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."
