Skeeter

            After hours of convincing, I'm finally released from the hospital. I hug my mother as we walk through the hallway. The place is vacant of patients, but full of nurses.

            "Skittles, you feeling better?" Mom asks cautiously, hugging me back tightly. I groan.

            "Oh am I hurting you?" Mom asks, pulling back, taking a quick examination.

            "No, I just hate it when you call me Skittle." She laughs as we walk out.

            "Mom, is it okay if I go out with Michael today?" I ask as soon as we're home. Katie comes behind me and ruffles my hair. I groan.

            "Sure Skeeter, just make sure to call, okay?" I nod and go upstairs and change. I put on my white tank top with the ice cream picture. I put on a pastel pink skirt to go with it. I then go to put on some purple eye shadow, and then add eyeliner and mascara. I quickly pull on my tan sandals and head out the door.

            Michael and I had planned Thursday to meet at Cottage Park. I sit on a pure white bench and wait. Michael's presence soon accompanies me.

            "Hey."

            "Hi, how are you?" I ask making small talk. He shrugs, giving me a weak smile, playing with his bracelets. They had an African feel to them, made of beads and rope.

            "Come on, Mike, cheer up" I say, nudging him gently. "You know I love to see them pearly whites!"

            Michael giggles in a high tone, giving me that beautifully bright smile of his.

            "You have a pretty smile" I say dreamily. He laughs at my words and I start to blush.

            "Well, you're pretty" he say, slowly rising to his feet. "Now come on, I'm starving."

            We walk out of the Cottage and find a small Starbucks. We both order a coffee, his warm, mine cold. We then get some small pastries to add, and sit at one of the café's tables.

            I fold my hands accordingly around my drink, smiling sheepishly.

            "What?" Michael asks, hand reaching mine. "Did something happen?"

            I smirk at his concern. "I guess I should ask you the same thing." His look of confusion would be worth gold, if the problem wasn't so serious. I take his hand, palm facing up, and pull his bracelets down. His eyes widen as the array of beads glide closer and closer to his elbow. I trace the scars with my finger tips, while Michael remains in shock. I then I place my hand gently on the cuts, covering them. I then slide my thumb underneath and twist his wrist violently.

            Michael clasps his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. I raise a suggestive eyebrow. Just say no.

            "No, Skeeter, that hurts, you need to stop" he says rather calmly, yanking his arm away. I frown a little.

            "You're too peaceful, and passive. It's okay to put up a fight you know" I say. He sighs.

            "So, why this? I'll listen, we have all day" I say in a candid tone. "I'm all ears."

            "Well I don't want to discuss it" Michael responds haughtily, sipping his coffee. I roll my eyes in disregard.

            "Yeah you do" I answer, sipping my mocha frappe. "Or else, I'm leaving."

            He groans at my words and shoots me a glare. I soften my face to make him less hostile and it works. He's finally ready to spill his guts. I feel myself hold my breath in anticipation.

            He lets out a long sigh, then starts.

            "When I was seven years old, we got a new neighbor. One day, Mother took me over to the new neighbors place so he could babysit me while she went to work.  Joseph was at work as well, Jermaine was staying with a friend, Jackie and Tito working taking Saturday classes for extra credit, La Toya was out shopping with Rebbie and Randy was in day-care. That and I was the only Jackson who hasn't met him, so it was only polite to have some sort of friendly interaction before I go back to keeping to myself. Anyways, that day I went over there, as soon as Mother had left, he - he raped me. It kept on for five years. He added bondage as I got older. I had only mentioned it to one person, my best friend Vania, because he did that to her as well. When I was twelve, I finally told my mother one night, after she noticed that I had a really bad limp. I had been using sports excuses, but I broke down and told her.

            We finally took him to court where he was found guilty and sentenced to thirty years. Ever since, I've had nightmares of him coming back to get me out of revenge. A few months after we turned him in, I fell into a deep depression, mostly because of school. It's not fun being known as "the molested faggot". I barely had any friends before the story came out in the paper, because of how shy I tend to be. All of my so called ‘friends' left me, because they were, quote "disgusted by me". One of the guys that I was super close with even said, I'm quoting him by the way; "I can't believe that you, a guy, would let that happen to you. You got what you deserved." Yup, a "buddy" of mine said that!

            To add to this cyclone of events, I had confusion about my sexuality for an entire year! The depression swallowed me whole, leaving me with a cutting problem. I constantly was avoiding help, no matter what the cost. When I was around fourteen, I attempted suicide. I took five ibuprofens and hung myself, to keep from surviving, but I did, I did survive. I remember waking up in a hospital bed with my mother in hysterics, and Joseph silently crying.

            These past eight years have been rough. So I guess Grant's threat is not helping much."

            I touch Michael's hand gently. He's crying, and I let him cry.

            "Things'll get better, don't you worry, Michael. Don't you worry."