Someone actually said during the trial that it was a damned good thing Jax was a virgin prior to the attack. I'm not so sure THAT wasn't the most abhorrent part of the entire ordeal. What in the holy hell could that possibly mean? Getting brutally raped, at gunpoint, by a serial rapist could somehow have been her fault? Even if she was the loosest girl in the country, I don't see how it could have been any less HER fault. It was heartbreaking.
Until that night, our world was very simple. We lived in "Mr. Roger's neighborhood". A place where my bud, Clarke could gain access to my bedroom via my window at any time it pleased him. A place where I walked the street between my house and Jax's most nights of the week ... in the dark - alone. Somewhere that parents didn't worry about leaving their teens at home alone, save the fact they may get into their own brand of mischief. Nothing would ever be the same for a single one of us.
Twenty plus years later, I don't dwell on this so often anymore. I usually try to forget January 11th on my calendar. I haven't spoken to Jax since she got married - several years ago, now. I know how she is ,as I am close friends with her sister, but our friendship died a very long time ago. Something more painful for me than any of the other events spoken in this post. She was my best friend, my cub. I loved her like family.
I guess in the end, I was too much of a reminder for her.