Darcy leaned back against the brick wall that was
Simply Darcy's thoughts out there alone in the woods. One shot. My first attempt at fanfiction in a long, long time.
She didn't bother to build the tent. It didn't look like it was going to rain, and it's not like the flimsy tarp was going to protect her from the cold anyway. Not to mention she hadn't paid a lick of attention when they were supposed to be learning how. Darcy sat cross-legged on her blanket, twirling a piece of grass between her fingers.
"This is stupid." She muttered under her breath.
She couldn't believe her parents sent her to this stupid camp. She wasn't a "troubled teen." She hadn't even smoked that weed with Spinner. How much had she really changed, anyway? So what if she wasn't the perfect cross-wearing Christian bitch she had been before. It wasn't like she was doing drugs, or getting into trouble with the cops like half of the Degrassi Community School student body.
They honestly thought this was hard for them? They didn't' have everything they cared about ripped from them. They didn't have someone force themselves inside their body, their soul. They hadn't been violated, treated like a piece of trash. They were free to keep on believing their bullshit about how their Savior would always be there for them and there was always hope and God would protect them and whatever. She didn't have the luxury of believing that anymore. Someone had ripped her away from everything that made her feel safe and forced her to see the truth.
Every morning when she woke up, she'd forget for the first five seconds of her day. She'd think she was in the past when everything was normal. She would think she was off to school and then the Dot with Peter. Then the realization would hit her. A wave of rage, of anger, the unshakable feeling that her rapist was inside of her forever now, a part of her. A person whose face she wouldn't recognize now controlled her. This is who she was now. Rape victim Darcy.
She was ashamed to admit how good it felt to accuse Simpson. For a few days, she had all the power. She was in control. She could watch him squirm; see the look of powerlessness and desperation on his face. She knew she had his entire life in her hands; she could cause as much pain as someone else had caused her. She cringed at the memory of how she had grown so obsessive so fast, so desperate to make him want her. It was Mr. Simpson, for God's sakes. Emma's step-dad. When she walked into that room and saw her mother and Ms. Hatzilakos standing there, that condescending concerned look on both their faces, she felt like she had been raped all over again. She had boiled with rage at being set up, being humiliated. She wanted to lash back, just hurting herself suddenly wasn't satisfying enough anymore.
She felt tears form at the corner of her eyes. If someone had asked her just two months ago if she thought she could possibly end up like this, she would have laughed in their face. It was getting dark, and she had goose bumps on her arms from the cold. She slid into her sleeping bag and curled into a fetal position to keep warm, laying with her eyes open and staring into the abyss of green and black that was the woods. She thought of how symbolic this moment was of her current state, alone and cold in the woods.
The next thing she knew she was opening her eyes, squinting at the bright sun. She was still here, she was still safe.
I did it, she thought.
"I did it". She said out loud, and smiled.
