shirt off before coming back down and putting the entire weight of his body on top of me again.
It’s the third time this week that he’s done this, waiting until Mommy is passed out in bed and everything is dark. Coming into my room, stroking my hair, calling me all sorts of names that I used to find sweet, but now wish he wouldn’t say at all. Once he’s called me all the names he can think of, he pushes himself on me.
I fought against him for the first two nights but it ended up hurting me more so I stopped. Now I just close my eyes while he does this and cry inside my head. The first time I cried out loud, it upset him and he smacked me across my cheeks so I know not to do it anymore.
It’s not gonna be long now before he sits up again and slides his pants off, panting, almost breathless as he strips my own nightgown off. That’s the part I hate the most and the part that I wish I could scream out to Mommy for, so she could stop it.
I just want it to stop hurting.
~*~*~
Sleep is pointless. Every time I try, my mind is flooded with images of him on top of me and the screams I couldn’t let out then, I do now. It doesn’t change anything though because just like nobody came then, no one does now.
My pain, the tears that fall, the shaking of my body brought on by the anguish that remembering causes, it’s all going to fall on deaf ears.
I’m completely alone.
Resigning myself to the fact that I won’t be sleeping again anytime soon, I sit up in the bed and reach across for the bottle of water sitting on the side table, unscrewing the cap and drinking so fast I’m almost drowning in it. Putting it back on the table, I grab my phone and scroll through the missed messages since my failed attempt at taking a nap.
There’s three, all from Tim. The first two are just texts, but the second one is a picture and as I take in what I’m seeing, my stomach rolls over.
I don’t want to see this shit. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking, but taking a picture of someone looking like this, it’s wrong and I know what wrong really is. It’s made worse because two days ago, the guy in the picture had been the one sitting beside me in a doctor’s office making me laugh.
I’m pretty sure all I’ve gotta do is scroll through the texts and read them to know what led up to the picture I’m seeing, but I don’t wanna know. It’s crazy but being away from school, not having the outlet that I normally do when the memories become too much, it’s changed me.
Eric being tortured does nothing but twist my already upset stomach even more.
There’s only one way to make the nightmares stop. To stop reliving every second of the horrors that asshole put me through, but it’s something I’ve been avoiding. My arms are so torn up I’m pretty sure that there’s no more room and I don’t exactly want to start combining it.
It leaves my legs. The one part of my body that I’ve been trying not to touch, but with each passing second becomes more appealing. I need to do this, concern over the way my body will look after be damned. No one is gonna see it anyway. It’s just me here, with Mom being at work. I can do it quick, banish this sick feeling and no one will be the wiser.
Yanking the drawer open, running my hand around inside until it bumps into the exact object I’m looking for, I wrap my hand around it and pull it out. Finding the pack of cigarettes easily, I pull them out too, making sure to shut the drawer behind me.
Sliding up my nightgown until my bare left leg comes into view, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’m already starting to feel the rush and I haven’t even done it yet. What’s happening now, it’s just further proof that this is the right thing.
Bringing the cigarette to my lips, I flick the lighter three times until I hear the crackle as the flame hits the end of it, the bright orange glow so familiar that I smile. Taking a few drags, I pull it out of my mouth and
It’s the third time this week that he’s done this, waiting until Mommy is passed out in bed and everything is dark. Coming into my room, stroking my hair, calling me all sorts of names that I used to find sweet, but now wish he wouldn’t say at all. Once he’s called me all the names he can think of, he pushes himself on me.
I fought against him for the first two nights but it ended up hurting me more so I stopped. Now I just close my eyes while he does this and cry inside my head. The first time I cried out loud, it upset him and he smacked me across my cheeks so I know not to do it anymore.
It’s not gonna be long now before he sits up again and slides his pants off, panting, almost breathless as he strips my own nightgown off. That’s the part I hate the most and the part that I wish I could scream out to Mommy for, so she could stop it.
I just want it to stop hurting.
~*~*~
Sleep is pointless. Every time I try, my mind is flooded with images of him on top of me and the screams I couldn’t let out then, I do now. It doesn’t change anything though because just like nobody came then, no one does now.
My pain, the tears that fall, the shaking of my body brought on by the anguish that remembering causes, it’s all going to fall on deaf ears.
I’m completely alone.
Resigning myself to the fact that I won’t be sleeping again anytime soon, I sit up in the bed and reach across for the bottle of water sitting on the side table, unscrewing the cap and drinking so fast I’m almost drowning in it. Putting it back on the table, I grab my phone and scroll through the missed messages since my failed attempt at taking a nap.
There’s three, all from Tim. The first two are just texts, but the second one is a picture and as I take in what I’m seeing, my stomach rolls over.
I don’t want to see this shit. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking, but taking a picture of someone looking like this, it’s wrong and I know what wrong really is. It’s made worse because two days ago, the guy in the picture had been the one sitting beside me in a doctor’s office making me laugh.
I’m pretty sure all I’ve gotta do is scroll through the texts and read them to know what led up to the picture I’m seeing, but I don’t wanna know. It’s crazy but being away from school, not having the outlet that I normally do when the memories become too much, it’s changed me.
Eric being tortured does nothing but twist my already upset stomach even more.
There’s only one way to make the nightmares stop. To stop reliving every second of the horrors that asshole put me through, but it’s something I’ve been avoiding. My arms are so torn up I’m pretty sure that there’s no more room and I don’t exactly want to start combining it.
It leaves my legs. The one part of my body that I’ve been trying not to touch, but with each passing second becomes more appealing. I need to do this, concern over the way my body will look after be damned. No one is gonna see it anyway. It’s just me here, with Mom being at work. I can do it quick, banish this sick feeling and no one will be the wiser.
Yanking the drawer open, running my hand around inside until it bumps into the exact object I’m looking for, I wrap my hand around it and pull it out. Finding the pack of cigarettes easily, I pull them out too, making sure to shut the drawer behind me.
Sliding up my nightgown until my bare left leg comes into view, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’m already starting to feel the rush and I haven’t even done it yet. What’s happening now, it’s just further proof that this is the right thing.
Bringing the cigarette to my lips, I flick the lighter three times until I hear the crackle as the flame hits the end of it, the bright orange glow so familiar that I smile. Taking a few drags, I pull it out of my mouth and
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