She Said

I. All the Girls Were Doing It

On the bed. On the floor. In the shower. In the backseat of mama’s car. Hell, anywhere that was quiet enough for five minutes. All the girls were doing it. You didn’t want to be the girl who wasn’t doing it, and if you weren’t doing it, you would be shunned like that poor girl Chastity — who’s date left her walking for miles on the muddy streets because she wouldn’t do it. Some girls were too uptight to do it. Some girls did it because they needed the money or because they wanted a new blouse.

I did it to feel pretty.

Chastity must’ve not needed that kind of reassurance, so it must’ve been easier for her to not play into it. For me, it was just a gig. It was late nights crying. It was sweaty and tasted like clam chowder. I hated clam chowder. It was fake moans and hoping it would be over quickly so I could put my pants back on. I didn’t even take my shirt off anymore because I felt their hands slip into my panties before I even got a chance to take it off. It wasn’t special. If anything, it was a hassle. “Oh, baby that feels so good,” I’d mutter with no expression on my face. He’d finish, as always, and I was left to finish on my own. That is, if I was even feeling up to it. “I’ll call you tomorrow, gorgeous,” they’d abruptly offer, as I shut the door in their faces, never seeing them again after I made one last peek out of the peephole to see the disbelief on their faces. I just wanted the compliments. They didn’t feel genuine because they weren’t, but I still loved watching them mumble out lies.

II. Chasity’s Chant

Save yourself for marriage. Don’t drink or use tobacco products. Stop thinking about Craig.

I’m a good girl. I’m abstinent. I’m a third-time quiz bowl champion. I have more than seventy-five percent of the periodic table memorized. I don’t do it. I’m not like those sluts at Westview high who hike up their skirts anytime they smell a boy’s presence. I don’t wear high heels or wear red polish on my fingernails. I’m not like Faith. Rumor has it all of the boys know where her house is. Where is her faith? I mean, my god, I know everyone rags on me for being thrown out on the side of the road like balled-up paper, but her? She does it with anyone willing to spend five minutes behind a dumpster. Judge me? Only the lord can do that. She’s going to be wishing she would’ve kept her shirt on a little longer.

III. Faith’s Faith

I questioned my Faith often. If god was real, why did he make me so ugly? Didn’t he make all his children perfect? I would get ready in the same broken mirror every day, staring back at the face my father said only my mother would ever love. He was wrong. After his death she turned to stuffing that white shit up her nose, spending check after check until her needs could no longer be fulfilled. I wasn’t enough to keep my mother away from drugs or my father from other women. I was alone in this world.

Not even god was on my side.

IV. It’s Never Too Late to Start All Over

When my parents died, I became the states property. I was sixteen and lived with my first and only foster care family, the Keiser’s. They were very active in their community and in church, which meant I had to go. They told me since I technically wasn’t their child I didn’t have to go twice on Sunday’s, but they asked that I accompany them twice a week to keep up their image. It was odd, but for a bedroom of my own and meals available to me at any time I desired, I guess I couldn’t really say no. I went to church on Wednesday’s and once on Sunday, depending on whichever time was easier for Joseph to skip. He’d come over to my place and we’d do it until we heard the Keiser’s rickety Jeep pull in.

V. A Taste of The Good Life

I finally felt beautiful, having a man who complimented my every move. We weren’t technically dating, but outside of our weekly fling we hung out at school, and that was more than anyone else had ever given me. The Keiser’s came home from church in a brand-new Cadillac. We were didn’t even hear the doors shut. Mr. Keiser walked into my room without knocking and caught us with pure terror. I was immediately kicked out, having nothing to my name but the shabby suitcase and three outfits I possessed before moving in. They were so in shock I didn’t even have time to retrieve my toothbrush. Mrs. Keiser also called Joseph’s parents who were devastated because they just couldn’t believe their perfect angel was capable of having sex. Joseph saw me once after the incident, but I could see the scandal was too much for him to bare, so I cut ties with him and eventually we drifted apart. I found myself alone once more, living behind the church dumpster, sleeping with any man that would buy me a meal or throw a twenty my way.

VI. Craig’s Corvette

Craig loved his Corvette. Some say he loved it more than he loved God himself. He said he’d probably lose his virginity in it. We’d just laugh and get back to highlighting our lessons for the following Sunday. I didn’t like talking about sex, but I loved the way Craig’s braces glistened under his car’s yellow lights when he brought up the ungodly subject, snarking at me, as he looked me up and down like I was meat.

The rain was pounding at his windshield, our breath, fogging up the windows with every word that slipped off our tongues. It was as if the Earth knew what was brewing inside of us. Craig’s eyes danced with the rain, gazing up and down my blouse. I don’t know what overcame me. Maybe I needed to see if the rumor about whether kissing with braces really cut you or not was true. His breath tasted sour, like he had possibly been drinking and his slobbery tongue felt too wet against my lips. He grabbed my bare thigh, his hand tracing up my skirt. I tried to get his mouth and hands off me, but I found myself paralyzed. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t rip his dirty hands off me.

I suddenly found the words, “We aren’t married,” and whimpered them out.

“You actually believe in that shit?” His face wrinkled with anger.

“Well of course I do. Your dad’s a preacher, how couldn’t you?” I shivered back. My teeth were trembling. I knew I said the wrong thing. He slipped his hands into my panties, immediately pulling them out in disgust.

“Did you fucking piss yourself?” he screamed at me in disbelief, a drop of spit landing on my cheek. I knew I hadn’t peed myself! My face heated with shame and confusion. Before I could find the words to explain the mysterious wetness, he kicked me out of his car, threatening to tell everyone. I reached for the door and ran for what felt like my life, grabbing my now touched crotch. “You better bring something tomorrow to clean this shit out with!” I heard him scream from a distance. Panting and gasping for explanation to what happened, I couldn’t help but cry. I loved Craig, but he was disgusted with me.

VII. Trash Talk

“Two more miles,” I told myself, folding my arms over one another in search of what little warmth I could find. My shoes were caked in mud and I was minutes away from what seemed like hypothermia. I decided to sit at the church, I needed to be with God. I wasn’t the only evidently, because when I got there I stumbled upon Faith having sex behind the dumpster.

We were all mortified.

“Ooo-oh my god, get off me!” she panicked, the makeup around her eyes smudged like a racoon.

The man stumbled off the scene, slurring a disappointing, “I’m not paying you.” He didn’t even bother to grab his pants or underwear. I had never seen a penis before.

“So, you do this often?” I couldn’t make eye contact with her.

“It’s okay, honey, you can look at them.” Faith giggled as she lit a cigarette. “They’re just breasts,” she puffed, red fingernails clutching a lighter.

“You should probably put your shirt on, were in the Lord’s home,” I suggested. She smirked and looked at me like I was stupid.

“Well, if you know anything about the bible, you’d know that Adam and Eve were naked,” she threw her shoulders back confidently, dragging her cigarette harder. I couldn’t take it, who did she think she was?

“They were sinners! Just like you!” I spat in disgust. She pressed her cigarette onto the freshly painted board of the church’s step, marking it with her sins.

“If your god is real, why am I homeless?” she looked at me with what she believed were convincing eyes, placing the other half of her cigarette into the pack.

“Because you were having premarital sex in the Keiser’s home!” I gripped back. Of course she didn’t recognize me. I was too quiet, too impossible to remember.

“That’s really none of your business just like how this was none of your business! Why are you here anyway?” she muttered quickly, throwing a blanket over herself.

“I was hanging out with a boy!” I admitted. I needed answers. “He accused me of peeing myself, but I didn’t.” I felt like I was watching myself from above, suddenly outside of my own skin.

“Oooh, baby girl, you must have been getting it good!” she screamed excitedly.

I choked on my spit. “I’ve never had sex.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh, then you were just excited… you know, like, aroused.”

I felt the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. There wasn’t anything wrong with me and there could be a future for Craig and I. I felt words pour off my tongue again. “He put his hand in my panties without asking,” I confided in her.

She giggled once more. “Be happy you’re still a virgin.”

“You should come back to church,” I offered, trying to brush off the awkward praise she had given me.

“I’ll pass, god just isn’t on my side.” Her smile faltered as she took out the half cigarette she salvaged for later.

VII. Chasity’s Cry

Craig texted me that he’d be at the wide spot near my house around six. That gave me approximately fifteen minutes to comb my hair, spray some perfume, and dodge my way around mom to steal some dish soap out of the kitchen, all while hoping I don’t make too much noise. I tipped toed through the hallway and slid down the stairs railing. She was nowhere in sight. I grabbed the Dawn soap and slipped out the door unseen. Craig was waiting for me at the wide spot, his music blaring so loud I couldn’t think.

“Get in baby,” he gestured smoothly, tilting his tinted glasses over his nose. I did as he said, trying to hide the red blush staining my cheeks. I was his baby? We drove for a few minutes until we reached the community car wash where it was time to scrub away my sins.

“I’m sorry for what happened yesterday,” I offered.

“It’s okay, but you’re one sick bitch,” he said with no pity. I felt it again, this urge to burst out of my skin.

“I didn’t piss myself! I was just excited! That girl Faith, you know, the one who used to go to church with us? The one that got kicked out of her house for having sex with Joseph? She said its normal and she has sex all of the time!” The words spilled out, frantic to make him understand.

“You talked to that whore?” His eyes were cold. I didn’t know what to say, Faith was so kind to me when I needed someone that understood what it was like to be lost.

“I did talk to her. She’s very kind and open minded. Besides, she wouldn’t call you a whore,” I tried to convince him.

His eyes became large and his lips spilled the words that still echo in my mind, “She was a whore when she fucked me for a pocket knife and she’s a whore now.”

His words ignited a black cloud of jealousy. “Be happy you’re a virgin,” Faith had said, cigarette smoke punctuating each word.

IX. Faith’s Fate

The halls of Westview were chaotic. Flyers flew from every direction, one hitting me smack dab on the right cheek. I peeled it off and immediately my stomach sank. It was Faith.

“Missing girl, Faith Bronson, 5”5, 120 lbs., Auburn hair, blue eyes, last seen wearing jeans and a white hoodie, has flowers tattooed on her right shoulder, possibly in danger. Call 1–800–445–7830 to report anonymous tips.”

I was quickly brought back to my senses when I saw Craig bend over and pick up a flyer. He was tearing them off the walls, pulling a lighter from his pocket. I didn’t know Craig had a lighter. Had he been smoking cigarettes too? “She was a whore when she fucked me for a pocket knife and she’s a whore now.”

What in the hell did he see in her? Faith was practically the devil herself! I shouldn’t even give her the pleasure of thinking about her, let alone feeling sorry for her. It wasn’t my life. I wasn’t the slut! I was abstinent. Maybe if she would’ve taken me up on my offer to return to church, she wouldn’t have went missing on a Sunday! That’s fate!

I hope they never find her. Maybe the girls around here would learn something and have some modesty for once. I mean, Faith was their sex symbol after all. What would they do without their Faith?

Fiction by Zoe Nicewander

Zoe Nicewander is studying Creative Writing at Shepherd University. “She Said” is the first short-story she’s ever brought into the light. When she’s not writing, she’s drawing, enjoying nature, or taking photos of the beautiful world that surrounds her.