I Met A Gentleman

I had never known a gentleman, till I met Mr. Raphael, our sweet tempered neighbor. He always looked out for me, tending to my wounds whenever I got hurt. His touch was tender and his words kind. I loved listening to his stories and enjoyed the treats that followed. He bought my favorite books; he knew they were my escape from the days of hawking oranges in the sun. I was not raised to be greedy, my dad’s death had made us my mother, siblings and I settle for whatever measly meals we could afford. So I turned down his treats at first, but he insisted and promised that there were no strings attached.

‘You are such a good girl. You deserve to be treated well,' he said.

His gait was confident, his smile beguiling, his words soft and convincing. It was those words that led me here.

I’m sitting on the cold floor, clutching my ripped dress tightly to my chest. It is what remains of my stripped innocence. I stare blankly into space, still numb from the defilement. My throat is blocked with unsh

ed tears. I cannot bring myself to cry over the monster in front of me. My screams had made no difference. My pleas offered no respite. When he grabbed me and threw me on the bed, I had thrashed and kicked but he persisted till I lay in a helpless heap. When he found his release, I writhed in pain.

‘I will hurt you more if you ever tell anyone about this.’ His smile is sinister, his voice as ice. I shudder as his words chill my bones. My body shakes violently as the dam breaks, and my tears freely flow, washing away my hopes and dreams.

I was only 12 years old when I met a gentleman.