Redeemed 1

The inspiration for this came from a girl I knew in school. Her reputation came from the every-present rumor mill that teenagers love to feed, truth be damned. I thought of her recently and the romantic in me wondered, what if all she really wanted was to be loved?

Even though she was the inspiration, all the events told in this story are figments of my imagination.

There are some elements of the oil and gas industry discussed in this story, which I know nothing about. I apologize for any errors I may have included about this industry.

Please be warned, this one gets rough at times.

Trigger warning: Attempted Suicide, murder, violence

Redeemed

Being the town whore is hard. When said town has less than a thousand people in it, and the next nearest town with any sort of population is nearly an hour away, it's even harder.

Everyone knows everyone. That is not hyperbole. I mean it. I know every person who lives here permanently, and they all know me. Everyone knows when a new baby is born or when someone dies. It's safe to say, the number of people inserting themselves into your business is inversely proportional to the size of the town.

When you get a reputation in a small town likes this, it is yours for life. Even those who screwed up when they were younger, but straightened themselves out, still held a stigma.

"Johnny Robertson's really done well for himself."

"Yeah, but remember the strings his daddy had to pull to get him out of trouble with the cops?"

I remember overhearing this conversation one day. Johnny Robertson was forty-five, had a wife and kids, and had been running his own successful business for the past twenty years when that statement was made. He got caught with a few ounces of pot when he was twenty. The 'strings' his father pulled were him putting up the bail money to get him out of jail. Johnny paid the fines and completed the community service that was part of his sentence.

Probably one of the more egregious examples, but it illustrates how bad it can be.

My situation was made more frustrating by the fact that I hadn't had sex with anyone other than myself in years. I might be the most unsuccessful whore in history.

It didn't stop the offers coming in. They made me angry for a while. Then they just made me feel sad and alone. Moving far away from here, to a place where nobody knew Grace Sanders, was the only plausible escape.

Only I couldn't.

I couldn't leave my grandma.

Wait, let me back up and start at the beginning.

*****

Daddy was killed in Afghanistan when I was about a year old. I don't remember him of course, but Grandma tells me he was a good man and loved me and my momma dearly.

My momma.

Grandma tells me she was a wonderful woman and daughter. A loving and caring mother.

Right up until daddy died.

I don't remember her being wonderful, loving or caring. I just remember her being either sad or angry. At this point, my memories are just still pictures of events that transpired. Like a set of polaroids stored in my brain.

I remember different men coming and going from our home, and then our trailer after we were foreclosed on. I remember walking in and hearing the grunts and moans, not understanding what they were doing to her.

I remember a man and a woman talking to me. I remember them telling me I was going to live with my grandma from now on.

Momma barely lasted a year after they took me away from her. I remember the funeral because it was rainy, and my grandma held me close to her under the umbrella so I wouldn't get soaked.

I didn't know why they took me from my momma, though. Grandma has never talked about it. I finally found out when I cornered Connor Welt, whose daddy was chief of police when it happened. I made him tell me the story a few years after we were out of high school, and he had joined the force.

He didn't know all the details of course. Hearing what happened, I didn't want to know them all anyway.

My momma tried to sell me for drugs. I was seven years old.

I knew my momma had sold herself for drugs before that. All the kids in school had told me, that is once we were old enough to vaguely understand what sex was. Evidently, some older brothers, uncles, probably even some of their daddies had visited my momma. My momma was the town whore before me. I was just carrying on the tradition. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.

The explanation for why my mother became what she did was simple and obvious. My story is only slightly more complicated.

The kids teased me about my mother and eventually insinuated I was just like her. I could have taken the smarter route and been nothing like her. To abstain completely. Sure, the kids still would have teased me. That's how kids are, but it wouldn't have turned out like it did.

As you probably guessed, I didn't take that route. I started having sex before I was a teenager. At first it made me popular with the boys, which was what I wanted. It did not last though. While guys going through puberty may have a high sex drive, they don't want to date the school slut. Fuck me, sure... they would do that... but date me? No way.

I know this because one of my classmates, who I won't name, told me so.

He explained that he wanted to be with me, because he thought I was pretty, and he knew I would put out. But he didn't want to date me because he felt I would just sleep around on him. That, and he didn't want to catch the various diseases the rumor mill said I had.

I was angry when he said this and told him so in some very colorful language. When I look back now though, I think he did me a favor. It explained a lot of why I was treated the way I was, but I didn't realize it at the time. I wasn't quite ready to learn the lessons made clear from that interaction.

No, it would take something less subtle for me to eventually start learning from my mistakes.

*****

I watched as everyone seemed to date everyone else during high school. Everyone except me, that is. It hurt; I just wanted a boyfriend like the other girls had.

The problem was the boys I was interested in wouldn't give me attention. How to solve for this issue? Easy, what do all hormone-infested teenage boys want? You guessed it... and I would give it them. The fact that they would often ignore me afterward should have clued me in on the fact that I was being used. One of the guys would want me for a couple of weeks, ignore me for months, then show up again looking to pick up where we left off.

I'm sure you've guessed why. You'd think a straight A (with an occasional B+ thrown in) student would have figured it out. No, I was too emotional and desperate.

A lack of friends just added to the misery. All the girls hated me because at some point or another I had probably fucked their boyfriend, or potential boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend... you get the picture. The guys, well you know what the guys wanted. That doesn't make for long-lasting friendships.

Suffice to say, by the time high school ended, my reputation was well deserved.

I saved the final humiliation until just after graduation.

I heard of a few post-graduation parties, none of which I was invited to. I cried the night of the graduation ceremony. There were less than forty kids in our graduating class. I heard that all of them had been invited to the two big parties I knew about... all except me.

I would have cried myself to sleep, except my grandma came up and comforted me, told me how much she loved me, told me how important I was to her. I calmed down a bit. At least I was important to someone.

That weekend, I stopped at the market in our town to grab a few things for dinner that evening. I was standing in line, waiting my turn when: "Hey, Grace."

I turned to see Steve Striker and Tommy Callahan in line behind me, both in my graduating class.

"Missed you at Chase's party after graduation."

I couldn't tell if Steve was making fun of me or being genuine. I just answered honestly.

"I wasn't invited."

Steve gave Tommy a look that I couldn't read... or maybe I didn't want to.

"That sucks Grace, I'm sorry."

I shrugged... it didn't matter at this point. "It's ok."

"Well, are you coming to my party?"

"I didn't know you were having a party." Weird. Even if I wasn't going to be invited, I probably would have heard if he were having a party. Small town, remember?

"Well, I didn't invite everyone. I wanted something a little more low-key."

"Oh." Was all I could muster in response.

Tommy finally decided to chime in. "So, do you want to come, Grace? We're heading to Steve's now."

When I look back now, I think deep-down I must have known. That's the problem with having no confidence or self-esteem anymore. You just don't care.

There were plenty of warning signs; I just didn't heed them.

I went willingly to his house.

I willingly took my clothes off.

I willingly helped them off with theirs.

I willingly let them enter me. Anywhere they wanted to put it, I let them.

When the rest of the guys Steve and Tommy had texted came over, I let them do as they pleased to me as well.

They used me for almost three hours. Some of them multiple times. Sometimes multiple guys at once.

I got home late and sat down in the shower stall until the water went cold. I continued to sit there until I felt my extremities go numb. My mind had reached that state much earlier.

Eighteen, newly graduated from high school and I had just participated in my first gang bang.

I could go on at length about how it made me feel after I had time to digest it. I won't bother, as hopefully the description of the events alone is enough for you to understand how thoroughly worthless I felt.

Then things got worse.

*****

The videos started showing up online the next day. I was the talk of the town. All the social media groups for our town were talking about me.

I awoke late the next day to hundreds of messages on social media and via text, proclaiming me to be the disgusting, trampy, harlot I too, believed I was.

After a half-hour of scrolling, I couldn't take anymore. I went to roll out of bed and immediately felt the soreness. Just more penance for being the trollop that I was.

I gingerly walked down the stairs and turned into the kitchen. My grandma sat there, coffee cup in both hands, staring blankly into the dark liquid.

Without raising her eyes, she quietly asked, "Where were you last night?"

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't answer. It wasn't necessary; I could tell by the tone that she knew something.

Then, in barely a whisper, "There's video of you."

I broke. I thought the shame I felt earlier was the pinnacle. It didn't even come close to the hatred and loathing I now felt. Having publicly humiliated the one person that had always stood by me, had always loved me. I started sobbing and left the room; I couldn't even say sorry to her.

I ran back up the stairs and into the bathroom. I started the shower, hoping to scrub the disgusting grime from my soul.

I opened the medicine cabinet, looking for some relief from the soreness emanating from both my holes.

Then I saw the bottles.

Two prescriptions for Percocet. One for when my wisdom teeth were pulled, one for when they got infected. I had barely taken any either time.

I popped open both bottles and took a few at a time, washing them down with water from the sink. I dropped the empty bottle into the sink and got in shower, clothes and all. It would be over soon.

I wondered if anyone would show up at my funeral. Would they come just to point and laugh? One final humiliation before the first shovel full of dirt was dropped on the casket.

I remember the water running cold. I remember the distant sound of thumping... maybe on the door? I don't remember my grandma bursting in, or the ride to the hospital.

I just remember waking up and seeing what my grandma looked like sitting next to the bed, holding my hand. More shame, a new personal low.

*****

My grandma stayed with me and tried to comfort me while I was in the hospital. Whenever I tried to apologize, to tell her how sorry I was for everything I'd done to her, she would shush me and tell me we'd talk later.

A day later I was released. We went home. My grandma was quiet the whole ride. My anxiety rose with each minute that passed. I knew... I know, my grandma loves me... but everyone has their breaking point. I could not fault her if she had reached hers with me.

We pulled up to our house and exited the car. Each step I took felt heavier than the last. It wasn't that the enormity of what I had done had not hit me. It was being back home, knowing that it wasn't the same. It was now tainted by my selfishness.

Grandma bid me sit in the living room while she made me some soup, my stomach still not quite right after being pumped. I wasn't hungry. I would eat it anyway though. I didn't deserve her, or her kindness.

I was caught in that downward spiral of self-pity and self-hatred. A terrible combination. Too emotionally immature to recognize it for what it was though, I wallowed.

Grandma broke me from my thoughts by placing a tray table in front of me. She then went back to the kitchen to retrieve the soup. I wasn't sure why she didn't just serve me in the kitchen. Then she sat next to me as I slowly ate. Occasionally reaching over and given my back a small rub.

When I finished, she cleaned up and put the tray away. I sat there staring at the wall, unsure of what came next. I had decided I no longer wanted to face life, due to my well-deserved reputation and the contempt it garnered me. I now needed to continue dealing with it, as well as the hurt I caused the one person that held me dear.

It then occurred to me; the town would know. They would know what I'd done. I shrank inward at the new humiliation I would have to face. I wondered if there were any more pills in the house.

Just then my grandma sat next to me and pulled me to her side. I began to softly sob. People talk about hitting rock bottom. If there was a point lower than this for me, I didn't want to visit it. The guilt, shame and loathing I felt physically manifested as a pain in my chest that I couldn't explain.

My grandma pulled me to her side and gently tried to sooth me.

"I'm so sorry grandma, I'm so sorry for hurting you." I was finally able to croak out between my sobs.

She was quiet for a moment before responding, "You didn't hurt me dear, you hurt yourself." A moment more of contemplation before she continued, "I lost your mama to her demons. I do not want to lose you too. You're all I have."

It broke me completely, fully.

*****

I wish I could say that moment was an epiphany for me. That I learned to respect myself and eventually love myself after that moment.

Well, I did learn to respect myself, it just took a while. I'm still working on the love part.

My grandmother mentioned going to the police about 'the incident,' as she took to calling it. I shut it down immediately. As I already mentioned, I was a willing participant. The fact that two of the guys were sons of officers on the force meant that it wouldn't have gone anywhere anyway. She realized as soon as she said it that it would be a bad idea.

As I'm sure you can imagine, the videos were the talk of our town for months afterwards. A few of the boys that participated were punished to varying degrees by their parents. Tommy Callahan's father beat him so bad he had to go to the hospital.

That just made things worse, as everyone viewed it as my fault. I would have become a shut-in if I could. But I had a part-time job, and I didn't want my grandma to suffer monetarily just because I never wanted to leave the house again. I was threatened a few times, mostly by other girls, but luckily nothing came of it.

I didn't do much online, but the amount of abuse I received from that quarter was so overwhelming I decided I no longer needed a presence there. All my social media accounts were deleted. I changed my email and ended up having to change my cell phone number as well. There are only so many dick pics you can receive a day before it gets tiresome.

I went to work and received the abuse you'd expect from something so scandalous. I viewed it as my penance. After the first few months it just became background noise to me. People weren't generally that clever when it came to the insults they hurled my way. It didn't take long for me to develop a set of scripted comebacks that usually left them speechless. That shut some of them up... the others just ran out of things to say, I guess.

The constant during all of this was grandma. She became more involved, which to many teenagers would be irksome, but not to me. I had no real friends at this point, and needed someone to talk to about my thoughts and emotions. After my momma, my grandma had seen it all, so nothing I needed or wanted to talk to her about shocked her. There was almost no judgement from her, just advice and encouragement, with enough wiggle room to let me make my own mistakes and grow from them.

Eventually there were other scandals that took people's minds away from me.

I tried to find more steady work in town. It was harder than it should have been. Objectively, I was a hard worker. I'd been told so by every boss I had in my jobs throughout high school. Still, no one wanted to hire me.

It was my reputation of course. Under different conditions, it would probably have made me laugh. What did they think I was going to do? Start banging coworkers in the backroom during break? Seduce my coworkers' husbands?

On second thought, maybe their fears were founded. I had done those things... well not husbands, but boyfriends? Definitely.

I could have expanded my search and applied in other towns, but that would have made for a terribly long commute... and eaten up more money in gas.

It was solidly winter by the time I found something. A secretary role opened up at one of the local offices. The previous holder of the position was pregnant and wasn't planning to return after she had her baby.

I should mention that our town is near the oil and gas fields that dominate the area. Several of the relevant corporations have offices in our town. It was at one of these offices that I started working as a secretary, or personal assistant, executive assistant... whatever the politically correct term is these days.

I concentrated on my work and ignored the stares, the whispered comments and all the gossip that seemed to trail me wherever I went in town. I'd love to say it didn't affect me, but that wouldn't be true. I just didn't let them know it. I'd put on a brave face, go home and have a good cry. My grandma was always there to pick me up, metaphorically, if I needed it.

*****

The people I worked for never had any complaints about my work. I never gave them a reason to. The bosses I worked for didn't care. They knew my reputation and were quite happy to leave me in the position I was in.

I was in my third year in a pool of four assistants. The other three that were here when I started either all moved up or moved on. Two that started after me had moved up as well. It was a bitter pill, given all the mistakes I watched them make. I made none of those mistakes, yet I couldn't get promoted. My reviews were always the same: satisfactory, meets expectations. They couldn't rate me lower as they'd have to provide proof, and there was none.

One fall day we were told a new executive to the company had started and would be coming it that week. I remember the day specifically. The cold winds that were starting to settle on the area made me pull my collar up against them as I briskly walked into the building. I was typically in before the other assistants and executives to make sure any requests made the night before were at least looked at, if not handled when they got in.