Disclaimer: I don't own.
OK, before I start typing and rambling on and on and on, opps, sorry about that. NE ways what I was saying before I got carried away was that I would like to thank the TWO of you that have reviewd so far, Kat and Azura, Thanks. Oh and Kat? I like your poem. Er, story, diary, whatever you want to call it. But back to what I was saying, what was I saying? How the hell would you know? Your not reading my mind! Oh yeah I was going to say, no that's not it, how about, no, not it, O YEAH, HAPPY READING!
She stood there in the middle of the room, still dripping with sweat from her hard workout. Her light green outfit sticking to her pale skin, wisps of her fire red hair coming out of the neat Ballet bun they were told to wear during practice. She was afraid. She didn't know what she was in so much trouble for.
Than he came back. He stood infront of her. He told her she was to dance the steps until she hit perfection. The music started and she tried to lose herself in the music like so many times before, tried to become part of the music, but it wouldn't except her. She fell. Hard. She pulled herself up; Prof. Freda just stood there, watching. She started over, but again the music refused her, turned her away. It wanted to see her hurt, beaten, bleeding, raped.
She stumbled out of the class, tears blinding her. His words played over and over in her head. "Don't you dare tell anyone! I will hunt you down and kill you and your entire family!" tears of pain and pity mixed and flowed over her face. She stumbled to a wall; she slowly slid down the wall. It had hurt so much. She hated him, every thing he represented. To her, he was all full-grown man. The man behind the counter at the store, her next-door neighbor's husband, her uncles, her dad, even two of her brothers. More tears flowed down her face.
"Storms, what the hell! You're bleeding! Why the hell is you bleeding?" it was her friend Ty. She looked up at him. She put a small smile on, the words playing over and over, the threat of what would happen if she told.
"Um. it's a girl thing." She said quietly. It wasn't lying exactly. He turned crimson, but didn't move.
"Um. do you need help getting to the nurse, or do you just want to go back to the dorms?" he looked so cute blushing. She had known him for a while. He was one of her best friends, but at that moment the hand he offered looked like the one that had struck her and held her and hurt her. She visibly flinched.
"No, I'm fine. You ca go on. I don't need any help." She said. She watched him shrug and continue down the dimly lit hall. She sighed and fell back against the wall. She DID NOT need to be sitting there in front of the Ballet class. But she couldn't move. She let out a breath and pulled herself up, using the wall for support. She inched her way along the wall, heading towards her quite room. For once she was happy that she didn't have to share her room. Most people at Moonbeam had a roommate, but she had gotten a room to herself.
She muttered the password and went through the door that magically opened to admit her. She slowly made her way across the room towards the bathroom. She filled the tube up with steamy hot water, new tears, tears of self- disgust and hate snaked over her cheeks from her already puffy eyes.
She climbed into the boiling hot water, ignoring the fact that she was burning herself. She picked up the rough brush and began to scrub at her skin. She rubbed so hard in some places she bled. But that was OK she thought to herself. That just meant that she was getting the dirt off of her skin, she scrubbed everywhere his hands had been, and she felt dirty. She felt like she didn't deserve to live.
She scrubbed her hair until she made her scalp bleed from her nails. But that wasn't enough. Why couldn't she get clean? She did the next thing she could think of. She got out of the blood stained bathtub and dried herself off; she proceeded to the cabinet. She pulled a bottle of alcohol off the shelf. Without hesitation, or even a thought of what she was doing, she dumped the bottle over her already red, bleeding, burnt skin. She let pout an ear piercing scream.
She fell to the floor, her breath coming in gasps; the fire was consuming her body. She willed herself to stand. And carefully she walked out of the bathroom. She went to the closet that her clothing hung in, she pulled on a way too baggy faded shirt that had belonged to Landon. She pulled on a pair of panties and a baggy pair of shorts that were stills Brite's and climbed into her bed, tears still streaming down her face. She pulled herself into fetal position and rocked herself to sleep, willing herself to forget.
OK that's the end of that particular Memory/dream. I'm not sure how many of these I am going to put in, but they do help the reader to figure out whats going on. It's kinda hard for me to write these, so you'll have to hang in there. I have to talk to my cousin, who this memory came from, only I changed the situation slightly. It wasn't her Ballet teacher, she didn't take Ballet, I did. It was her Baby-sitter. But she's sllightly better now, and yes, I asked her before I wrote what I just wrote. Well review.
Oh and Kat, DOBBY? What were you thinking? Now I have to go wash my imagination out with soap!
OK, before I start typing and rambling on and on and on, opps, sorry about that. NE ways what I was saying before I got carried away was that I would like to thank the TWO of you that have reviewd so far, Kat and Azura, Thanks. Oh and Kat? I like your poem. Er, story, diary, whatever you want to call it. But back to what I was saying, what was I saying? How the hell would you know? Your not reading my mind! Oh yeah I was going to say, no that's not it, how about, no, not it, O YEAH, HAPPY READING!
She stood there in the middle of the room, still dripping with sweat from her hard workout. Her light green outfit sticking to her pale skin, wisps of her fire red hair coming out of the neat Ballet bun they were told to wear during practice. She was afraid. She didn't know what she was in so much trouble for.
Than he came back. He stood infront of her. He told her she was to dance the steps until she hit perfection. The music started and she tried to lose herself in the music like so many times before, tried to become part of the music, but it wouldn't except her. She fell. Hard. She pulled herself up; Prof. Freda just stood there, watching. She started over, but again the music refused her, turned her away. It wanted to see her hurt, beaten, bleeding, raped.
She stumbled out of the class, tears blinding her. His words played over and over in her head. "Don't you dare tell anyone! I will hunt you down and kill you and your entire family!" tears of pain and pity mixed and flowed over her face. She stumbled to a wall; she slowly slid down the wall. It had hurt so much. She hated him, every thing he represented. To her, he was all full-grown man. The man behind the counter at the store, her next-door neighbor's husband, her uncles, her dad, even two of her brothers. More tears flowed down her face.
"Storms, what the hell! You're bleeding! Why the hell is you bleeding?" it was her friend Ty. She looked up at him. She put a small smile on, the words playing over and over, the threat of what would happen if she told.
"Um. it's a girl thing." She said quietly. It wasn't lying exactly. He turned crimson, but didn't move.
"Um. do you need help getting to the nurse, or do you just want to go back to the dorms?" he looked so cute blushing. She had known him for a while. He was one of her best friends, but at that moment the hand he offered looked like the one that had struck her and held her and hurt her. She visibly flinched.
"No, I'm fine. You ca go on. I don't need any help." She said. She watched him shrug and continue down the dimly lit hall. She sighed and fell back against the wall. She DID NOT need to be sitting there in front of the Ballet class. But she couldn't move. She let out a breath and pulled herself up, using the wall for support. She inched her way along the wall, heading towards her quite room. For once she was happy that she didn't have to share her room. Most people at Moonbeam had a roommate, but she had gotten a room to herself.
She muttered the password and went through the door that magically opened to admit her. She slowly made her way across the room towards the bathroom. She filled the tube up with steamy hot water, new tears, tears of self- disgust and hate snaked over her cheeks from her already puffy eyes.
She climbed into the boiling hot water, ignoring the fact that she was burning herself. She picked up the rough brush and began to scrub at her skin. She rubbed so hard in some places she bled. But that was OK she thought to herself. That just meant that she was getting the dirt off of her skin, she scrubbed everywhere his hands had been, and she felt dirty. She felt like she didn't deserve to live.
She scrubbed her hair until she made her scalp bleed from her nails. But that wasn't enough. Why couldn't she get clean? She did the next thing she could think of. She got out of the blood stained bathtub and dried herself off; she proceeded to the cabinet. She pulled a bottle of alcohol off the shelf. Without hesitation, or even a thought of what she was doing, she dumped the bottle over her already red, bleeding, burnt skin. She let pout an ear piercing scream.
She fell to the floor, her breath coming in gasps; the fire was consuming her body. She willed herself to stand. And carefully she walked out of the bathroom. She went to the closet that her clothing hung in, she pulled on a way too baggy faded shirt that had belonged to Landon. She pulled on a pair of panties and a baggy pair of shorts that were stills Brite's and climbed into her bed, tears still streaming down her face. She pulled herself into fetal position and rocked herself to sleep, willing herself to forget.
OK that's the end of that particular Memory/dream. I'm not sure how many of these I am going to put in, but they do help the reader to figure out whats going on. It's kinda hard for me to write these, so you'll have to hang in there. I have to talk to my cousin, who this memory came from, only I changed the situation slightly. It wasn't her Ballet teacher, she didn't take Ballet, I did. It was her Baby-sitter. But she's sllightly better now, and yes, I asked her before I wrote what I just wrote. Well review.
Oh and Kat, DOBBY? What were you thinking? Now I have to go wash my imagination out with soap!