Hey, so I deleted my other stories because after reading The Boy Who Sneaks In My Bedroom Window, I got a fanshamstic idea and I wanna finish that before any of the others. Okay, in this story, pretend that Robbie's family gets along, kay?

Enjoy

I remember walking home from my friend's house at nine o' clock when he popped out of from the sidewalk. He was dressed from head to toe in black, and wore a zip-up hoodie. He smiled at me. I weakly forced my lips up, returning it. I turned on my heels the other way when he pulled me. He pulled me into a bush on the sidewalk. My screams weren't loud enough for anyone around to care.

He carried a sharp knife in his left hand, and held it to my throat as he pushed me onto the ground. He grabbed both of my arms and pinned them to the ground. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, only for him to push the knife closer to my throat. He pulls my jacket off, as I lay there, defenceless. He reaches underneath my shirt and feels me. I scream as loud as I had ever screamed in my life. He slashes my wrist, ejecting thick red liquid, the colour of my hair.

I cry for help. He cuts me again. He forces his tongue into my mouth. I bite his tongue. So he cuts me again. He unbuttons my blue jeans as I jam my finger into his mouth. So he cuts me again. He takes off his pants as I try and scurry away. He catches and cuts me again.

I'm so freaking scared. He doesn't understand what he's doing to me. Am I just some body that he'll dispose of? Am I nothing? He rips all my clothing off. Shit. This isn't assault. This is rape. I am just a body. He's tearing my clothes off as he tears me apart. I'm no longer a kid. I'm no longer a human being. I'm a fantasy of some twisted man's dreams. I'm just a disposable body. He's using me. I can't do anything about it. I shove a twig inside him, only to be sliced open. What do I do now?! Do I let him enter without a fight or do I fight back? No, there's no freaking use. He'll just cut me until I bleed to death.

Maybe I should just let him do that. I'm now worthless to him. I've been used, and now it's time for me to be thrown out. There's no reason for the world to have another bipolar red head, annoying everybody. I have no purpose anymore. If I'm just a 'garage' for this man, then what am I to the rest of the world? I'm nothing. I'm freaking nothing. I bet my friends wouldn't care about me if I left the world. If I bled to death. That actually sounds like a reasonable option. I'll just bleed to death. Then no one would have to worry about getting special medicine for me or taking me to my mental health doctor. I'll just disappear. No one will care.

He enters. I hate to admit it's not a horrible feeling, but it's still rape. It's still the disposal of someone. I scream loudly, this time stopping his blade with my elbow. Shit. That was a crap idea. My elbow is the most sensitive part of my body. Yep, I'm done. Goodbye world. I've stained the leaves with blood. The plants are going to die because of me. He finally finishes with my body, and runs off quickly into the far night.

I lie there, naked, horrified. My face is damp with tears and my body dripping in blood. I reach for my clothes, and slip them on, being careful not to anger any of my wounds. I limp onto the road, staying in the shadows. The car lights blind my eyes. The streetlights highlight my cuts. Building lights illuminate my wet face. Many people pass me on my way home, and stare at my messy hair and blood-stained clothes. But no one cares.

No one freaking cares. A ten year old girl is walking down the street, covered in blood and crying, and nobody cares enough to stop. I guess that's New York for you. Even though my house was only two blocks away from my friend's, this happened. I got turned into a useless, empty shell that has served its purpose to a strange man. I rub my forehead to soothe the cut I had received there. I close my eyes and there he is. His scruffy stubble, his crazed eyes, his power-hungry hands. I abruptly open my eyelids, not wanting to remind myself of what had happened just twenty seconds ago. I limp up to my driveway and remember no one is home. And I have no key; the offender having stolen it.

I look to my right, to the Shapiro's house. I've never really met them, except for seeing their afro-haired son sometimes. I should go there. I mean, even though I don't know them, I'm sure that they'll be kind and offer comfort. So I find myself knocking on their door with my exposed knuckles, leaving drops of blood on their white door.

A warm light was flooding from the rooms, making me feel safe. The house was beautiful, orange brick and black slated roof. I guessed that they were a happy family; I saw the same man and woman come out of the house every time. Very unlike my family.

Most people would think that the Valentine household was all chocolates and rainbows. Oh, shit, it was different. See, my parents are divorced. Mr. Valentine is in Los Angeles somewhere with a new woman he can use. My mother remarried a man who I think hates me. Whenever he sees me, his green eyes study mine, as if I was some pathological killer and he was convicting me with his stare. My real father was much the same. He blew up at my mother when he found out I was bipolar. He blamed her for my dizziness and walked out. But I was only four then, and didn't realise what had happened.

My mother on the other hand, was kind-hearted and helpful, like a mother should be. But sometimes she just made a mess out of everything. Like when I wanted to work on my pirouette for ballet class, she pushed me harder and harder until I snapped my ankle. He smothers me with so much love it hurts. I sure hope that the Shapiro's would be the good kind of helpful.

The door opened to reveal a warmly smiling woman wearing a dark green laced top.

'Can I help you?' she asked, smiling. She then looked up and down my body and gasped. 'Oh, dear, what happened? Come in, come in.'

The lady took my by the shoulders and led me into her living room. The walls were painted light beige, and the walls lined with cute little pieces of artwork. The house smelled of roasted chicken and mashed potato. A boy who looked my age, occupied a third of their brown couch. He turned his head to face me when I walked in. His hair was fuzzy, as I remember it and he wore black, rectangular glasses. I assumed that was the young son my mother had told me about, Robbie or something. To his left, a tall man with black bobbed hair sat on the sofa. He face looked immediately worried when he saw my cuts and wounds.

'Sit down, sit down,' he rose from his seat as the lady moved me towards it. She plonked me down next to the son, he looked as if he was about to cry.

'What happened, deary?' the lady asked, still rubbing my shoulders. I sucked in the warm air, holding back the tears that I knew would flow. I gasped a few times as my wounds started to sing.

'Um…well…I was walking home and this man came….' I felt uncomfortable to say the rest of that sentence, and figured that the man and woman knew what I was going to say.

'Where are your parents?' the man asked, sitting on the coffee table in front of me.

'They're out, looking after my brother at his doctor,' I replied, between breaths.

'We have to get you to the hospital! And the police station!' Robbie cried, fear evident in his voice.

'No, no, no,' I answered, pushing his shoulders down. 'I don't want anyone to know,' I told. The woman gasped, then clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

'I understand,' she consoled, nodding her head. The man nodded as well. 'You should stay here tonight,' the woman suggested.

'I couldn't ask for that,' I debated, shaking my head.

'We're not asking,' Robbie replied, smile lighting up his face.

I nodded, 'Thank you, but where would I stay?' I asked.

'You can stay in our guest room,' the man answered.

These people are so kind. They're letting me sleep in their house. They're letting a stranger, who just got assaulted to sleep in a guest room, in warm sheets, in no danger. I can't sleep. I can't do it. The man is going to come again in my nightmares. Crap, I'm going to sleep in their house without sleeping.

After mending to my wounds and cuts, the pair told me about themselves. The lady's name was Linda and the man's Daryl. Linda, Daryl and Robert. I like that. They told me how they met; at a Rolling Stones concert in Florida. Their eyes locked and they immediately fell in love. I thought it was really cute.

Linda leant me a pair of her pyjamas, and even though they were far too big, they made me feel safe and warm. They tucked me into a bed in the guest room. The room was a pale blue, with faint stripes of purple in it. A huge window lied on the right side of the bed, curtains heavily blocking them. It was strange to feel so at home without being at home. I felt like someone cared about me. It was a warm and kind feeling to have.

I tried to make myself fall asleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see him. He haunts my thoughts now. I toss and turn under the sheets, forcing myself to stop thinking. But I couldn't. I just couldn't. I will never again be able to sleep. And apparently, the sound of the rustling covers was loud enough for Robbie to hear.

He showed up at my door, with an annoyed frown. I got up from the bed, and walked towards him. He did the same, but his eyes weren't angry. His chocolate irises were full of sadness. He pulled me into a tight hug, squeezing me in places I never want touched again. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he doesn't budge.

'Robbie, let go,' I command, pulling the collar of his shirt. But I realise how much this hug meant to me. I burst into tears, digging my eyes into his shoulder. He rubs my back comfortingly, making me feel safe. I feel like I've stained his shirt with my tears.

'I'm not letting go until you stop crying,' he tells me, running his fingers down my hair.

I don't. I cry for the whole night, running out of tears only at eight in the morning. And Robbie didn't leave. He didn't get annoyed with me and go back to sleep, leaving me crying by myself. No, he held me all night. He made me feel safe.

And that's strange for a stranger.

Eh, eh, you like it? It's gonna get reeeeaaalllyyy angsty in the next chapter, so hold onto your hats.

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Yes please.

Anyway, baaaaiiii from me.