The very first time was the night I turned sixteen years of age. I've always thought that he was my birthday present from the universe, celebrating my emergence into womanhood. I felt like I had known him all my life. I became familiar with all his physical attributes and his presence in the air every time he came to visit at night.You should know I live in a place where it is almost always warm, but typically hot. Hot and humid or hot and dry. His presence would only raise the temperature, even more, making me moist over my whole body. My simple cotton sleeping tunic would become soaked even before he might arrive. Sometimes the scent of Madre de Noche Jasmine would drift into the room.It would start with me feeling all hot inside and starting to get the needy urge to touch myself. He would just look at me and stay in the dark. I could feel my nipples getting hard. I would reach for my breasts with my left hand and softly caress them in a circular motion. My right hand would seek. ”“No. No!” I sobbed once, hurt and incensed and completely offended that he would imply that anything that happened was anyone’s fault but mine. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”He kept going, relentless. “Then why? Why pull away? Why are you so angry? What did those monsters do?”“Nothing! They didn’t do anything! It’s me!” I was crying so hard I couldn’t see, shouting loud enough the soldiers in the sparring ring below could probably hear me. “They keep saying it’s not my fault, but it is. I’m the monster. I am! I don’t deserve their comfort.” I gasped for air, head spinning, voice tapering off to a hoarse whisper. “None of them blame me like they should. They’re all kind words and compassion and comfort, while Faren still lies there unconscious. I’m the monster. They shouldn’t love me. I don’t deserve it.” I clapped my hands over my mouth, shocked and horrified by what I’d just admitted. Is that really why I’ve been such a bitch since I woke up? Able to examine the thought.
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