She knew she had always been different.
From the time she could talk, Pamela preferred to keep to herself. As an only child, that only made it easier since she didn't have any siblings to bother her. She could entertain herself for hours without getting bored thanks to her family's garden. Each day was a potential new discovery, a new plant to sketch.
Most parents would be delighted to have a child so well-behaved and quiet, but not the Isleys.
Her parents made it known what they thought of her. Her mother didn't approve of her playing in the dirt. She would have preferred if she played inside with her dolls like little girls should. Her father didn't understand why she didn't have any friends. Pamela tried to explain that the plants and animals were her friends, much to her father's chagrin. He told her that if she didn't start socializing with other humans, she'd never find a husband and have a family like a proper woman should.
The truth was she wasn't suited for the human world. That was something else she had always known.
Other girls didn't share her love of plants. At least not a true love like she did. Other girls liked flowers that had been cut from the ground, given to them by the boys. Those poor, innocent flowers killed all for some silly romance.
As for the boys, they didn't mind the mud and grass like she did. They weren't squeamish like most girls when it came to getting dirty. But they didn't share her love for plants either. Not only did they rip up flowers for the girls they had crushes on, but they also carved their initials onto the trunks of the trees. Blank plus blank in the design of a heart.
Pamela wondered if those girls would like it if she yanked their hair out of their roots. Or took a knife and carved her initials into those boys' skin. Because in her eyes, what they did to the flowers and trees was basically the same thing.
She never tried it, though, no matter how often the thought crossed her mind.
No, throughout her childhood, she never drew blood. She was not a fighter, being much too thin and timid to do that.
But when her own body began to change and bleed, that's when she realized just how different she was from everyone else.
Gone was the invisibility provided by prepubescence. Now, with her older and more developed body, Pamela could feel everyone's eyes on her. Their stares were not filled with the innocence and awe like how one admired a beautiful rose. These were looks that made Pamela's skin crawl and want to rip it off.
From the boys, they were vulgar and lewd. From the girls, they were envious and bitter. Even some grown men gawked at her. Like their younger counterparts, the same emotions stirred within their lustful gazes. But with a hint of violence and intimidation.
While most girls would have killed to have her looks, Pamela despised it. Not only did her curly red hair bring unwanted attention, but now did the rest of her. It was like her own body had turned against her. Her mom compared her to a caterpillar who had turned into a butterfly, but Pamela didn't see it that way at all. Caterpillars changed into butterflies for the better. She had changed into this for the worse.
If it was possible, Pamela would have retreated further into herself. She stopped wearing dresses and hid in clothes that were a size too large for her. She stopped showing as much of her pale skin and covered up in sweaters no matter the season. She stopped wearing her hair down and either tied it into a bun or braided it. She stopped walking with her back straight and chest out, and let her shoulders hunch over.
Anything to return to that state of invisibility.
But with parents who thought appearances were the most important thing about a person and her school's strict dress code, Pamela could not escape the curse of her beauty.
And it was with these uncomfortable changes that Pamela got her first taste of blood while on a school field trip.
As usual, she was seated by herself on the bus. She could feel someone's lingering stare on her, and she didn't need to look up to know who it belonged to.
Brett.
Tall, muscular, with dirty blond hair, Brett was the most popular boy at school. And he made sure everyone knew it.
He wasn't someone who wouldn't take no for an answer. Why would he? When everyone in school bent over backward to give him what he wanted.
Everyone except Pamela.
She tried to avoid him as much as possible, but like a thorn in her side, Brett wouldn't go away. He kept asking–no, demanding–she went out with him. At first, she politely turned him down and told him she wasn't interested in dating.
Apparently, that was the wrong answer since he turned more aggressive in his advances. He would show up at her locker every morning, teasing her and playing with her hair. No matter how many times she tried to swat his hand away, his fingers remained. They moved on from her curls to her shoulders, to her arms, to the small of her back. And eventually to her waist.
The countless showers she took didn't erase the phantom touch of his hands, pinching and grazing her skin.
And what could she do about it? The one time she brought it up to a teacher, she had shut her down and told her that unless Brett touched her private areas, it was just harmless teasing. It didn't mean anything except that he liked her.
So she tried her best to ignore it. Like she was doing right now.
"Hi, Pammy." Brett leered at her from across the aisle. She hated that nickname and Brett knew it.
Pamela didn't answer and kept her gaze shifted toward the window. She told herself not to react because that's what he wanted. Eventually, he would get bored and move on.
"I said, hi." He jumped over to the empty seat beside her, startling her.
"Hi," she said under her breath.
"I had a dream last night." He leaned in closer to her and she could feel his hot breath against her ear. "It was about you."
She bit her lip and clenched her fists at her sides. Don't react, she reminded herself in spite of her growing rage.
"We were making out," he continued. "It was so hot. But then you decided to take your top off."
His hand squeezed her bare knee, and Pamela cursed the stupid dress code for making the girls wear skirts. If she had pants on, she would have another layer of protection from his wandering hand.
"You begged me to fuck you right there." His lips twisted into a smirk as his fingers crept up her leg and pushed up her skirt. "You said you were so wet for me."
"Stop," she tried to demand. But her voice was too weak and shaky to be threatening. She felt like she was going to be sick.
"What was that?" His hand remained on her leg, dangerously close to the inside of her thigh.
"I said–"
The bus jerked to a stop. Their teacher leaped to her feet and addressed the class, giving them instructions about their field trip. Brett immediately withdrew his hand and Pamela felt she could breathe again. The weight that had been pressing onto her chest had lifted, but the bile rising in her throat didn't sink back down.
As soon as the doors opened and everyone rose from their seats, Pamela pushed past Brett, creating as much distance between them as possible. Being one of the first students off, she headed straight for the bathroom. The door flung open as she raced inside and went for the nearest stall. She leaned over the toilet and emptied the contents of her stomach into it. Once she finished, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands.
She could still taste the bitter acid on her lips when she exited the bathroom.
There wasn't anyone in sight. Not even the bus.
Figuring they must have left her behind, Pamela started for one of the trails, the leaves crunching beneath her shoes the only source of sound in the area.
This peace was cut short as the last person she wanted to see suddenly stepped out in front of her, wearing a devious smirk.
"Mrs. Beasley said for me to wait for you." Brett approached her. "Bring you back with the rest of the class."
Pamela tried not to show her dismay, but she was sure Brett could see her visibly cringe. She quickened her pace and moved to the furthest side of the path, hoping he wouldn't follow.
He did follow, of course.
"But before we catch up with them, I thought I could finish telling you about my dream." Something wicked glinted in his brown eyes as he advanced on her.
Before Pamela could react, he was on her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She opened her mouth to scream, but his sweaty hand clamped down on her lips.
"Shh, Pammy," he whispered as she writhed in his grasp. "I thought plants made you horny."
She tried to yell for help, but with his hands muffling her cries, no one would be able to hear her. And with her lack of muscles, there was no way she could overpower him.
This was a losing battle.
But Pamela fought back anyway. Like hell she was going to let him do this to her. Somewhere in the struggle, she managed to kick him in the shin and break free of his clutches. She began to run, but out of nowhere, he tackled her to the ground and used his weight to keep her there.
An unfamiliar, coppery taste filled her mouth, followed by a sharp pain and Pamela realized she had bitten her tongue.
"Quit moving, you bitch!" He slammed her face into the dirt and she got a mouthful of it. She sputtered and choked on it, which made Brett bark with laughter.
"You're going to look so good choking on my dick!" He held her by the back of her neck and pressed his body against hers. His hands roamed all over her skin, squeezing and groping it. She prayed he would be done soon, that this would be the worst of it.
Her legs were harshly spread from behind her and she could hear him play with the front of his zipper. She knew then the worst was still yet to come.
Through her tears, Pamela looked for something to hit him with, preferably a rock. But there wasn't anything like that in front of her. Only a long branch with sharp thorns sticking out of it.
She reached for it right as Brett leaned over her again. His fingers tugged at her underwear and that was when she gripped the branch. Its thorns cut her skin from how tightly she held it, but she was too high on adrenaline to notice or care.
The branch struck Brett across the face, right in the eye.
He fell back with an agonizing scream, clutching his face. Blood seeped out between his fingers and dripped onto the leaves and mulch underneath him.
Pamela gasped, her chest rising and her heart thumping. She refused to let go of the branch even though her own blood ran down it.
Brett's screams had turned into soft whimpers by now. He was on his side, curled up in a fetal position.
She stared down at him with a blank expression. He looked so pathetic like this.
It was then as she realized the boy who tormented her for so long was no longer a threat did she release the branch and take off running for an adult.