Chapter eighteen

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Sometimes, when the vibrant sapphire sky fell into the inky black of night, I sat on my floor and stared out the transparent sheet of glass that I called my window.

I sat on my floor and set free the thoughts that plagued my mind, felt the taste of them on my tongue as I reviewed them as If I was a critic in my own endless fucking mind.

that's where I sat now, I had opened the window to let the crisp air tunnel into my room, to let it caress my skin which in turn, lead it to leave delicate bumps in its trail.

I didn't know why but eyes of green had constantly been watching me from the darkest corners of my mind recently. They often sat dormant after a week of a nightmare, but the past few weeks I could sense them everywhere leaving me constantly on edge, constantly replaying what had happened over and over again. I ignored it, of course, up until the breeze of the night air worked the dread out of me.

I often. . . Punished, myself, if I got too worked up over it. The punishments varied from forcing myself to consume large amounts of alcohol to dispose of all of my current worries , if I felt like I deserved it I'd drink so much I had a hangover for days and I'd have to hold my own hair back as I bent over the toilet, which was what I normally did, to more extreme things that made blood rush to my face in shame and in fear that people would find out what I did, I feared even more so that they'd try and force the bad habits from me. But I also verbally punished myself, repeating in my fucked up mind that people had it worse, people suffered more then me, people had had more than their clothes taken off of them.

I told myself I had it lucky, I should be thankful and great full that it stopped when it did, but it still wouldn't make me feel better. It never made me feel better.

But even after telling myself those things, it didn't get rid of the constant ache of sadness, and feeling as if it was my fault, it didn't get rid of the feeling that I didn't even want to exist anymore.

I felt an ache low in my leg and switched my position, I rolled over and placed my head on the floor, looking back at the blinding stars as they looked back at me.

I thought over in my head about the possibility that I wasn't his first victim, and then that lead to the agonising ache of guilt that drowned every inch of me as I
wondered if I should of said something, because me not saying anything might of allowed for him to do it again, to take it further then he had with me.

How young would he go? Fourteen? Twelve? Ten? Younger? I wondered if people like him had a limit, had a line of which they wouldn't cross. I thought that made it worse. I was fifteen when he had almost raped me, did he not think I was too young? Would he have done it when I was fourteen? After all, it was only a years difference so it probably wouldn't of mattered to him. That thought alone made me want to hurl my guts up.

I needed to stop thinking about this, what I needed to do instead was go to the kitchen and feed my irritatingly loud belly which grumbled so loud and frequent that I was worried it would wake my sleeping little brother and my so called mother.

I sighed and dragged my aching muscles from the floor.

The house was quiet as I made my way to the kitchen. I slipped my phone free of my back pocket and checked my social media's whilst doing so.

Lyssa's social media's consisted of her with Devon. Of Devon kissing her cheek while she crinkled her nose and laughed, of the both of them smiling at each other with an unimaginable amount of warmth and light evident their eyes.

I was happy for Lyssa, I really was, but I couldn't control the tang of jealousy I felt. I wished I had someone that loved me like Devon seemed to love Alyssa. I wished I had someone who looked at me the way that they looked at each other, the way they held each other and laughed together. But I didn't, and even though I had come to terms with that awhile ago, it didn't make me any less wishful.

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