* Names were changed for the purpose of this story.
In this story, my abuser’s name will be Tommy, his best friend’s name will be Sam, and my best friends name will be Sarah.
In first grade, when I was 6 years old, I was sexually molested my a new classmate. Tommy came to the school in the middle of the school year, and he seemed sweet. He was very nice and smart, and everyone liked him. Then he met Sam. Sam was one of those kids who would fight just for fun, and bully people and make nice kids monsters. Sadly, Tommy was one of those kids. After Tommy began hanging out around Sam, he began to become mean. At first, he was just having attitude with the teachers, but then he started beating kids up. He would steal their stuff, and threaten to beat them even worse if they told any teachers, so, of course, everyone was too scared. And then one day, he decided he liked me, in a perverted way.
We were standing in line out of the classroom one day, when all of a sudden, he asked if he could touch my butt. Now, I am a high medical needs child, and a heart problem is one of my conditions. All of a sudden, I had a panic attack, where I had trouble breathing, and passed out. The teachers ran over to me, and asked if I was alright when I woke up, and I looked at Tommy. I remembered what he had done to kids before, and I was terrified. So I lied. I completely lied about the whole thing, just saying I had a small anxiety attack. And that’s when the molestation started.
At first, Tommy just groped me. He would slide his hands up my shirt, or play with my ass. But then, the fingering started. One day, he just slid his hand down my underwear, and he started fingering me. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t I sobbed, hoping someone would hear, but no one did. He did it, over and over, for weeks. I’m pretty sure I still have scars from when he began to stick sharp things up there. Finally, I got the courage to tell someone. But it wasn’t the whole truth. I just told my mom that he asked to touch my butt, and left the story there.
I am now 13, and I currently explained to my best friend who lives with us, why I’m scared of being alone. I told her the whole story, and I then just cried for half an hour. She convinced me to tell my therapist, who told my parents, and they were furious. At first, I thought they were mad at me, but it was him. My parents searched for him for 2 weeks, until we found him, and I begged them not to do anything. Sure, he scarred me, but I saw him, with his baby sister. I walked over to them, and he didn’t recognize me at first. I then asked him his full name, and I told him mine. He didn’t remember me at first, but then I said those 3 words, “first grade abuse.” His eyes widened, and he began to cry. He then begged me to forgive him, and explained how he changed. He had left my school, and went to a christian boarding school, where he was abused himself, by a fellow classmate. At first, I didn’t believe him, until he showed me his scars. On his back, there was a sentence that had been carved into his back with a knife, “my own little fuck toy.” He explained how he had only told his parents that there were some problems, and he wished to come home. They pulled him out, and he was home schooled. His mom then gave birth to his baby sister, and he had swore to her that he would never do what he did to me, and would make sure that it didn’t happen to her. He had changed, and I assured him that I forgave him. I then went back to my parents, and explained that we couldn’t do anything to his family. They were confused, but since I was the one abused, they listened to me. For 3 months now, though, every night, I have had nightmares about it, and wake up crying every night, but, even though I know its cruel, I tell myself every night, “he learned his lesson, and repaid it even more.”