I.

He was gone.

Again.

Why did he have to keep going away for so long? A couple of weeks was fine, but he'd been gone for five months.

Too long.

The pain numbed me inside and I grabbed my coat and left my room. I heard my mother calling to me, but I went out the front door and began to run, trying but failing to leave my troubles behind.

II.

"Hey, beautiful."

I was used to guys staring at me. I had my father's dark brown hair and green eyes, and my light skin was flawless, my features angular. I ignored the guy until he was right next to me, blowing smoke in my face. "Wanna hit?" he asked in what he must have thought was a sexy voice.

I could kill him with my bare hands.

I was trained to kill with my bare hands.

But he stopped me when he said, "It takes all your troubles away, baby."

I reached out to take a hit.

III.

My mother began to get worried about me.

I left all of the time, never bothering to tell her where I was going no matter how much she pleaded with me or yelled. She was emotional with my father gone, and she cried every night. That's why I usually left at night.

I found Brian one night as I was wandering the streets. He was good-looking, with his messy dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. He invited me into a party where I had my first taste of alcohol.

It burned.

It burned twice as much when it came back up later.

IV.

Shouldn't I be feeling something?

Brian moved his mouth to mine as the thrusted into me, causing me to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

"Don't," he said when I bit my lip. "I wanna hear you."

His mouth burned my skin.

His touch hurt.

He left marks, bruises and otherwise.

I didn't have the will to fight back.

Why should I? It was all just to forget. Just to forget.

V.

He put something in my drink.

I knew after one drink of the scotch he'd just handed me. It was too bitter.

It burned.

It made my head spin.

I couldn't see right; my vision blurred.

He was touching me suddenly, too much.

I didn't want him on me.

I tried to fight back.

"We've done it before," he reminded me in a husky voice that smelled of alcohol.

I still tried to push him away.

I didn't want him to touch me.

I couldn't fight right, though. Whatever he'd put in my drink did the job.

VI.

I felt cold and alone as I made my way in the dark. The streets were empty save for my lone figure walking slowly towards my house. My head was still spinning and I hurt everywhere.

I knew I'd have bruises the next day.

I was empty.

Daddy, where are you?

Headlights blinded me.

A door opened.

"Aidan?"

I recognized the voice, but I didn't know who it was.

My head still hurt too much.

Grant and Bex's bodies blocked the headlights.

"Aidan, are you okay?" Grant asked, moving towards me.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed as I jumped back.

Grant recoiled, shocked. "Aidan, it's me," he said softly. "Grant. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Grant," Bex said softly. "I think she was raped."

"Holy shit."