She sat with her back against the brick wall, her legs pulled up to her chest. She thought about how cold it was outside. Then she thought about how warm the blood that covered her was. She closed one of her hands into a fist, and then opened it back up again. The blood was sticky too. She looked up at the dark night's sky and saw snow flakes, slowly fluttering to the ground, peacefully. Everything looked peaceful. Her tears were even peaceful as they gracefully fell down her cheeks. She glanced down at her clothes that she wore. The ones that Anson had so violently tore off of her, right before he raped her. She had put them back on for warmth, even though they were ripped, and bloody. She stared at her surroundings in a daze, thinking things, but at the same time, not thinking at all. Her thoughts were abruptly cut short when she heard footsteps come down the alley. She glanced up, fearful of what she would see. She saw the silhouette of someone, she carefully tucked her legs even closer to the wall, now completely hidden behind a nearby dumpster.
"Bianca!" she hears Drew say "B, are you down here?"She almost gets up, and calls out "Yes, I'm here… please help me!" That's what she wants to say. But she can't no, she can't. She doesn't want anyone to know about this. Ever. She sits and waits, he yells again "Bianca?". She still doesn't reply, and soon, she hears him leave.
She gets up and walks. Or limps. Some people give her strange stares, seeing her torn clothes, and the bruises and blood all over her, but most of them are used to it. They live in a big city, they see it all the time. Bianca has seen it all the time too. She sees girls on the streets, beat up. Sometimes she'd stop and talk to them, "How are you? Are you okay?" She'd give them a smile, and tell them that they were strong, and that they'd be okay. She had always been nice to them when she saw them. Even the prostitutes, standing on the corner. She knew they didn't want to be doing what they were doing. Some of them were probably doing it to feed their baby. Some probably just wanted to be able to pay rent. No one stops to talk to her though. No one tells her that it will be okay, and that she is strong. She finally reaches her house and shoves the key in, trying to unlock the door. The keyhole is old, and rusty, so it takes much longer than it should. Finally, she gets inside.
"Mom?" she asks "Are you home?"The voice that comes out of her mouth surprises her. It doesn't sound like her.
She doesn't hear any reply, so she walks to the bathroom and takes off her torn, bloody clothes. She looks at herself in front of the mirror. Her thighs are bruised, and so are her breasts, from where he groped her.
She cries when she sees herself. She looks ugly, she thinks. She's bruised, and she has scratches from his fingernails all over her.
She stares at herself in disgust for a few more seconds before stepping into the shower and turning on the water.
She stands in the shower, scrubbing at herself. Her skin is red now. All of it. She can still feel him all over her. She knows she shouldn't be able to feel him anymore, as she's probably already rubbed off the whole top layer of her skin. That doesn't matter though. She can still feel his touch, and she can still hear his voice, talking to her as he raped her. She thinks that ugly word in her head over and over and over again, and each time she thinks it, it makes her cry even harder. Eventually, the water in her shower gets cold. Of course. That's what she gets when her mother is never around to have things repaired, or pay the bills. She waits about ten minutes after the water turns freezing before she gets out of the shower, and even then, she still feels dirty. She dries off, and puts on pajama pants and a tank top, and puts makeup over her bruises. She can't stand to look at them. She hates them. They're just a reminder of what happened. Then, she sits on her couch in her living room, and thinks. That seems to be all she can do. Think. Think about how it felt when Anson was on top of her- cold, gross, painful. Even thought it was cold, Anson had been sweating. She thought about how she sounded. She had tried to scream. She screamed "Help! Someone! Help!". Then she couldn't scream anymore, as Anson had placed his huge dirty hand over her mouth. When he finally took his hand from her mouth, she screamed again, "Help!", but Anson had punched her and instructed her not to scream, warning her that there would be consequences if she didn't follow his orders. She remembers the things he said "I won't make you do anything you haven't done before…"
A knock on her door interrupts her thoughts, and makes her jump in fright.
"Who is it?" she asks quietly in a hoarse voice, tired from screaming.
"Bianca? Are you home?" It's Drew, and he hadn't heard her tiny whisper asking 'who is it'.
She slowly gets up off the couch and walks to the door, grabbing onto the doorknob and twisting it. She opened the door and Drew looked sternly at her. "Where did you go?" he asked, "I was worried about you. I feel bad for not trusting you."She stares at him. She had forgot that they had even had a 'fight'. She had forgot everything.
"That's okay." she whispers in a toneless voice, "I forgive you." She turns around and walks back to the couch, disregarding Drew's presence completely.
"I said I was sorry, Bianca." Drew says coldly, coming into the house closing the door, "Don't be mad at me.""I'm not mad at you." Bianca says quietly.
Drew looks at her doubtfully, "You're acting like you are.""I'm just…" she begins, but her voice dies out into nothing. She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want Drew to know. She's embarrassed.
"You're just…. What?" Drew asks.
She doesn't answer, so Drew sits down on the couch beside her, putting his arm around her.
This startles her, and she jumps up, frightened.
Drew stares up at her, "Is everything okay?"
She quickly forces a nervous smile to her face, "Yeah." she says, "It's okay."
"What happened to your cheek?" he asks.
"My cheek?""You have a cut on your cheek."She slowly reaches up, touching her cheek. He's right. Her left cheek has a gash on it. She didn't even notice. Not even when she covered all her other injuries with makeup.
"I don't know." she says.
"Did your mom's boyfriend come home drunk again?""No… my mom doesn't even have a boyfriend right now." Bianca says quietly, "I must have fell out of bed or something.""You didn't have that cut when you left the concert." he says, he stands up, observing her closely. He lightly runs finger over her cheek, but she backs away.
"What's wrong with you today, Bianca?"
"Nothing.""You're acting strange. Did Anson…" Drew begins, but Bianca cuts him off.
"No." she says quickly, "Anson didn't do anything."
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