about an hour after she had her lunch, she was nauseous and sometimes she had to vomit. She didn’t relate it to her lunch, but thought she was tired after studying too late in the evenings for weeks, combined with the excitement about their upcoming trip. She was sure the nausea would disappear once they started their summer adventure.

In the weeks since they were together in the bar and Harriet had left Angie with the attractive student, Harriet had been keeping a secret of her own. She studied a lot, but Harriet also had an affair with one of her lecturers.

It had started months earlier, when she needed help on a specific part of the textbook and stayed in the class after the rest had left. She asked the lecturer to explain it again.

It was only that afternoon she realized how charming he was, and that he was only four years older than her. He took his time to explain the part she didn’t understand and even did it a second and third time. He only stopped when she could repeat everything he had explained to her.

Then he invited her for a drink.

Lecturers and students were forbidden to have relationships, but they could discuss course work in a public establishment.

Under the guise of ‘extra lessons’ they left the books visible on the table while they had a drink together and talked about themselves.

They went out to the same place many times, evening after evening, before he invited Harriet to his place. He gave her the address and left her in the coffee shop where they had met. Harriet ordered another cup of coffee.

An hour later, he buzzed open the street door to his apartment building and Harriet rode the lift to his floor. The moment his front door closed behind her, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her hard. Harriet’s hands moved to the buttons on his shirt, quickly undoing them. He pulled her T-shirt from her denims and slipped it over her head, trapping her arms inside the T-shirt above her head.

His body pressed against hers as he kissed her again. They almost tore the clothes from each other’s bodies.

By the time they reached his bedroom, the apartment looked like something from a movie. Clothes and shoes formed a trail from the front door to the bedroom.

He spun her around and pinned her arms behind her back, holding onto her wrists with one hand. With the other, he pushed her forward onto the bed. Harriet heard him open a drawer and then the tear of a condom wrapper. He entered her from behind. She lifted herself on her tiptoes to allow him to enter her deep.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she moaned, “oh yes, fuck me hard.”

He complied, ramming his rod in and out. Harriet moaned and talked and climaxed and talked more. He fucked her as hard as he could manage, until his body suddenly stiffened with his own pinnacle.

Continued: Shadows Of Mayday #11

Find all chapters here.

This story is a work of fiction, and the author’s tribute to all victims of air crashes. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

🦋 About Me | 📨 Subscribe | 📚 Stories | 🔄️ Membership | 🦜 Twitter