I think they're going to let me out of here this year. They probably have to, since I'm 18 and all. I hate school so much. If it weren't for Bobby, I don't know how I would've made it.
Bobby's my boyfriend. He's not special or unique, and he doesn't treat me that way either. He just accepts me and lets me be.
We don't really go out, though. Mostly, I sit at home until he calls, then I go over there and we hang out. Sometimes I let him put it in me, but only after I've recovered from the last time, and never in any bad places. I keep telling him it's too big and that it hurts me, but once he gets that look in his eyes, he starts going crazy. In and out, until the blood on the sheets gets to be too much and I have to kick him off of me. Bobby's not very big, maybe 130 pounds, so I can usually send him to the floor if I use all my force, even in my weakened condition.
That just makes him mad, though. That's when he starts yelling and talking about how retards can't feel pain. But, then he calms down, sees that I am in pain, and dresses the wounds.
Pretty much, though, those are the only times my handicap comes into discussion. More of a learning disability anyway, but I still have to be in those damned Special Ed classes. And Bobby always apologizes for calling me retarded. I don't mind, though. I know he doesn't mean it. Anyway, I know what I am and nothing's going to change that.
Other kids in my class play down their deficiencies through a permanent positive mental outlook, complete with full-toothed grins and active participation in a plethora of extra-curricular activities. Those like me, who aren't so bad off as to be reduced to a pile of drool and awkward wrist contortions. Except, they're not like me because I'm not obnoxiously cheery. And I avoid any activity outside of school grounds that doesn't consist of solitude in my room.
Still, for some reason, people continue to reach out to me. I tried to write a poem once and received so much encouragement and praise that I never picked up a pen again. They would never do that for the school's top student, but they'll pin up a poem about a brown rock on the bulletin board for me because I'm "special" or "unique" or whatever word they have for me today.
Is it too much to ask to be left alone? Must I be constantly pushed to test the limits of my abilities?
I never would've met Bobby, though, if it weren't for my family pushing me out of the house. They told me I had to get more active. So, I was enrolled in a mentor program.
I guess I was Bobby's community service requirement. He said he went to jail for twenty years and now he was on parole. At first, we had a chaperone following us around; but when his community service ended, so did the babysitting.
I remember thinking that I'd probably never see Bobby again. That he'd be like all the others who would volunteer to help the handicapped in school, only to quit and be replaced on a monthly basis.
That's why I was shocked when, a week later, he invited me over to his house. He said it had been so long since he'd had sex with a woman that he couldn't even remember what one looked like. I thought that was funny, but I was nervous too because no one had ever wanted to even touch me before, let alone have sex with me.
I'll tell you what, that first time hurt like no other. I didn't feel too good, but eventually I fell asleep.
A few hours later, Bobby shook me awake and wanted to know if I'd like to see his knife collection. He had that look in his eyes, but I shook my head anyway.
He said, "Come on, it'll be fun."