I Can’t Just Let it Go ((Cassius))

I Can’t Just Let it Go :: Cassius

The second one on the chopping block! There’s some themes of violence in here, especially sexual violence. So proceed with caution, my lovely readers.

Words: 1052

Character(s): Cassius, Stephanie, Esperanza, Cassius’ Dad, Cassius’ Mom

I will always take responsibility for my actions. If something is my fault, I will do my best to fix it. And when something can’t be fixed, than I’ll bear whatever burden is caused. That’s how I was raised to be, and that’s how I’ll always live.

I think it’s a good trait to have, to be responsible and reliable. The problem is… well, I’m human. And us humans tend to make some pretty bad choices at some point or another, right? We make mistakes all the time, whether we mean to or not. Big mistakes, little mistakes- they just kind of happen and that’s that.

Though sometimes, we make pretty big mistakes. Well, actually… I don’t like to call it a mistake. I would never call her a mistake. I guess what I’ll say is this- us people? We make bad choices sometimes. And I made the worst choice of my life that night.

It wasn’t even why you probably think it is. This isn’t about my daughter, entirely.Yes, she was conceived that night without our intention, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, it is, but it’s not- this is really hard to explain. I don’t really have a way with words and all that. Bear with me.

Okay, so we were at a party. I’d never been to any parties like it before; though the only other parties I’d gone to were birthday parties and my cousin’s quinceañera. This was a high school party, and it was really different, much like everything in America. I’d been living in America for less than a year, but I got along pretty well. I had friends at school, and a steady girlfriend. Things at home were rough as far as money goes, but my parents were doing their best. Well, sort of. I mean, they were, but my dad really was struggling.

So he drank. A lot. He would wait until my mother would go to bed, and then he would drink. It scared me, and one night I asked to stop. I tried to take the bottle out of his hand, and he hit me across the face. After that, I never once tried to stop him. I was angry, though. Very angry that my father had become such a person. And so, I drank too.

I know, that’s not very good judgement. I said I was one who takes responsibility for my actions. But that doesn’t mean I don’t make poor choices. It just means I have to deal with a lot of consequences.

I drank out of spite, I think is the right word for it. I drank because I was bad that he drank. That sounds stupid now, but at the time I think it made sense, probably. It had to have, or I wouldn’t have done it, I guess.

So that night, at the party, I drank. There was no shortage of alcohol, and so I drank. And drank. And drank. I drank until I couldn’t feel any sense or emotion in me. The whole world was spinning, and things were okay because I didn’t have to feel any of the things I’d been dealing with. And at that moment, nothing was a bad idea. I was out of my mind and I wanted to do something fun.

I think I already said this, but I was at the party with my girlfriend. And she was pretty sober, I think. I don’t remember- a lot of this is from her memory. I asked her to tell me the truth about it. And so from her memory and mine, here’s what happened.

I was wasted. I took her by the hand and was speaking something in Spanish- she didn’t understand. I dragged her into the bedroom of the house we were in. She was amused by how drunk I was, and decided to humor me, walking in with me. We started to make out and all that stuff, but we’d done that before. That wasn’t new or anything by that point.

Though this time I kept going. I began to try and undress her. She was surprised, and suggested that I get some rest and we try it when I was sober. I didn’t want to stop, though. So I tried to convince her, saying we’d waited so long, that I was so attracted to her… who knows what sort of nonsense I rattled off, really. She still said she’d rather wait until we were both in our right minds. So I pulled her into another kiss, and every time we pulled away I asked her again. It took four tries until she gave in.

And so it happened. That was our first time having sex.

After the fact, I felt awful. Horrid. To think that I’d coerced her… she couldn’t have- she didn’t give an enthusiastic and genuine yes, and yet I didn’t stop. I felt like a monster. I was a monster. She tried to assure me that she did say yes and it was okay, but I know I backed her into a corner. I know I had to convince her. To be honest, even if she tells me I didn’t, I know what I did. Even though she did say yes, she didn’t at first. And I kept going until I got that yes, even if it wasn’t honest. I raped her, didn’t I?

Six weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. When she told me the news, I didn’t know what to think. Almost immediately after, she insisted on getting an abortion. She didn’t want the child- she couldn’t have it; it would be too bad for her and her family’s image if people knew she was a teenage mom. But I just… well, I mean, if she really, really wanted that. I wouldn’t stop her. I wouldn’t control her body again.

But I asked anyways. I asked her if she would keep the child, if I were to raise the child. If she would give birth, and if she didn’t want to raise the child, to allow me to. If I was going to make those choices, I was going to take responsibility. That’s how I was raised.

And that’s how I will raise my beautiful daughter, Esperanza.