Case History 7
Subject; Sally McD Age: 14
INTERVIEW ONE
Sally was just fourteen and as Irish as a shot. She had that look of the 'Little People' about her, as if she were bewitched and bemused. Her bright, blue eyes literally sparkled with mischievous and daring. She was obviously the kind of person who isn't happy unless something interesting is really going on and she's well into it!
Well, Doctor, I guess my trouble is that I bit off more than I can really chew.
It all began about six months ago, when school just got back after the summer vacation.
I had had a wonderful summer.
A trip to Ireland. Visiting parts of the family I had only just know about secondhand, but had never really met.
And it was wonderful!
And Irish Irish are so much fun! They really like people.
They even like tourists.
If you ever want to visit a country and be treated nicely instead of like a bum or a pest or a nasty, rich American, the place to go is Ireland.
There you'll be treated like a human being, if you treat others the same way.
Yes, I guess I like the Irish Irish a whole lot better than the American Irish.
You understand what I mean?
The American Irish, at least the people in my family and the people I hang around with, they're ... they're strange.
I mean, they're so Irish, the American Irish.
Let's see, what's that phrase that describes it so nicely?
Oh, yes!
The professional Irish.
Well, that's the typical Irish transplant living in American. They're professional Irish.
Well, the Irish Irish, they're just Irish naturally, without having to work at it, and that makes them so much pleasanter and nicer to be with and get to know and enjoy and hang around with.
Just folks, you know.
Well, anyhow, the summer ended and I had to come back to my mother and father and all their hang-ups and weird ideas about things.
And they're just terrible!
They're just terrible people, you know that?
I mean, they're so strict and unyielding about everything, just everything.
They're so religious!
And why is that? Who needs it? Who cares about most of what they care about?
And they care about it so much, too!
It's as if the things they think are important are the most important things in the whole world.
Which would be all right, if it were true and they were important.
But what they care about isn't important, so it isn't true.
So what can you do when you're a girl and you're my age?
You just ignore your parents, that's what you do.
That's what you have to do!
What else is there? If you go along with their program, you wind up being someone you really aren't.
Because their idea of who and what you are is all right.
They want you to be something and someone that you really are not.
And there's no way to resist them honestly.
I mean, you can't just come right out and tell them they're all wet, because they'd go crazy.
They'd go absolutely and totally and completely crazy!
And when my parents go crazy there's no stopping them.
In the name of the love they say they have for their children, they'd almost kill them so save them from themselves.
It's really awful.
And, of course, because they're so religious, they don't even feel bad when they get into their cruel act.
No, they thing they're doing the right thing.
In the name of their religious and their sense of what's right and wrong, they'd gladly cause you to suffer the torments of the damned.
Well, as far as I'm concerned, I'd rather be under the thumb of a good-natured, loving pagan than stuffy, dogmatic people like my parents.
Their religion and their religious ways are just excuses for their own nuttiness and lack of tolerance for people who don't agree with each and every word they have to say about just everything.
And yet they consider themselves very religious.
But they don't know anything about humility.
And they don't know anything about mercy.
And the don't know anything about loving their neighbors.
And they couldn't give a damn about giving to the poor and helping out those people who are less fortunate than themselves.
And they don't have any real respect for the person who is actually and really searching for some meaning in her life.
And they have no real respect for ideas like freedom for the individual and to each his own and things like that.
No, everything has to be one way and one way only.
And that's their way.
So it's real sick, no doubt about it, and I have to live with them. At least for now.
But, Doctor, I don't want you to think I'm making all this up. I'm not.
I'm not making any of it up.
My parents are just so stubborn about living according to their ideas of what's right and wrong, that they're not human about things.
Take my sister, Betty, for example.
Betty was a very pretty girl, full of life and energy and she just loved everybody she came across, like a puppy.
It was very becoming and sweet.
Well, now, Betty is my older sister, so when the time came for her to begin to investigate life, she bumped up against my parents' rigid attitudes before I did.
And it was terrible!
They just crushed Betty, that's all.
They didn't give her a chance.
What she wanted to do was innocent enough, just a little love story, that's all.
But they made her feelings for Jack, her boyfriend, seem like the worse sin in the history of the world.
And they came down on her ... hard.
They came down on her so hard that now Betty doesn't even live at home anymore, no she doesn't.
She lives in a sort of hospital in the country, poor thing.
She's a nervous wreck.
She's much too thin. She trembles all the time. She's shy and timid.
Just the opposite of the lively, young, loving, trusting girl Betty used to be before my parents started messing with her head.
You see, the problem with Betty's boy friend, Jack, was that Jack wasn't the same religion as my parents.
And that not only made him undesirable, but it made his and Betty's getting together a terrible, sinful thing.
A thing that could not be tolerated under any circumstances.
And my parents went to work on Betty until there was nothing healthy or sane left about her.
They didn't stop working on her till they very nearly destroyed her.
So now instead of having a beautiful, loving, loyal older daughter, they have a sick, nervous, angry, frustrated young woman who has to live in a country hospital just to survive.
Yes, if my 'religious' parents didn't kill Betty, they did the next closest thing.
They made a living, walking, talking zombie out of her.
They destroyed her.
And that's not an exaggeration. That's the plain and simple truth of the matter.
And do my parents feel sorry about it?
Do they feel bad because they destroyed a young life just as it was reaching its prime of joy and happiness and sanity?
No!
They don't feel bad about it at all. Oh, they say they do.
Sure they say they feel bad about it. And when they're talking with their thick-headed friends who are as creepy and weird as they are, they look all sad and depressed when the subject of Betty comes up.
But they're not really sad.
At least they're not sad about what they did to Betty.
And I know that because when they talk about it, they talk about how much they've had to suffer.
They talk about how much they've been put through.
They talk about how expensive the country hospital is for them, and how they have to keep Betty there because it's their duty.
They talk about how embarrassing the whole thing was for them, and how disappointed they are in Betty, and how they feel so sad because they did everything in their power to do the right thing by the girl and bring her up right.
But they never talk about Betty.
They never talk about how much Betty is suffering and hurting.
They never even mention the fact that if it weren't for them none of Betty's suffering and sickness would have come about in the first place.
They don't even think they've done anything at all wrong.
No, of course not!
How could my parents ever do anything wrong?
Why, that's impossible.
That's entirely out of the question.
They don't even realize that it's their narrowness and hypocrasy and stiffness that caused most of the problem in the first place.
They think they're the abused party, that they're all in the right, and that Betty is all in the wrong.
But the truth is, it's just the opposite.
They're the ones in the wrong, and Betty was in the right.
So I'm telling you all this, Doctor, because I want you to understand why I'm here talking with you instead of my parents.
I can't talk with them.
How can I?
They never listen! So how in the world can I talk with them?
Oh, they think they talk with me, but they think that only because they're so stupid they don't realize the truth.
They're so stupid and narrow that they never even realize that they're doing all the talking and I'm not telling them anything.
And what do I tell them?
I tell them exactly what they want to hear and nothing else.
No more and no less.
Just exactly and precisely what they want to hear, that's what they get from me when we talk.
Now that may be sneaky on my part, but it's the only way I can lead my own life against them.
I just don't tell them what I'm really thinking and really feeling and really doing, because if I did, they'd just turn around and do to me what they already went and did to my sister, Betty.
So when I got back from Ireland this summer and went back to school again, I didn't tell my parents what was going on.
Not one word about my falling in love.
How could I, right?
I mean, if I told them I was in love, they'd hit the ceiling and, when they came back to earth, it would just be to make life miserable and terrible for me.
So they don't know a thing about me and Richard Bennet.
That's Mr. Bennet, the history teacher.
He teaches the Introduction to World History, and the first minute I say him I fell in love with him.
It was love at first sight.
And he's ... on, he's about twenty-four.
He just graduated from Teachers' College last year. In fact, he graduated the same summer I spent in Ireland.
So he's real young, although in a way he's an older man, at least as far as I'm concerned.
I'm just thirteen remember.
Anyhow, it was love at first sight!
It was the real thing!
Why, every time I looked at him I just had hot flashes and everything.
I'd look at him and my hearing would go out. My vision would start to blur. The room would start to spin.
That blond hair of his and that creamy white skin, without a freckle on it.
And I love the shape of him, too.
He's all man, but he's gentle, too, and smart, not at all like my father.
Richard likes to hear both sides to a question and then decide what he feel about it based on the facts.
My father doesn't even want to hear both sides.
My father says that hearing both sides to a question just confuses the issues and makes matters muddy.
So there you are. No two men could be more unalike, and Richard is just as handsome and intelligent and loving as my father is plain and retarded and hateful.
Oh, I was so in love!
I'd get to Richard's class as early as I could every day, so I could look at him and listen to him as much as possible.
And I'd follow him around the school, at a distance, so I could be close to him and feel his vibrations as much as I could.
I'd sit two table away from him in the school cafeteria during lunchtime.
I'd try to sit near him during special school activities and stuff.
And at the basketball games and the football games and that sort of thing, there I'd be, as near as I could get to Richard.
Then, I found out he was interested in the debate team, and I joined that.
You know why.
And I worked real hard at learning how to debate.
And I worked even harder at studying history. For every assignment he gave the class, I read two and three and four times the amount of reference books required.
And at last Richard began to notice me.
And why shouldn't he after all that effort on my part?
After all, I was his star pupil!
And I was doing extremely well, which shouldn't come as a surprise, considering how motivated I was.
And Richard was real pleased with both me and with himself.
I guess it's pretty nice to come across such a wonderful student the first year out of college.
Some teachers spend a whole lifetime teaching before they come across one student who shows a lot of promise.
And was I ever showing a lot of promise.
I won a four-year scholarship for my essay on George Washington and the Colonial Loyalists for the contest sponsored by the Young People for American and Freedom committee that operates out of Dallas, Texas.
I won the top prize for debating in the state last December, and this spring I'm going to the tri-state finals, then probably to the regionals and on to the finals at Washington, D.C.
Everybody says I'll probably win.
Anyhow, it got to the point where Richard and I were spending a lot of time together, and that was just what I wanted most in the world.
Of course, at home I told my parents all about my good work in history and the debating team, and they were really pleased with me.
Naturally, I never even once mentioned Richard Bennet.
And they were too stupid and uncaring and thoughtless to ever even think of asking which teacher or teachers were inspiring me to reach the new heights I was reaching.
But that's my parents for you.
As ignorant and narrow as toads.
Anyhow, I was getting closer and closer to Mr. Bennet!
And then I started dropping little hints, hoping he'd pick up on them.
I'd lean against him as much as I could, for example.
When he'd be sitting at his desk, correcting one of my many, many papers done for extra credit, I'd lean over his shoulder, pretending to be looking at my paper, too.
And then I'd lean against him, press up to his warm, wonderful body.
And the bolts of electricity would go right through me!
It was so exciting I couldn't stand it, almost!
But, of course, I somehow managed.
After all, it was what I wanted. It was wanted most out of life.
And for a long time things went along pleasantly and well enough.
But then Mr. Bennet started getting suspicious of me and he started drawing away from my advances, subtle as they were!
And he tried to keep it subtle, too. But I could tell what he was doing.
Every time I closed in a little bit, he'd withdraw.
Several times, I caught him looking at me with what was almost suspicion in his beautiful, big, brown eyes.
And finally it happened!
I couldn't stand it anymore!
I couldn't stand being so in love with Richard Bennet and working so hard to have him admire and like me and spending so much time with him ... and him not responding to any of my shy, girlish advances.
And it was even worse than that!
Because, once he got suspicious, he wasn't merely cool.
He was definitely withdrawing from me!
I was losing him!
And the more I tried to get him to feel comfortable and relaxed with me, the more and more he withdrew from me.
And the more that happened, the more desperate and lonely and afraid of losing him completely I felt!
It was terrible!
I started losing weight just like Betty did before she got so terribly sick and had to be taken away to live in that dreadful, expensive country hospital.
I started getting nervous and shaky.
At nights, I found that I couldn't sleep, even on the nights when I was especially tired and exhausted!
I was falling apart with worry and fearfulness and a terrible sense of abandonment and aloneness in the world.
The man I loved wouldn't have me!
So, I decided to take some direct, desperate action.
If I couldn't have Richard Bennet of his own free will, I'd have him by any means available to me!
So, I plotted his rape. Well, obviously, Sally McP had a very serious problem to contend with. She didn't realize it, but she was using the very tactics she found so obnoxious in her parents to win the love of the person she loved. How strange it is that very often my patients are 'guilty' of the very things they most despise in others.
It is ironic but true that, in rejecting her parents, Sally adapted their methods to deal with her own problems.
But it isn't much of a surprise, after all. The parents are the single greatest influence in a child's life, and the lessons they teach are well-learned by their offspring, even if they are lessons in tyranny and cruelty!
INTERVIEW TWO
The next interview found Sally sitting across from me looking even worse than the first day we'd met. The sparkle in her eyes had turned into a burning glare of intensity. Her carefree manner had become negative, even threatening. She was in terrible turmoil, and seemed on the edge of hysteria!
Well, Doctor, as I was telling you before, I had decided to rape Richard Bennet, my history teacher and the man I loved.
There was nothing else I could do.
It was that or go completely crazy, as crazy as my parents.
I simply had to have him, one way or the other.
It made no difference, none whatsoever at all.
Or, at least, that's what I believed when I put my plan into action and took the first step!
It started on a Thursday, at lunch in the school cafeteria, Richard and I were sitting together in a corner of the big room talking quietly.
Nobody thought much of it or suspected anything odd was going on, because people had gotten used to seeing Richard with his prize student.
It was strictly a student/teacher relationship as far as the rest of the school population was concerned.
Oh, were they ever wrong!
Anyhow, according to my plan, I'd spent the whole lunch hour and even more telling Richard about how cruel and awful my father was.
Richard had met dad several times, at school functions around town, and he knew I wasn't kidding or exaggerating.
I mean, my father is so mean he can't even hide his meanness from others.
His hostility and hatred of decent things and nice people is so obvious, it just shows in his face like a sign were printed across it.
I mean, my father is just like a character, a heavy, right out of a sick play by Tennessee Williams!
And to make matters even heavier, my father is the Chief of Police in our town. Yes, he is!
And I was explaining to Richard how I hated my father because he never hesitated to use the power of his office and badge and gun to abuse people he didn't like.
And, believe me, a Chief of Police can make a person's life pretty miserable if he puts his mind to it.
And my father often put his mind to it!
He delighted in making life just awful for people he didn't like, like kids with long hair, or people who didn't hold steady jobs, or minority groups or people interested in anything but the Establishment.
And, of course, Richard was very, very sympathetic.
And he was very disturbed by what I was telling him, too!
He kept saying, "How unfair!" and "But that in itself is criminal!" as I talked on and on and told him about true case histories about the way my father had so gleefully and thoroughly misused the powers of his office!
I really put the fear of god into Richard!
Or rather, I put the fear of my father, the Chief of Police, into Richard!
He was all shook up!
His face was almost white, and when he picked up his coffee cup to sip from it, his hands were trembling.
I knew, then, for a fact that he was really and truly afraid of my father.
As well he might be!
And, then, I knew I had him!
After lunch, I could hardly wait for the afternoon to be over and finished with.
All my classes that afternoon are just like a dream. They hardly seemed real to me for that whole period.
If any of the teachers had called on me to recite, I wouldn't have been able to answer their questions, because my excited mind was at least three hundred million miles and dozens of light years away.
All I could think of was getting together in his empty classroom after school let out to rehearse my debate speech for the semi-final Regional that was coming up in just a couple weeks.
And at last the clock said three thirty, the school bells rang, and the building was cleared of almost everybody.
Slowly, my knees shaking with emotion, I walked down the hallway toward Richard's room, knowing that after today nothing would ever be the same again.
Not for me.
And not for Richard.
Hesitating, I quietly opened the door to Richard's classroom ... and there he was!
My heart almost stopped beating, but I struggled to take control of myself and somehow just managed to do so when he turned around and saw me standing there, staring at him in the late afternoon sun.
"Sally!" he called to me. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"
He walked quickly across the room, almost ran, and he helped me into a seat in front of the empty rows of seats.
Oh, the touch of him felt so good!
It made me feel even weaker and fainter!
And then I said, "Richard, I've got to talk to you in private."
"Yes, of course," he answered, his face all full of interest and sympathy and a willingness to be useful and helpful.
"But it has to be private! Real private!" I explained.
"Well, there's no one here," Richard said, indicating the empty room in which our words echoed.
"No," I said, "I want to talk in the cloakroom. That way no one will be able to hear what we have to say."
Well, he didn't like that much, but what could he do but agree with my request, as strange as it might seem.
So Richard locked the door that led from his classroom out into the hallway.
He did that because I told him to do it, that's why.
Then the two of us walked into the cloakroom that's located in front of the rows of desks, behind Richard's big desk.
We did that because that's what I wanted him to do.
And then I had Richard lock the door of the cloakroom, too.
A person who wasn't as kind and considerate and loving as Richard would never have put himself into that position in the first place.
After all, it was suspicious.
But when I suggested locking the cloakroom door, too, Richard did that, too.
We stood there in the semi-dark of the cloakroom for several long minutes, not moving, not saying anything.
There was a single, big window at the opposite end of the long, narrow cloakroom.
Through it, the late afternoon sun fell in a puddle on the floor, and the sounds of the kids shouting and playing out in the school's courtyard filtered in through the window.
I was still trembling with anticipation and wasn't yet able to say or do anything.
Richard was all sympathy and concern. He took a stack of books of a nearby stool and dragged the stool over for me to sit on.
I watched him closely as he moved to do so, loving the sight of his wonderful body, even through his clothes.
He fascinated me and I wanted him.
And I was going to have him no matter what.
It no longer made any difference to me what would happen to either of us.
The only important thing was that my desire and love for Richard should at last be allowed an expression.
At last he said, "Now what is it, Sally? What is it you want to talk about? "
"It's a secret and a surprise, Richard," I told him.
"Well, don't keep it too secret, Sally. After all, that's why both of us are here, to share your secrets."
"Well, here's one," I said, and without another minute's hesitation, I pulled my sweater off over my head.
According to plan, I wasn't wearing anything underneath it.
I had no bra on, no slip, nothing.
My firm, pretty, little tits popped free of the sweater when I jerked it up and off and over my head.
The nipples were already as hard as could possibly be, and they stood out from my breasts proudly and defiantly!
"Sally! What are you doing?!" Richard cried, almost backing away from me "in alarm and panic.
His face looked very, very worried and his eyes kept darting around the room, as if he were looking for an escape hatch.
But we were four stories up in the air, and there were two locked doors between us and the hallway.
So, saying nothing more, I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, beginning to step out of it even before it hit the hardwood.
Richard was now completely backed away from me, standing at the opposite end of the cloakroom, his right hand held out in front on him as if to ward me off by that slight and useless gesture.
He had no chance of getting away from me and my desires.
He had no chance at all!
I then kicked my shoes off and peeled my socks off, too.
I was then completely and gloriously naked, my young body revealed in all its splendor!
Why didn't Richard rush forward and take me in his arms?
Why didn't he grab me up and cover me with a million kisses as he had so often and beautifully done in my dreams?
Why wasn't he as pleased and happy with what was happening as I was?
Wasn't it all for him that this was happening?
Wasn't it for his pleasure and mine that the two of use were brought together by fate?
"Make love to me, Richard!" I cried.
"But, Sally...." Richard objected, his outstretched arm waving me off, waving me away.
"I want you to make love to me!" I shouted at him, stamping my bare foot on the cold, hardwood floor.
"But it isn't right, Sally!"
"Of course it's right! We're meant for each other. That's why we're here like this. Things like this don't happen if they're not meant to happen. Don't you see, Richard? We're fated for each other?"
"But you're my student, and I'm your teacher," Richard objected.
"What difference does that make?" I said, walking toward him with my bare arms stretched wide open to receive him.
"Professional ethics! Our differences in age! There are a million reasons, Sally, a million reasons!"
"Ah, but none of them are worth the time it takes to say them," I told him.
I then walked straight up to him and started fussing with his belt buckle.
I was thinking that if I could only just get his pants off, I could grab his sex and get him so excited that he'd forget his silly objections.
I could feel the juices in between my legs building and building in intensity.
God, I was so thrilled and happy and excited!
I got his belt unbuckled and started working on his zipper.
I had it pulled about half-way down when, suddenly, Richard took my hands in his....
... and pushed me away!
I couldn't believe that he had done that!
Richard Bennet, the man I loved most in the world, the only man I loved, had actually reached out, and instead of pulling me to him and covering me with kisses, had crudely, violently pushed me away!
"Richard! What does this mean?" I screamed, my face red with anger.
"I told you, Sally! I can't make love to you. There are reasons, believe me, there are good reasons!"
Then I was really angry. The whole world was falling apart!
"Oh, I get it!" I screamed at him. "Now I understand, Richard. Now it's all as clear as day!"
But Richard misunderstood the change in my tone of voice, and seemed to calm down a bit.
"Well," he sighed with relief, "I'm glad you do understand why this will never work, Sally."
"Oh, sure, I understand, all right, Richard. I understand. You don't want to make love to me because you're a fag!"
He blushed and looked terribly shocked.
"How can you, of all people, believe that of me?" he complained.
"Well, aren't you a fag?" I insisted.
"No! I am not!"
"Than why don't you take this chance to make love to me and make love to me?!" I screamed at him.
"Because I can't have sex without being in love with my partner!" he said, shouting back for the first time.
"Well!" I cried out. At last I had him!
He trapped himself.
Surely he loved me, that much was obvious! So the two of us would be together at last, at long last!
Richard looked very unhappy and miserable. "Sally," he said, his voice quiet and tender, "you see, the problem is ... I ... I don't love you." I was shocked!
"You don't ... love me?" I managed to say, my throat as dry as a desert.
"No, not that way," Richard said, his head hanging down. He looked awfully sad.
And I almost felt sorry for the big, good-looking man.
But not that sorry!
Not sorry enough for me to be cheated out of what I so desperately wanted after all my efforts!
"Well...." I said, quietly, deliberately letting my voice trail off into a nothingness that demanded a question.
Richard looked up at me, his eyes brimming with tears.
Christ, he was actually crying! What is that from a man?!
"Well, what?" he asked me, his voice full of concern and understanding.
But he didn't understand.
"Well," I explained, "it doesn't make any difference if you love me that way or not."
"No?" he asked. "You really think that it doesn't?"
I stared at him right in his crybaby face!
"No," I said loudly and firmly, "it doesn't. Not at all. I still want you to make love to me anyway!"
It was Richard's turn to look and be shocked. "You can't mean that, Sally!" he cried out, stunned with my daring.
"I want to fuck, Richard. And fuck we will!"
"I won't!" he said.
"Oh, but you will! You'll fuck me and you'll suck my tits and you'll eat my young, thirteen year old cunt out and you'll lick my asshole and you'll fuck me in the ass and I'll suck your cock or else!"
Richard just stood there staring at me. The look of shock on his face did nothing but make me madder and madder.
He was such an innocent! He was such a babe in the woods!
And he didn't say anything, so I said it for him!
"And if you don't get out of those clothes and start making love to me immediately, I start screaming, Richard! So help me I will! And I'll throw this stool through the glass of the window. And then, when everybody comes running up here, I'll say that you tried to rape me! Now get undressed and let me see that cock of yours!"
Richard just couldn't seem to believe what he was hearing.
He just stood there staring at me stupidly.
"I can't, Sally. It's against my principles."
"Isn't having your career ruined against your principles, too? Isn't going to jail against your principles? Isn't having my father on your back against your principles?"
"I won't touch you, Sally!"
"I warn you, Richard!"
"Sorry, Sally. I can't be blackmailed into loving a sick girl who only thinks she loves me."
"My father will have your balls!" I screamed at him.
"You won't do what you threatened, Sally. You're not that evil," Richard said, and he smiled gently at me.
"Now you just put your clothes on, and well forget all about this little episode. I'll wait for you in the classroom."
And with that, Richard turned, took his big ring of keys out of the pocket of his suit, and started walking toward the cloakroom door.
I picked up the stool I had been sitting on and hit him hard on the back of the head with it! He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes! Then I started screaming at the top of my voice and attacked him with all the great strength of my fury.
I clawed at his face and body!
I tore at his clothes, ripping them into shreds!
He tried to defend himself passively, but nothing he tried could save him from my sense of outrage!
Then I turned my claws upon myself!
I tore my own skin and hit my own face with my fists!
I knew my eye was black and my lips were terrible swollen.
Then, still screaming at the top of my voice, I took Richard's left hand in mine and hit it, knuckles down, as hard as I could on the hardwoon floor.
Next came my own clothes!
I tore them to shred, too!
By that time, Richard was slowly getting to his feet, leaning onto the hooks in the cloakroom to maintain his shaky balance.
But he was too late to make any difference!
I picked the big, wooden stool up, ran the length of the cloakroom at full speed, and hurled it through the big, closed window!
It crashed through with a huge noise, sending a shower of glass fragments falling heavily into the courtyard directly beneath us!
I leaned out the window screaming and screaming and screaming, making sure that I received many, many cuts from the broken window glass all over my arms and breasts and stomach!