Another Little Piece of History

I have decided to post a little more about my past, going further back now. In a way this was how things started. I apologise for the depressing tone, and content of this post, but it is an event that is very closely connected to who I am now. It may or may not explain a lot to people, I honestly do not know, but it is something that happened to me.

Let us go back in time, to meet a very insecure, very lonely boy aged fifteen. Just starting to study for his GCSEs, never had a real girlfriend, and with no actual friends. The closest he has are a couple of people who will talk to him. Of course they join in with the standard bullying he suffers, but they at least talk to him pleasantly enough when there is no one else around.
This boy has decided, on this particular day, to go up to London purely in order to have something to do. Just for once he is doing something for himself, other than simply sitting at home and teaching himself how to touch-type, program, and in other ways make a computer sit up and beg on command. He is not going to spend the day reading, as he usually does, he is actually going to get out for once and see what happens.

So he gets to the train station, and gets on the train, and starts talking to the passenger seated next to him. She gives him her name, and they chat for a few minutes, seemingly just clicking with one another. They decide to spend the day together and do so.

In fact they also end up returning to his house afterwards, since his parents are away for business and they got on so well. It is not as if he particularly cares about school the next day, nor as though she does. They walk back from the train station holding hands, pausing occasionally to exchange nervous, first kisses. She is the same age as him, and their conversation has revealed that they are both virgins though she is on the pill for other reasons, related to her hormone balance.

They stop on the way back, taking a detour through an old graveyard. It is dark and both of them are enjoying it, their hands roaming a little more than they perhaps should. Then things start to happen.

Afterwards they are both sore, not from the sex as such but from what accompanied it. Both of them releasing their anger about the world on each other, enjoying the feelings of violence and pain that accompanies the pleasure, somehow fitting. Their clothes are largely torn, or scattered over the ground, but she finds his shirt and pulls it on. The shirt is just long enough that she looks dressed. He hunts down his trousers and pulls them on, even though the zip is broken. And together, limping a little, nursing various cuts and bruises, bites and scratches, they walk back to his house.

Four more times that night they have sex, discovering all sorts of things. After the first time they are gentle and the sex is accompanied by winces and yelps as their sore bodies press together. They cry, they hold each other, they rant against the world, they say all sorts of things that both mean for the moment but which may mean nothing in a day.

For four months this continues. They see each other, she introduces him to her friends and to what they call their coven. They begin to meet more regularly, him slipping out to go up to London and making sure he is up before dawn so that no one in his house knows.

This is his little secret, things do not hurt so much at school any more, the bullies begin to avoid him when he not only ignores their verbal jabs but also their blows. Standing up after being hit and not showing the slightest sign of pain or even upset.

Her friends, and she, are teaching him about things. All sorts of things. What bodies can do to one another, about their beliefs and the things they can do with those beliefs. Some of those still stay with him to this day though in altered form.

And then after the fourth month, he suddenly stops hearing from them. Any of them.
A few days later he receives a letter. When he opens it he realises almost immediately what it is, though his first thought is wrong. He thinks it is just a goodbye letter, and in a way it is. The girl has said goodbye to everything, for reasons that he can understand. He has no wish to follow, despite the fact that his heart feels broken, and for a long time he becomes little more than a hollow shell, or so he feels, going through life and just trying to get by. He has no interest in anything other than getting through to the next day and hoping it will hold something that will bring him out of his fugue.

Years later he realises that he has healed, put himself back together and recovered from the hurt he received, though changed for the experience. He still has the scars she left him with, physical and emotional, but they are just scars now rather than open wounds and he can carry on. It took learning to hate someone he once loved, being abused, being homeless, and various other tragedies to do it but now he is able to deal with things again and he turns the tables.