Defending Men (Jordan)

This fic contains rape/non-con. Proceed with caution and an open mind.

Let's go back about 11 years or so. I was 15 years old at the time; my 16th birthday would follow soon after. Felicia, a friend at the time, looked revolted at the sight of Alex. I told her I didn't want to do anything too serious, but she kept pushing it. She told me I was a horrible boyfriend even though I told her I had no intentions of wanting a romantic relationship. The whole thing started off harmlessly enough. We went to dinners dressed in fancy clothing, ate chocolate, and exchanged a few kisses that never gratified me. However, it made her happy, so I continued. Things never really escalated from that point. Felicia was still the straight A student from a conservative family. I was still the edgy "bad boy" who didn't really care for the academic.

That all changed when I told Felicia how I really felt. Felicia led me into an empty restroom. She aggressively ripped--and I do mean ripped--my clothes off. This newfound aggressiveness stunned me to the point I couldn't react. After chasing me (for a while because I did track), she cornered me and started kicking me. As soon as I gained my bearings, I tried to fight back. However, the ballet she did made her agile and strong to the point I didn't stand a chance. The rest of the events were a blur (maybe because I was probably about to lose consciousness), but I do remember her accusing me of taking advantage of her when it was the other way around.

The rest of the year was rough for me. I had to be homeschooled because of what happened in that restroom. My "bad boy" persona made the whole thing more believable, but that's not really who I was. I had ten other siblings and I was the seventh child. My family had enough to eat and that's because I got the least. I was unable to do heavy physical labor, but I wasn't exactly weak either. My dream was to run track in high school, but that dream was quickly ended because my legs felt like they were in splints when I ran. My left hand does the same thing. My parents often told me "Jordan, if you weren't born so early, you would have been a fine specimen of a young man." It would have been fine if I had a sign that I wasn't a joke. They refused to admit that my problem even exists because they kept saying "You can do anything as long as you set your mind to it." I suppose they meant well, but it stung all the same. I could never get a mile time under 600 ticks or squat any kind of weight. Most of the time, I went home and cried in my room because I felt like a failure.

Tonight, I felt the judgment of my family and all my siblings (Anne, Kamber, Derek, Carson, George, Spencer, Marlee, Brice [a girl], Elliot, and Gerad in that order). Anne took Zinnia and Marlee to the other side of the table. We live in a small town, but not too small, so word of incidents like these spreads like wildfire.

          "I was the one who was taken advantage of, not Fel." I tried to defend my position. "She ripped off my clothes."

          "But a male can't do that to a female," Kamber chimed in. "It's impossible."

          "How do you know? Were you in a similar situation?" 

          "Well, I just know. My intuition tells me."

          "A girl did that to you? Wow, Jordan. You achieved a whole new level of weakness." My mother said this jokingly. An onslaught of similar comments in both French and English followed from nearly everyone else except for Marlee, Brice, Elliot, and Gerad. The latter two were too young to understand what had gone on while the former two actually believed me. Anne, however, shushed them. 

          "You know what? You guys will never understand or even try." Feeling tears about to burst through the wall I had worked to hard to build, I ran into my room ashamed that I really was so weak. Be a man, they said. But what does that mean? I am sick of being dismissed and told that I am wrong. Crying in frustration, I threw a pillow and punched it until I collapsed exhausted and in tears. I didn't bother with pushing myself to finish what little I ate.

The next day, I was taken to court. The building's tall ceiling supported by quartz pillars had a draft that I believe was specifically made to freeze the truth out of you. Fel was obviously dressed for the occasion in a black, tight-fitting blazer, round-collared blouse, and pleated midi skirt. Shooting daggers from her eyes, she did not see Jordan. She saw what I was accused of. I gave a cool nod in return and smirked although my soul burned with humiliation. When my attorney attested on my behalf, he demanded to see security footage. However, since there was none, I had to complete 200 hours of community service for a crime I never committed in the first place. There were no witnesses aside from someone who heard the incident from outside the door who said that the screams sounded like they were from a girl. Well, thank you. I sometimes sang alto in choir due to the lack of actual altos.

200 total hours of picking up trash, weeding wheat fields, moving furniture, etc. later, I was free. However, I didn't feel particularly liberated. I avoided empty restrooms for the longest time after that. I started treating myself like dirt. I started mining little pieces of coal to distract myself. After even more community service (Thank you, suggestion box.), Fel told me she would abandon the baby as soon as s/he was born. Okay. I shrugged and moved on with my life, thinking both of us could be absolved of this situation until the baby was actually born. It was a girl who I thought resembled me.

I don't know what compelled me, but when I held her, I felt connected in this strange, irrational way. Babies never really interested me before, but this one did. She opened her eyes, a brilliant, steely diamond blue. Who could abandon this little thing? She slept in my arms so peacefully. Enough with "the baby". This girl needs a name. I found a book of names and began reading it.

Melissa? No. Too popular girl. 

Katherine? No. Too aggressive. Plus I was bullied by a Katherine.

Anna? No. Too common. It's too close to Anne too.

Lina? No. Just no. I don't even know why.

Margaret? No. That's my mother's name. 

Skylar? Eh... It's a step in the right direction.

Nicole? No.  

Felicia? NO NO NO NO. How did I notice that in the first place?

After looking at a thousand more names, I found "Alex." It just seemed right, like it was her name. However, it needed more. Alexandra seemed too severe while Alexa was too mediocre. Just Alex seemed...faceless. This girl needs to be known. Alexandria was perfect. I looked at the clock and realized that I spent an hour on naming Alexandria. I wanted her to have the world. But who was I to rob her of the joy of taking it for herself? 

Another court visit followed soon afterwards. It was a rather intense custody battle despite the fact that Fel didn't want Alexandria in the first place. Her parents and mine were both bent on Fel keeping Alexandria. However, I knew she would just leave that precious little human being in a ditch to slowly wither and die. I fought with all my might to keep this little girl, my little girl. I had no idea how to warm a bottle or change a diaper, but I would learn. I would do everything in my power to ensure her happiness--and I meant everything. Fel went into the biological processes of birthing a baby. No, Fel. It's more than that. You have to invest your sweat, blood, and tears into Alexandria. I cared enough to give her a name, at least. I pulled poisonous weeds from wheat farms for 10 hours straight just to give, not only myself, but my child chance. Even if I could give her nothing else, I gave her a name, an identity. 

Eventually, I won because I delivered my testimony in such a way that I won the judge's heart and because I proved that I was the victim by pointing out that Fel made that blazer out of my old jacket. Victorious, I took Alexandria from Fel's arms and walked out of the courthouse a new man, a father. A week later, it was my 16th birthday. I held her in my arms, knowing I was in it for good. I was in it for the birthday cakes, the hugs, and the utterings of "I love you, Daddy". I was in it for the graduations, school plays, enthusiastic belting of Disney songs, and sports games. Even more important, I was in it for the tears when she tripped and fell on her face, the agonizing minutes sitting in a corner, the failed tests, social issues, and, well, everything that could happen to my girl. 

And how did my experience as a teenage father go from there? Horribly. And it was not Alexandria's fault. A store clerk thought I was a kidnapper and aggressively interrogated me when I was just buying baby formula! Sheesh. Even if no one said anything, they were staring. My grades were plummeting because I was tired all the time from sleeping maybe 800 ticks a night total. No one in my family helped either, except for my dad, Jérôme, when he was home from a business trip. During that short year, I learned a lot of things such as how to console a baby while listening to my parents
drone on about biology or how to combine tummy time with studying English. I saw my baby's eyes become more green as time progressed. 

I checked the calendar. One year had passed. One year. Alex's eyes were a vibrant emerald green and she developed the most infectious laugh. That got me through the days when I was harassed for just trying my best to raise this miracle of a human being. When she was happy, I felt like I had done something right for once. Alex didn't care about my problem or that she didn't have a mother. All she wanted was another arrowroot cookie. I gladly obliged since the batch I had made was cooling. The ones at the store were hard as diamonds and tasted like stone. There was no way Alex was eating those!

Months blurred into years. Alex loved dance classes, especially tap. She would flap and slap day long if she could. The dance teacher was picky and temperamental, fussing over minutia. However, that never really bothered Alex. She just smiled and tapped on. However, no child is perfect. Alex had this tendency of  getting into things and breaking out of the house. She needs a lot of attention and affection, but gladly returns it. That sweetness goes sour if she feels ignored. I eventually gave up trying to confine her the house and just let her wander wherever until it's 18600.

Alex grew into a talented, agreeable young lady and I evolved from a scared, confused single father to someone experienced in such a thing. Right now, as she gave me a hug, I remembered everything I had done to assist her in reaching this point. She curled up next to me in a rainbow-colored pajama set and she drifted off already eager to start another day with her bright smile. It is said that the name Alexandria means "defending men" and my Alex does that. She knows how to fight for others as well as herself. I taught her how to defend others as soon as she learned how to defend herself.