Strong ch2

She was raped!

Rosalie? No way!

Heard her boyfriend was drunk…

Those whispers were all over my highschool as I walked in Monday morning, after a week or so of some therapy and healing for my physical wounds. The therapy had to continue of course, but they were bending the times a little so I could come to school. I had wanted to come back to school, but I was seriously reconsidering it now.

My teachers regarded me with sympathetic eyes. I heard rumors that they felt sorry for the girl who was raped at only sixteen. I wasn't used to being pitied. They excused me from any homework, which I was secretly greatful for. I didn't want special treatment, but I doubt I could conjugate french verbs right now.

Every night I had to re-live it. Every. night. The bags under my eyes got darker and darker, until one night my dad gave me a sleeping pills before I went to bed. That night, I didn't have to deal with all them talking about me. Just the pain. The violation. After a week of reliving all of the fear and terror, this was nearly a relief.

Nearly.

I still woke up screaming.

I put my books into my locker and leaned my head against the shelf with a sigh. My eyes started to close, but I snapped them open. This was now my automatic response whenever I was about to rest. Nightmares forced me to sleep only when necasary. I was afraid to sleep.

I don't know how long I stood there, or how long I would have stood there if someone hadn't walked into the door of my locker.

The door, after it hit them, slammed into me, ruining my lipstick and dazing me momentarily.

I looked over to yell at who ever it was, but words failed me when I saw him. Dark curly hair, skin almost as pale as mine, brown eyes with thick, dark eyelashes, a square but slightly rounded jaw, and a childish face that held a strange look of innocence, which contradicted his hugely muscled arms and toned body.

He was really attractive, and seemed kind of different from the other guys who had made eyes at me the past few years. I was stunned momentarily, but regained myself and said, "Watch out, this time it was a locker door. Next time it might be an open man hole."

It would have sounded humourous if it came out of my mouth three weeks ago, but now I just made it sound bitter.

He didn't seem to notice my tone of voice at all. He just gave me a big grin and winked. "Sorry Blondie."

Me three weeks ago would have laughed, maybe flirted a litte myself. I was the prettiest girl in school. But a man with huge muscles that winked at me now scared the hell out of me, and my generally held high chin dropped as I turned around quickly and walked away.

It was unrealistic of me. We were in a school, in a hallway bussling with people. But the memory of Royce's friend, winking at me…

I was snapped out of my nightmare sequence as the same boy who ran in my locker door caught up with me. I realized who it was. It was Emmett Mcarty, a fairly popular boy at school. Not popular like Royce had been, and certainly not popular like me, but popular by his own standards. He was funny, and kind, and had lots of friends. However, he was a womanizer, had a reputation for detention, and getting into trouble. Not drugs or heavy drinking, just a whole lot of pranks and things. I always admired him somewhat for being so light-hearted in this messed up world. But I also hated players, so I didn't really know what my opinion was of Emmett.

He leaned up against the doors and ran his hand through his hair. It was cute, actually. But I stopped that thought in its tracks. No way, no how. I started off thinking Royce was cute. You saw how that ended. Men are not to be trusted. They are unreliable, lying, filthy bastards who will do nothing but hurt you. I thought this bitterly and returned my thoughts back to Emmett.

"Hey, what was that back there? Just wanted to say hello, babe."

I froze. That pet name was not cute, nor appropriate, and it did not make me feel comfortable. (I'm starting to sound like my therapist.)

My eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that." I said coldly. "Now back away. And leave me alone." I sounded like a first class bitch, but I didn't care. I got respect and personal space. Any man who doesn't give it to me gets a black eye and the inability to father children.

Seeming unsuprised, he backed away from me. "Sorry, beautiful. See you around."

I was glad he just left me alone. He still called me beautiful, which made me stiffen up, but at least he left.

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That night I asked my therapist if I could start some martial arts and self defense classes. She had looked at me sadly and said of course I could. I suppose she felt bad that someone like me, young, and beautiful, had to take such things to feel safe. But I didn't need her pity. I left the session afterwards, grabbed my yoga clothes, and headed to our towns gym. It was time to learn to protect myself like I thought I could that night.