A Black Box.

She led me to the bedroom as she whispered, “we have to be quiet.”

I remember laying next to her feeling uneasy. She instructed me to get undress as she undressed herself.

We laid there naked.

She told me to touch her breasts. I looked at her confusingly as I said, “are you sure? Is this okay?” She reassured me that it was, so I did. I thought to myself in that moment, this doesn’t feel right — but I followed her lead anyways. After all, and it was just a game.

Everything became a blur after that. Next thing I remember seeing was my little brother riding a tricycle at the corner of the bed. She asked me to ask him to join, so I did. He said no, and he continued riding his tricycle back and forth. I remember thinking to myself, how come he doesn’t want to play with us?

Another blur interrupted by the sound of a loud pounding on the door.

“What are you doing in there?" yelled her brother.

We jumped out of bed as fast as we could and grabbed our clothes.

He somehow got in even though the door was locked. He saw that we were naked and made a joke about it — they’re in here comparing pussies.

Then he left and closed the door behind him.

We scrambled to put our clothes on, and I left.

I was only 6 or 7 years old when my cousin coerced me into performing sexual acts; and for the last twenty plus years, I tethered these memories inside a black box.

I let it consume me. I allowed it to deny me self-love. I was suffocating in a world filled with shame, guilt, hurt, disgrace, and confusion.

It was not until I was in my early thirties that I finally stopped trying to bury these memories.

I live with it every single day. I battle with accepting it with every breath I take.

I used to hold back my tears. Now, I scream and cry. I let myself feel everything so I can be free.

I remind myself that it is not my fault.