Teen Rebellion // S.R. ✓

CHAPTER ELEVEN

(warnings : mentions of attempted sexual assault)

When one shitty thing dissipates from your life, another flies in and takes over. It's awful.

That's what happened when the shitty man at the party tried assaulting you for whatever reason flooded his mind. You kicked and cried and shouted but he pushed you down. It all happened fast and in a blur and maybe that's why you feel so unaffected.

You cried when it happened, sobbed into the arms of Sunny, asking, "Why? Was it me? Was it how I was dressed?" But the day after you sat it in bed, your mind a blank slate, having minimum recollection of what happened the night before.

You soon realized what happened and you were able to understand what happened to you, but you shrugged it off. It was far from normal, but that's how you felt. You felt as if you could move on and forget about it.

You know what everyone deals with this sort of occurrence differently, but you want to understand why you're acting like this rather than begging someone to throw him into jail. Maybe it'll bite you in the ass soon, crumble you down and turn you into the walking definition of guilt, or maybe it won't. You have no way of directing your mind into the correct path of recovery. You just hope you aren't left somewhere stranded for good.

For the past weekend, you've stayed with Spencer, cuddled up with him in his bed while you sit in a comfortable silence. He leaves every hour to check on Diana and then he comes back, resuming where you left off.

It's warm in his bed and it's always quiet, no yelling and throwing of objects, nothing cruel and suffocating. You aren't Spencer so you don't know if that's how he feels in his home, but you feel much better when you're there with him. It's breathable.

During the silence that happens over hours and hours, you've noticed how he is locked in your head as safety. Whenever you're uncomfortable and feel for a need to escape, you run to Spencer. You stay with him until you think he's grown tired, and the cycle repeats over and over again.

He seems unbothered, thankfully. You would stay forever if you wanted, but you can't. Leaving Penelope on her own pains you to envision. She isn't one for isolation.

She's messaged you over fifty times while you've been here, too. Asking how you've been, if you're okay, if you're sad, all the same question, just in different forms. You're thankful though, she's one of the best humans to set foot on planet earth and her load of questions makes you smile no matter what.

You keep checking them. Checking your phone in general.

ꜰʀᴏᴍ: ꜱᴜɴɴʏ
ʜᴇʏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɢɪʀʟ, ʜᴏᴡ'ᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴇɴ? ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ?

ꜰʀᴏᴍ: ᴘᴇɴɴʏ
ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʙᴜɴɴʏ.

ꜰʀᴏᴍ: ᴍᴏᴍ
ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ, ᴘᴇɴᴇʟᴏᴘᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴀ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ. ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ. ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ.

That's your mom. But you've managed to block her out so her messages don't hurt. They sting but stabbing your heart as if it was a knife is not the pain; it's numbness. Your mom is like a poorly created indie film: confusing, no plot given, and nothing happens except minor changes throughout.

You set your phone down next to you and look out of Spencer's bedroom window, peering at the large bright moon. You can almost see the craters by how large it is.