Later that day after being given my time table, internet password and equipment, I was In my 'allocated' room even though we, Maryse and I, knew if I wanted id get a different one. the room had slate grey walls with a painting of a beach. I sat there listning to 'Aquarius' by Digital Daggers, staring sadly at the picture until I got the gut to pick the god damn beach off the wall and shoved it into the wardrobe.
Memories. You know what Mum said to me when my brother Jonathan died? 'Remember the good things about the person, not the bad.' but imagine seeing your brother shot by a gang he carelessly angered. Imagine knowing if your brother hadn't of been so... so stupid you would still be 'pure'.
But no! I was raped against a wall, next to my brothers cooling body. The blood running in crimson steams down his face. When you look away all you can see is a beach. All you can hear the noises from your abuser.
I'll never forget it. That's why people think im ill. I'm not, i just cannot look at men the same. But it does not make me a lesbian, (but I don't hate them for having that sexuality! Why does 'sexuality' have sex in it exactly?)
I got pulled out of the state I was in by the rapid knocking on the door. Of course I opened it but regretted it when I saw a Goldie Locks.